Chapter 1: "Marked from Birth"

How do you imagine your 20th birthday? Maybe you picture it surrounded by family, a cake with way too many candles, and the sound of laughter. Or maybe you’re out at a pub with your mates, knocking back pints, telling outrageous stories, and trying to make eye contact with that one stranger who keeps looking your way. Or, if you’re the quiet type, perhaps you’re just spending it alone—curled up with a good book, your own little sanctuary.

Me? I’m spending mine being hunted. Again.

I dart through the underbrush, ignoring the sharp sting of branches that tear at my face and clothes. The forest feels alive, its darkened canopy casting flickering shadows that twist and stretch in the fading light. It’s almost nightfall, and every instinct tells me that’s when they’ll be at their most dangerous. The air is thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, and beneath it all, I can smell ozone—the aftermath of magic scorching the air around me.

Behind me, I hear the clink of chainmail, the muffled shouts, and the constant hum of Mantled weapons drawn to life. Their runes pulse with an ethereal light, and that light is chasing me down. Always chasing. I’m just another target, another Accursed to be put down, and they’ll never let me forget it.

I vault over a fallen log and hear the distinctive crackle of energy just as a bolt of divine light smashes into the ground behind me, sending up a spray of dirt and leaves. The force of it nearly knocks me off my feet, and I stumble, muttering a curse under my breath as I regain my footing.

“Just once—just once—I’d like to have a birthday that doesn’t involve running for my life,” I grumble, though I doubt the universe is taking requests at this point.

The sound of footsteps grows louder, and I can hear him now—one of the younger Mantled, with a voice that still carries that youthful eagerness, that self-assured confidence that’s going to get him killed one day. “Stop, Accursed! There’s nowhere to run!”

I can practically hear him bristling. “You’ll be purified soon enough!” he yells, the righteous fury creeping back into his tone, and I swear I hear him spit as if the very word "Accursed" left a bad taste in his mouth.

“Do you people ever get tired of saying that?” I shout back, vaulting over a fallen log. My chest heaves with every breath, but I can’t help but grin. “Is there some sort of script you’ve got to follow, or do you just enjoy hearing yourselves talk?”

I dart left, then right, the forest a blur of green and brown. The Mantled are faster than they look, their armor barely slowing them down, and I know that if I slip, if I fall, if I hesitate for even a second, they’ll be on me like a pack of starving wolves.

Another flash of light, and I twist just in time, the bolt searing the air beside me. “You missed!” I call over my shoulder, my breath hitching in my throat. “You know, for a bunch of ‘divinely blessed,’ you’re not very good at this whole ‘hunting’ thing!”

I burst through a dense thicket into a small clearing, and in the moonlight, I get my first good look at him. Barely older than me, decked out in the silver-trimmed armor that all the Divine Initiates seem to think makes them look intimidating. The runes carved into his armor pulse faintly, a soft blue glow that seems to shift with his every breath. He’s clutching a pair of daggers, each etched with sigils, his eyes wide with excitement—like a kid who’s just seen a firework for the first time.

The runes engraved into his armor and weapons flicker with a soft, ethereal glow, like they’re channeling whatever god picked him to be their lapdog today. I can’t help but snort at the sight.

“Whoa, a newbie Hunter, ain't ya?” I say, flashing him a grin. “You know, I forget you guys are people sometimes—on account of hunting kids like me since I was, what, six? Did they tell you that part when you signed up?”

For a second, his steps falter, the sneer slipping from his face. Got him. Then he roars, charging forward with both daggers gleaming in the moonlight. “In the name of Malek, I will bring you to justice!”

Of course. A Demon Hunter—one of Malek’s little zealots. The gods’ favorite attack dogs. The Divine Mantled who hate us Accursed the most. Probably thinks I’m some challenge he needs to overcome before they hand him his first fancy medal.

He’s quick, I’ll give him that, but he’s still a rookie, all aggression and no finesse. He lunges at me, his blades slicing through the air, and I duck under his swing, feeling the sharp edge whistle past my ear. “You’re really eager for this, huh?” I taunt, side-stepping another clumsy slash. “What’s the plan? Capture me, parade me back to your little church, and hope the gods give you a pat on the head?”

The kid snarls, his grip tightening on his daggers. “Silence, demon!”

I duck under his first swing, dancing backward, and let out a loud, exaggerated yawn. “I mean, I’ve had scarier encounters with squirrels. You lot really need to up your game.”

His eyes flash with anger, and he swings harder, faster, but he’s predictable, and I’m already moving, dancing around him. “You know,” I say, ducking under another swipe, “I thought the Demon Hunters were supposed to be the best. You’re making me feel disappointed.”

“Let me guess,” I call out, leaning casually against a tree as if I hadn’t just been sprinting for my life. “First time on the big hunt? Got your little dagger blessed by the priests and everything?”

“Silence, abomination!” he roars, though I catch the crack in his voice. He charges, and I have to give him credit—there’s a lot of heart in that attack. Too bad he telegraphs every move.

I sidestep, and his blade slices through empty air. “You really ought to ask for a different mentor,” I advise. “Whoever trained you missed a spot or two.”

He lunges again, and this time, I let him get close, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off those divine runes. With a flick of my wrist, the Infernal Chains that wrap around my arms spring to life, snapping out with a hiss and wrapping around his wrists. The runes along my chains pulse a deep, sinister red, and I can feel the heat radiating from them—my gift, my curse, thrumming with excitement, resonating with the beat of my own heart.

I yank hard, and the newbie stumbles, his weapons slipping from his grasp and clattering to the ground. I can see the fear flickering in his eyes now, the realization that maybe—just maybe—he’s not the hero of this story. “Aw, don’t worry,” I say, patting him on the cheek with a grin. “First time’s always rough.”

Before I can enjoy the moment, another Mantled barrels into the clearing. This one’s different, older, wiser. Her armor isn’t the shiny, unmarked steel of an Initiate. No, her plate is scorched and dented, covered in runes that glow with a steady, blue-white light, and in her hands, she wields a massive two-handed sword that hums with crackling divine lightning, the energy rippling up and down the blade like it’s just waiting to taste my blood.

I recognize the crest on her chest—the Inquisitors of Balance. Lovely. Nothing like a seasoned warrior of Carthys, the Goddess of Judgment, to ruin my day.

“Why hello there!” I chirp, stepping back and widening my stance. “You here to offer me a birthday present too?”

Her expression doesn’t change. “By Carthys,” she replies, calm as a summer breeze, “I’ll see you judged.” She lunges, and I twist to the side. “Happy birthday to me,” I mutter, barely dodging as she swings the blade in a vicious arc. The edge grazes my chest, and pain flares, hot and sharp.

“Young man,” she says, her voice calm and controlled, but with an edge that tells me she’s not here to chat, “you’re only making this more difficult for yourself. Surrender, and I promise you’ll be granted a fair trial.”

I throw up my hands in mock surrender, the chains around my wrists rattling. “A fair trial, you say? Now, that sounds awfully tempting, but...” I jerk my thumb over my shoulder at the rookie, who’s still on the ground, scrambling to find his footing. “Your buddy there doesn’t seem like he’s interested in handing out second chances.”

The Inquisitor’s gaze doesn’t waver. “You will face judgment in the eyes of Carthys. Defying this will only lead to more suffering.”

“Well, you know me,” I say, shrugging. “Suffering’s kind of my specialty.”

Her blade flashes again, and I barely manage to throw my chains up in time, the impact sending a jolt through my arms. “You think you can defy the gods?” she asks, pushing me back toward the treeline. “Your kind only bring suffering upon yourselves.”

She doesn’t stop. Every swing is faster than the last, relentless, forcing me back toward the treeline. Her movements are precise and calculated—she knows exactly where to aim, exactly how to keep me off balance.

"Defy? More like mildly inconvenience.” I drop low, sweeping her legs with the chains, and for a second, I think I’ve got her. But she recovers faster than I expect, swinging down with the force of a hammer.

“Damn, you’re good,” I admit, panting as I backpedal, my chains recoiling. “Better than your mutt over there.” I glance back to see the rookie on his feet again, eyes burning with the righteous fury of someone who’s in way over his head. Typical Demon Hunter, always the worst, obsessed with ripping out the ‘taint’ wherever they find it, whether you’ve done anything wrong or not.

“You fight well also,” she admits, her voice almost conversational, like we’re not in the middle of a life-or-death struggle. “But all you’re doing is delaying the inevitable.”

“Lady,” I grunt, deflecting another swing, “I’d love to trust you, but I’m not exactly keen on kneeling for judgment with a Demon Hunter breathing down my neck.”

“You have my word,” she replies, pressing harder. “Not all of your kind are beyond reason. Some of us still believe in redemption.”

I laugh, and it sounds bitter even to me. “Redemption, huh? Maybe in another life.”

With a final shove, I break away, sprinting toward the trees. The adrenaline pushes me, even as my body protests, screaming for rest. But I can’t afford to stop. Not now.

A blur of motion to my side, and I barely dodge the rookie’s blade as he leaps back into the fray, his eyes burning with that same righteous fury. He swings wildly, and I twist, grabbing his wrist with one hand, my chains lashing out to deflect the Inquisitor’s next strike.

They’re pressing me, now—two bodies moving in tandem, the rookie attacking with reckless abandon, the Inquisitor with cold, calculated precision. Every blow feels like a hammer against an anvil, my chains sparking with the impact of each strike. I can feel my muscles screaming, my breaths coming in ragged gasps.

And still, I grin. Because I’m still standing.

I deflect a dagger strike, my chains wrapping around the rookie’s arm, and with a vicious yank, I pull him off balance, sending him crashing into the Inquisitor. She stumbles, just for a moment, and that’s all I need.

The forest closes in, and I hear it—the crackle of divine energy building behind me. I don’t have to look to know they’ve got reinforcements. I glance behind me, the edge of a cliff in sight, water at the bottom, well, a swim would do me good, better than a pair of blades in my guts.

“Catch you later!” I shout, and I leap backward, my body turning in mid-air as I crash through the underbrush and into the darkness beyond. I hit the water with a bone-rattling impact, the cold stealing the breath from my lungs. But as I resurface, gasping, I can't help but laugh.

"Happy bloody birthday to me," I mutter, and I start swimming, leaving them behind. For now.

As I made my way toward the bank, every one of my muscles screamed in pain, the adrenaline that fueled my escape fading, leaving me cold, exhausted, and more aware than ever of my injuries.

Damn it, I was too cocky, let myself get nipped by that lady's sword was going to leave more than just a lovebite. I can’t stay here. The Mantled are still out there, searching. So I pressed forward, heading toward the one place that might offer some semblance of safety: the Sanctuary of Chains. Basically, home, it’s the only damn area of land those Mantled had gifted us, yea right.

As I made my way to shore stretching, to warm my body back up, before making my way into the forest. The path was familiar, I knew this place like the back of my hand, used to run all the time around here when I was a brat. As I move deeper into the forest, my chains begin to vibrate subtly, and a familiar, unsettling presence stirs.

“You’re bleeding, little Tyrant. So much effort to run… but for what?” The voice…the demon bound to me, whispers at the edges of my consciousness, its voice a seductive, mocking tone, “Use me, and they’d all fall at your feet.”

Great, just what I needed, this bastard, made sense he’d open his damn mouth eventually, couldn’t shut him out forever, sadly.

I clenched my fists, ignoring the demon’s taunts, the chains tightening around my arms like a protective barrier. “Maybe you have a horrible memory, but let me remind you, not now,” he mutters under his breath, “not ever.”

But I knew it wouldn’t be the end of it, it never was it with this thing. I…could feel its presence lurking just below the surface, a shadow draped over my thoughts, prodding, whispering, always waiting. It was a constant, a nagging reminder of the power I refused to use, no matter how many times it tried to seduce me with the promise of strength, of unchallenged dominance.

The trees thickened, casting long shadows that seemed to reach out and grab at me like the Mantled had. It was comforting in a strange way—this darkness that shielded me, that hid me from those hunting me. There was an old path hidden beneath the bramble, half-forgotten, a trail only those who had lived as long as I had would know. I could feel the ground under my boots shift into something more solid, more familiar. The Sanctuary wasn’t far now.

As I drew closer, the presence of others like me began to tickle at the edges of my senses. Their chains hummed in the distance, like faint whispers in a crowded room. It was a song of survival, of pain and defiance. And as much as I hated the thought of returning, of facing them again, there was a twisted comfort in knowing I wasn’t alone.

“Such a waste,” the demon hissed, its voice curling around my thoughts like smoke. “All that power, and you use it to crawl back to that filthy hole. You could be so much more.”

“I told you to shut up,” I snapped, louder this time, my voice echoing through the trees. I winced, hoping no one else had heard. “You’re just desperate to be let off your leash.”

A low, throaty chuckle rolled through my mind, and I could almost see the sneer on the demon’s face. “Oh, little Tyrant, I’m not desperate. I’m patient. And one day, you’ll beg me to take this pain away.”

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“Don’t hold your breath,” I muttered.

I keep moving, forcing my legs to work despite the ache, the burning, the blood still trickling down my side from where that damn Inquisitor had landed her strike. The forest becomes thicker, darker, the canopy overhead blocking out the last traces of daylight. Branches scrape at my skin, but the pain is a welcome distraction, something real to focus on. I need that now. Anything to drown out the demon’s voice.

The path winds through a cluster of jagged rocks, leading to a narrow entrance, almost invisible to the untrained eye. Two gnarled oak trees stand as silent sentinels, their roots tangled together like twisted chains, marking the boundary of the Sanctuary’s territory. Just beyond, the air hums with a faint, familiar energy, the wards that keep the Mantled at bay. They were the only things keeping our miserable little haven hidden from the prying eyes of the gods’ lapdogs.

I pressed my palm against the rough bark and whispered the words that had been drilled into me since childhood. The air shivered, and the roots pulled apart, revealing a narrow passage that led underground.

I stepped inside, the darkness swallowing me whole, and began to descend. As always, the stone walls were cool against my skin, and the faint glow of the chains embedded within the rock gave just enough light to see by.

I exhale in relief as I step across the threshold, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly. Safe. For now.

This place had been built long ago, back when the Accursed were still finding their way, still learning to live with the demons gnawing at their souls. And over time, it had become a haven, a place where we could lick our wounds and pretend, if only for a moment, that we weren’t monsters.

As I reached the main chamber, I saw the others gathered there. I see the flicker of torches and the faint outline of figures moving about. Others like me, fellow Accursed, living on borrowed time in a world that wants us dead. A few of them glance my way, some nodding in acknowledgment, others looking away, uninterested. We all had our own demons to fight—sometimes literally.

Familiar faces, some scarred and tired, others still clinging to hope. They were a ragtag bunch, but they were mine. The buzz of chains filled the air, mingling with the soft murmur of conversation, and for a moment, I allowed myself to breathe.

“Ryn!” A voice calls out, and I glance to my left. A familiar figure pushes through the crowd—a young woman, her hair braided back, chains wrapped loosely around her forearms She was toned, with subtle veins going up her shoulders, her eyes seemingly holding a slight red gleam, her pupils slightly appearing slightly slitted. Saria, one of the Wardens, and one of the few people here who didn’t look at me like I was a ticking time bomb.

“Let me guess,” she says, raising an eyebrow, “you ran into some trouble?”

“More like trouble ran into me,” I say, flashing her a weary smile. “You know me. Always making new friends.”

She doesn’t laugh, though, her eyes narrowing as she takes in the blood staining my side. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing,” I lie, waving it off, but she’s already pulling me toward one of the makeshift tents that serve as our infirmary. I don’t have the strength to resist. “It’s fine, really. Just a scratch.”

“Ryn,” she says sharply, “if you’re going to lie, at least try to make it believable.” She pushes me down onto a rough wooden bench, grabbing a cloth and a small bottle of something that smells like it could strip paint.

“Hold still,” she mutters, pressing the cloth against the wound. I hiss through my teeth as the sting flares up, every nerve in my body screaming, but I bite back the curse ready to slip past my lips. She’s had enough of my whining over the years.

“You’re lucky it wasn’t deeper,” she continues, her tone softening a bit. “You need to be more careful. Next time, you might not be so lucky.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I mumble, closing my eyes, trying to block out the pain, the exhaustion, the incessant whispers from the demon coiling around the edges of my mind. “Next time, I’ll be sure to ask them not to stab me.”

“Funny,” she says, though there’s no humor in her voice. “You’re not invincible, Ryn. You keep acting like you are, one day you’re going to push too far, and even that demon of yours won’t be able to save you.”

My eyes snap open at that, and for a moment, I meet her gaze, the words catching in my throat. She doesn’t understand. None of them do. They think it’s about power, about resisting the Mantled, about proving we’re stronger than the chains that bind us, that's always the assumption with Tyrants, even from our own.

“Maybe,” I say finally, my voice quiet. “But until then… I’ll keep running.”

She shakes her head, but she doesn’t argue. “You should rest. Morlen will want to speak with you soon.”

“Of course he will, Rust-Walker never gives me a break.” I sigh. “Can’t wait.”

Saria gives me a look—one that’s halfway between concern and exasperation—and turns to leave. As she does, the tension in my body eases just a bit, the pain in my side fading to a dull throb. The moment she’s gone, though, the presence inside me stirs again, louder this time.

“You know she’s right,” the demon hisses, its voice curling around my thoughts like smoke. “You can’t keep this up. Not without me.”

“Shut up,” I mutter, pressing a hand against my forehead. “Just… shut up.”

“One day, you’ll beg for my help, little Tyrant. And when that day comes, you’ll realize it’s already too late.”

I bite back a response. There’s no point arguing with it. It’s not wrong. But that doesn’t mean I have to listen.

I glance around the camp, watching the others move about, each one wrapped in their own chains, each one fighting their own battles. For a moment, I wonder if I’ll ever be able to let my guard down, if I’ll ever be free from this constant struggle.

But then I remember: freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose. And I’ve still got plenty to lose.

/-/

I don’t have to wait long before Morlen shows up. He’s a mountain of a man, his chains glowing faintly with embers that seem to pulse in time with his heartbeat, a full beard on his face, dotted with specks of gray here and there.

Every link on his chains is inscribed with runes that flicker like dying coals, and the air around him is warm, like standing too close to a bonfire, chains wrapped tightly around his forearms, never seen him lax out his chains, or dismiss them, I mean it wasn’t weird a bunch of Accursed keep their chains visible a reminder of who they are, they aren’t afraid to show it.

.“You look like hell, boy,” Morlen grunts, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “What happened?”

“What always happens,” I reply, struggling to my feet. “The Mantled found me.”

He studies me for a moment, eyes narrowed. “And you didn’t use it, did you?”

I stiffen. “I didn’t need to.”

Morlen lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Still fighting it. I admire that about you, Ryn. Foolish, but admirable.” He steps closer, lowering his voice. “You know it’s only a matter of time before they come here, right? Before they bring their full might down on us.”

“Then we’ll fight,” I say, but my voice lacks conviction. “We always fight.”

“No.” Morlen’s tone sharpens, the warmth in his voice gone. “We negotiate. I won’t drag our kin into a fight that serves no purpose but to spill more blood.”

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. “And why should we even bother with them? They throw us out like trash, push us into the wilds, and if we’re lucky enough not to make it here, they drag us to their churches and they slap a pretty label on it and call it rehabilitation.” I gesture around us, my eyes drifting to the Sanctuary’s borders. “This place? This patch of land? It wasn’t a gift—it’s a cage. A way to keep us contained, to remind us that we’re only safe as long as we play by their rules.”

Morlen’s eyes narrow, and for a moment, I see the flicker of old rage, something buried deep beneath the surface. But then, just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced with the weary resignation of a man who’s seen too much. “Because, boy,” he says, voice low and steady, “if we don’t talk, if we don’t at least try to coexist, we’ll only prove them right about us. That we’re monsters. Beasts that need to be chained.”

I clench my fists, the chains around my arms rattling in response. “And what’s wrong with being a beast, huh? They already see us that way, might as well give them a reason to be afraid.”

“That’s exactly what they want,” Morlen snaps, his eyes flashing with a heat that matches the embers glowing along his chains. “They want us to lose control, to become the monsters in their stories. Because that way, they get to be the heroes when they cut us down.”

I shake my head, frustration boiling over. “So what then? We just sit here, waiting for them to come to our doorsteps? Waiting for them to decide when it's time to finally wipe us out?”

“No.” Morlen steps closer, and suddenly I feel the full weight of his presence, the raw power he keeps buried under the surface. “We survive. We endure. And we wait for the right moment.” He pauses, eyes boring into mine. “There’s power in patience, Ryn. More power than you realize.”

“Patience?” I spit the word like it’s poison. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one they’re hunting down, you’re not the one who—” I stop myself, the words catching in my throat.

Morlen’s expression softens, just a fraction. “You think I wasn’t like you once? Full of fire, eager to strike back at anyone who looked at me wrong? I’ve walked that path, Ryn. And I’ve seen where it ends.”

“And where’s that?” I challenge, though I’m not sure I want to hear the answer.

“Alone,” he says simply. “Alone, with nothing but your chains for company and demons in your ears.”

Silence stretches between us, heavy and thick, the only sound the faint crackling of Morlen’s chains as the embers dance along their length. I want to argue, to shout, to tell him he’s wrong, that there’s another way. But the words die on my lips, and all I can do is stand there, trembling with exhaustion, pain, and the twisted mix of anger and fear that’s been gnawing at me since I was a boy.

“I know you’re tired,” Morlen finally says, his tone softer. “And I know you’re scared. But there’s a fine line between fighting for survival and fighting just to fight. Don’t cross it.”

I look away, jaw clenched so tightly it hurts. “What am I supposed to do then?”

“For now?” He sighs, reaching out to pat my shoulder with a heavy, calloused hand. “Rest. We’ll figure out the rest later.”

I nod, though it’s more out of habit than agreement. Morlen gives me one last look, something like pity or understanding in his eyes, before turning to leave.

“And Ryn,” he says over his shoulder, “the next time that demon of yours whispers sweet promises in your ear, remind it that you’re the one in control. Not the other way around.”

He walks away, leaving me alone with the flickering torchlight and the faint, echoing whispers that never seem to go away.

He’s wrong, you know.” The demon's voice slithers back into my thoughts, oily and persistent. “You could be so much more. You could break them all.”

“Shut up,” I mutter, pressing my palms against my eyes until I see stars, trying to drown out the voice, the doubts, everything. “Just… shut up.”

But even as I say it, I can feel the chains around my arms pulsing, vibrating with a rhythm that matches the beat of my heart. It’s not just the demon’s voice that scares me. It’s the fact that, deep down, there’s a part of me that wants to listen.

And that’s the part I can never let win.

/-/

The Mantled outpost stood like a fortress against the elements, its stone walls etched with glowing runes that pulsed faintly in the darkness. Torches flickered along the perimeter, casting long, wavering shadows across the faces of the warriors gathered there. Inside, the atmosphere was tense, electric, and heavy with the scent of burning incense and freshly polished steel.

The outpost was a stark contrast to the wilderness surrounding it, standing as a beacon of order and authority in a chaotic world. It was a small fortress of stone and iron, glowing with faint blue runes etched into every wall, pulsing with the divine energy of the gods. Inside, the Mantled moved with purpose, clad in armor that shimmered faintly with the blessings of their patrons, each one more self-assured than the next.

The Inquisitor, Lyra, stood by the central hearth, arms crossed over her chest, her expression taut with a barely restrained patience. Her armor, worn and scarred from countless battles, bore the crest of Carthys, and the lightning-shaped runes that ran along her breastplate flickered in sync with her heartbeat. Her eyes, sharp and unwavering, were fixed on the young Demon Hunter pacing back and forth in front of her.

“How could you even consider offering him a fair trial?” the Demon Hunter, Kieran, spat, his voice laced with disbelief and anger. “He’s an Accursed, an abomination! They don’t deserve mercy, least of all a Tyrant!”

Lyra sighed, rolling her shoulders as if trying to shake off the weariness that came from dealing with someone so young, so hot-headed. “You’re not listening, Kieran. It’s precisely because he’s a Tyrant that we need to handle this differently. Tyrants aren’t like the others. They wield both their chains and their demons with a level of control and power that—”

“I don’t care!” Kieran interrupted, his face flushed with anger. “I’ve trained my whole life to hunt their kind. And now you’re telling me we should just coddle him because he’s a bit stronger than the rest? What kind of justice is that?”

“It’s not about coddling, you fool,” Lyra snapped, finally letting her frustration slip through the cracks of her calm demeanor. “It’s about understanding that a Tyrant isn’t just another Accursed. They have the potential to either become one of the greatest threats this world has ever faced or to turn that power toward something greater if guided correctly. The process is in place for a reason.”

“You really think there’s anything worth saving in them?” Kieran sneered, his hands clenching into fists. “He’s a monster. They all are. And the sooner you realize that, the sooner we can put an end to this farce.”

Lyra took a step forward, her eyes narrowing, and for a moment, Kieran felt the crackle of her power, the pressure of her presence pressing down on him like a storm about to break. “The world isn’t as black and white as you want it to be, boy. Not everything is solved by a blade and a righteous proclamation.”

Before Kieran could respond, a voice cut through the tension like a knife. “Enough.”

Both of them turned as the door to the outpost swung open, and Seren Valis entered. Every eye in the room shifted to her, and a hush fell over the gathered Mantled. She moved with the easy, predatory grace of someone who knew exactly how much power she wielded, and she carried it like a weapon.

Seren was an imposing figure, tall and broad-shouldered, her armor darker than the others, edged with intricate gold patterns that glimmered faintly with divine energy.

Her eyes, a piercing silver, swept over the room with the calm indifference of someone who’d seen a thousand battles and expected to see a thousand more. She carried herself with the confidence of someone who knew she was in absolute control, at her hip hung a talisman, a crystalline shard that glowed faintly with a soft blue light, humming with barely restrained energy.

Seren’s eyes, an icy blue, swept over the two of them with a look of thinly veiled disdain. “I expected more from you, Inquisitor,” she said, her tone sharp as a blade. “And you, Demon Hunter, I expected nothing less.”

Kieran’s face flushed again, but this time he remained silent, his shoulders stiffening under the weight of her gaze.

“You were tasked with capturing an Accursed,” Seren continued, her voice smooth but unyielding. “And instead, you let him slip through your fingers. Worse yet, you brought your petty squabbles back to my outpost.” Her eyes flicked to Lyra. “You, of all people, should know better.”

Lyra lowered her head, but there was no fear in her eyes. “With respect, Commander Valis, the boy is inexperienced. He doesn’t understand the importance of the Tyrant protocol.”

“The Tyrant protocol?” Seren repeated, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You’re wasting your breath. The protocol doesn’t matter if he’s already out there, slipping further from our grasp.” She turned her full attention to Kieran, who flinched under the intensity of her stare. “You’re eager to kill, Demon Hunter, but you have no idea what it means to hunt.”

Kieran stiffened, his pride flaring. “I know what it means! It means ending them before they can spread their corruption any furth—.”

“You failed,” Seren interrupted, her tone ice-cold. “Both of you.” She stepped closer, her gaze sweeping over Kierans bruised face, then narrowing. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

Seren’s smile vanished, replaced with a cold, unyielding stare. “Do you know what it means to be a hunter boy? It means understanding your prey. Learning their every move, their every weakness. It means being patient, methodical, and above all, it means knowing when to strike and when to wait.” She took a step closer to him, and Kieran had to fight the urge to step back. “The Tyrant isn’t just another monster to slay. He’s something far more dangerous, and if you think you can charge at him with a blade and a prayer, you’ll end up just another corpse in the dirt. I would expect a follower of Malek to know such a thing.”

Kieran swallowed hard, his bravado crumbling under her scrutiny. “But… he’s just one Accursed. How hard can it be?”

“One Accursed?” Seren’s laugh was devoid of warmth. “You have no idea, do you? A Tyrant is the most volatile of any Accursed, walking fuses they are. And if he’s allowed to grow unchecked…” She didn’t finish the sentence, but the unspoken threat hung in the air like a blade.

Lyra watched the exchange, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. “So, what now, Commander?”

“Now?” Seren’s eyes flashed with something dangerous, something predatory. “Now, I take charge. This hunt has dragged on long enough.” She reached down, brushing her fingers over the talisman at her hip, and for a moment, the air around them seemed to vibrate with power. “We’ll find him. And when we do, I’ll make sure he understands what it means to be broken.”

She turned on her heel, already moving toward the door, before pausing and glancing back at them. “You two will accompany me. And Kieran?”

He snapped to attention, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Yes, Commander?”

“Try not to let your temper get the better of you again,” she said, her voice as cold as the talisman at her side. “The next time you charge in blindly, I won’t be as forgiving.”

With that, she strode out of the outpost, her presence leaving a chill in the air that lingered long after she was gone.

Kieran stood there, his fists clenched at his sides, glaring at the floor. Lyra placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch surprisingly gentle. “You need to learn when to listen, Kieran. Not every battle is fought with steel.”

He pulled away from her, anger and embarrassment warring on his face. “Why do you care so much about him?” he muttered. “He’s just another Accursed.”

“No,” Lyra replied, her gaze distant. “He’s something more. And if you can’t see that, then you’re the one who’s blind.”

Kieran didn’t answer, his thoughts swirling in confusion and frustration, but one thing was certain: the hunt wasn’t over. And this time, there would be no room for mistakes.