The cheering did not stop immediately. It lingered, a sharp, dissonant sound that was the most horrifying part of the night. Crystal shards from the shattered chandeliers lay scattered across the ballroom floor like fallen stars, while acrid smoke curled upward from the fractured marble. Nobles, their finery dusted with white stone debris, steadied themselves against massive pillars carved with the names of long-dead Sovereigns.
And they applauded.
They cheered with a terrifying fervor, as if the stone-fused corpse cooling at Lira's feet were merely part of the evening's program—as if terror itself were nothing more than meticulous choreography.
Kael remained on one knee, the warm, metallic taste of blood running beneath his nose. Inside him, the fragment he had absorbed did not pulse with emotion; it shifted with the cold precision of a machine. It was structure. It was lines.
He saw the ballroom differently now. The chandelier above was no longer an ornament; its heavy chains were aligned with specific pressure points hidden beneath the marble. The pillars formed a perfect geometric circle, and the ceiling mural—the open, biological eye—marked the absolute center of the circuit. The Fractured Sovereign had not burst randomly through the floor; it had emerged precisely where the design demanded. This was no accident; it was a test.
"Inquisitors inbound!" a voice shouted near the entrance.
White-coated figures moved through the chaos with the chilling efficiency of surgeons navigating battlefield carnage. Porcelain masks, each painted with a single, frozen tear, concealed their faces. These were the Purifiers. They moved through the crowd with crystalline devices, scanning the guests with beams of blue light to measure synchronization levels. Any spike above the legal threshold meant immediate detainment.
Kael's heartbeat quickened. He had no percentage, no lineage to show the scanners. But he carried something far more dangerous: the Architect's fragment, pulsing faintly behind his eyes like a second heartbeat.
Jonas staggered to his side, his shield hanging heavily from his arm. "You okay?" he asked, his voice tight with adrenaline.
"No," Kael answered honestly.
Jonas's own interface flickered: [Ironclad Vanguard – 8%]. The adrenaline of the kill had accelerated his synchronization. He clenched his jaw, forcing the surge back down. "I hate this place," he muttered.
At the center of the hall, Lira stood untouched by the debris, surrounded by guards she clearly did not need. Professor Veyne approached her slowly. His expression was not one of fear or even relief; it was pure, chilling exaltation.
"Remarkable," Veyne murmured, his voice thick with reverence. "A flawless Decree under pressure. The Empress awakens beautifully."
Lira's gaze remained distant, her synchronization hovering at 21%. Kael watched her closely, noting that the climb had slowed—something about the fragment he had absorbed had disrupted the natural flow of her ascension.
"Secure all exits!" an Inquisitor commanded.
The runic barriers along the doors flared with a blinding light, sealing the ballroom shut. Kael's thoughts sharpened. They weren't just stopping the guests from escaping; they were preventing the signal from leaking beyond the palace walls.
The floor trembled again—a subtle, rhythmic thrum like distant thunder trapped beneath the stone. Kael closed his eyes, and the Architect's Blueprint flared to life in his mind.
The world shifted. Color drained away, replaced by intersecting grids of tension and force. He saw the ley-lines beneath the marble, glowing faintly as they converged toward the Palace Spire. And beneath those lines, he saw a hollow—a vast, ancient chamber far older than the palace itself. Something massive slept there, or perhaps it was merely pretending to sleep.
"Kael."
Lira's voice cut through his mental distortion. He opened his eyes to see her walking toward him. The guards parted for her like water. Jonas instinctively stepped half in front of Kael, his shield ready.
Lira stopped two paces away. "You are bleeding again," she said, her tone devoid of emotion. But her eyes flickered crimson once. "Why?" she asked softly.
Kael knew she wasn't asking about the blood. "You absorbed something," she continued.
Jonas stiffened. Kael held her gaze. "Something broke off," he said carefully. "It chose me."
A faint crease appeared between her brows. "Chose? Nothing chooses you," she said coldly. "You are not in the equation."
"Maybe that's the problem," Kael replied.
A ripple of tension passed between them as the Inquisition continued scanning guests. Veyne was watching them—not Lira, but Kael. He knew. The Architect's fragment had not gone to the Sovereign where it belonged; it had slipped into the void.
"Detain him," Veyne said suddenly.
Two Inquisitors turned toward Kael. Jonas stepped forward immediately, his shield raised. "He's F-Class," Jonas snapped. "Barely synchronized."
The lead Inquisitor tilted his masked head. "F-Class anomalies are statistically negligible," he said flatly.
Veyne smiled faintly. "Not this one."
The fragment pulsed violently behind Kael's eyes, and the Blueprint overlay activated involuntarily. He saw the Inquisitors' predictable stances. He saw a weak point in the rune-pattern of the barrier at joint B-14. He saw the unstable counterweight of the chandelier debris above.
"Jonas," Kael whispered. "When I move, don't think. Just follow."
The Inquisitors advanced, their blue scanning light passing over Kael. The device flickered.
[Lineage: NULL]
[Error: Undefined Parameter]
The scanner buzzed sharply. The Inquisitor's mask tilted. "Undefined subject."
Veyne's eyes gleamed.
Kael moved. He didn't run for the door; he grabbed a loose chandelier chain and yanked. The unstable counterweight snapped, and a mountain of crystal crashed down between them and the Inquisitors. Jonas charged, slamming his shield into the nearest white coat and knocking him off balance.
Kael pivoted toward the western wall, targeting the B-14 joint he had identified in the overlay. He drove the hilt of his knife into the glowing stress line. The rune-pattern fractured, and the barrier flickered.
"Now!" Kael barked.
Jonas rammed the weakened glass with his full weight. It shattered outward, and the cold night air rushed in.
"After them!" Veyne shouted.
But Lira did not move. She watched them go, her crimson eyes showing not anger, but a profound, chilling hesitation. Kael met her gaze one last time before leaping. For the briefest moment, beneath the red glow, he saw a pulse of something human.
Then he fell into the night.
They landed hard on the terrace below. Jonas groaned as searchlights pivoted toward them. "Inquisitors converging!" a voice echoed from above.
Kael grabbed Jonas. "Down," he hissed. They vaulted the railing and slid down the slanted roof tiles. Behind them, the flared white coats of the Inquisitors looked like predatory wings as they leapt in pursuit.
The fragment stirred again—not with knowledge, but with recognition. The Architect was watching from above. The mural eye hadn't been symbolic; it was a lens.
They hit the courtyard and ran as drones buzzed overhead. Jonas panted, his interface showing another jump: [Ironclad Vanguard – 10%].
"Don't let it climb," Kael snapped.
"How exactly?" Jonas gasped.
"Remember something stupid. A bad joke. The noodle shop."
Jonas's lips twitched. "Extra cilantro," he muttered. The percentage flickered and steadied.
They burst through a side gate, the Palace Spire glowing a faint, ominous red behind them. The pulse beneath the city had not stopped; it had deepened. Kael slowed only once they reached the shadowed alleys of the lower rings. He leaned against a damp wall as the fragment settled into a waiting silence.
"What just happened?" Jonas asked hoarsely.
Kael looked back toward the glowing palace. "The gala wasn't a celebration," he said quietly. "It was calibration."
"For what?"
"For something that hasn't fully arrived yet."
Above the city, the clouds shifted unnaturally. For a fraction of a second, Kael saw geometric, architectural shapes descending within the mist before they vanished. Jonas saw them too.
Silence settled between them—not a calm silence, but one of heavy anticipation. Somewhere beneath Aethelgard, gears older than memory had begun to turn. The applause upstairs had been nothing more than permission.