The ceremony was held in the chapel. Massive braziers held purple flames that cast an otherworldly glow throughout the chamber, their unnatural light seeping into every shadow like an ominous fog. The ethereal illumination transformed the space into something that felt more like a realm of nightmares than a physical place. Black banners bearing Valic’s symbol hung between the columns. The air smelled of incense that carried metallic undertones, making my throat tighten slightly.

Blackguards filed in with military precision and took their places according to rank and seniority. I moved to my assigned position and noted how my surrounding brothers maintained a subtle distance. They acknowledged my presence with stiff nods and formal greetings, but their body language betrayed their wariness. Recent rumors of my clashes with Malachai and Thaddeus had made their rounds, and clouded the minds of some of my brethren with doubt. Even so, they maintained proper protocol and watched me with guarded expressions, as if trying to determine whether I was still truly part of the brotherhood or had become something else entirely.

Malachai, donned in his ceremonial armor, stood upon the raised dais. On the altar behind him was the obsidian box, and an ornate chalice crafted from polished black marble.

I tried to recall in the texts I’d studied any rituals that involved similar vessels. Nothing came to mind, which led me to believe the nature of this ceremony lay hidden in the books that were kept in the private section of the library.

Corvus stood in the front row with Thaddeus and the other senior members of Malachai’s inner circle, still travel-worn but standing straight despite his obvious fatigue. His favorite crow was perched attentively on his shoulder, its dark eyes reflecting the dancing flames of the braziers.

“Brothers and sisters of the order,” Malachai’s authoritative voice filled the vast space. “We gather tonight for a ceremony of renewal, to strengthen our bonds with the powers that guide us.” He raised his gauntleted hands and the purple flames in the braziers rose higher, casting twisted shadows across the assembled warriors.

I maintained a neutral expression as I observed, noting how a few of my brethren shifted uneasily.

“Our order stands as a bastion of strength,” Malachai continued, “maintaining hierarchy and order in a world that would descend into chaos. But strength requires vigilance...” His helmeted head turned slightly in my direction. “Power demands sacrifice.”

I felt the weight of his gaze even through his helmet, and the unspoken threat that was veiled in his latter words.

“There has been a disturbance in the balance of power throughout Aetheria. Ancient forces threaten the very foundations of order we have worked so long to maintain. Our divine connection to the Dread Lord must be strengthened if we are to weather the coming storm. Therefore, tonight we shall renew our pacts to ensure we remain in Lord Valic’s favor. Only through absolute devotion can we preserve our sacred position as his chosen warriors.”

He retrieved the obsidian box from the altar and held it aloft. The runes pulsed with an unsettling rhythm. “Each of you shall partake of the Essence, binding yourselves ever more tightly to our sacred purpose. We must ensure that chaos never takes root in our realm.”

A chill run down my spine as I watched him handle that ominous box. There was no genuine concern in his words as he spoke of balance and divine favor. More troubling was how he spoke of preventing chaos, when his recent actions suggested otherwise.

The contradiction gnawed at me. Malachai had built his reputation on strict hierarchy and control, yet he seemed content to let fiendish corruption spread throughout Aetheria like a disease. But to what end? A man so obsessed with order, allowing chaos to flourish... unless the chaos itself served some greater purpose in his plans.

Perhaps he wanted Aetheria to burn from within, to collapse under the weight of fiendish influence. But why would someone who preached devotion to Valic’s order desire such destruction? The pieces didn’t fit, and that disturbed me more than any direct threat. Malachai was playing a deeper game, one whose rules and ultimate goal remained frustratingly vague.

I spotted the runes on the obsidian box. Based on my recent research, I knew that binding rituals could manifest different effects depending on the catalyst used. Some essences could strengthen bonds between willing participants, while others could enforce absolute domination over an unwilling subject. Without knowing what type of essence was contained in the box, I had no way of predicting the effects of this ritual.

The timing of this ceremony was wrong too, as Baylin had pointed out earlier. Traditional renewal rituals were performed during the new moon, when Valic’s influence was strongest. But tonight, the moon was in its waning phase—a time traditionally associated with binding and domination magic.

Every instinct told me that this ritual was a farce. Whatever was in that box was meant for something far more sinister than strengthening our collective bond with Lord Valic. But being surrounded by my brethren, I could only stand and wait, my anxiety rising with each passing moment.

Malachai slowly opened the box. A faint black mist rose from within. The essence inside had a sickly, unnatural purple glow that pulsed in rhythm with the surrounding shadows.

He began to chant in ancient Infernal, his deep voice resonating through the chapel. The words carried undertones of something ominous that seemed to twist reality itself, bending shadows into impossible shapes. I recognized fragments of the incantation—phrases about binding and dominion.

Soon, the other blackguards joined in the chanting. I mouthed the chants, while carefully avoiding giving meaning to the words. Here in Aetheria, Infernal phrases held power, and I wasn’t about to risk binding myself to whatever dark purpose Malachai had planned.

He retrieved the ornate chalice from the altar. With deliberate ceremony, he began sprinkling the essence from the box into the vessel. The purple mist coalesced into a magical liquid that churned on its own accord. Finally, he concluded the prayer and turned to the assembled blackguards.

“Who amongst you will be first to demonstrate their loyalty?” he announced, holding up the chalice. “Who will step forward to renew their sacred bonds?”

Thaddeus immediately approached and dropped to one knee before the altar. “I offer myself willingly, Grandmaster.”

I watched as Thaddeus took the chalice and brought it to his lips. He took a sip, and moments later, his body tensed. A dark aura manifested around him and intensified until it looked like he was wreathed in living shadow.

When he rose, his eyes had assumed an eerie purple glow. “The bond is renewed,” he declared, his voice carrying an otherworldly resonance. “I feel the Dread Lord’s power flowing stronger than ever.”

The shadows around Thaddeus coiled like eager serpents. There was fluidity in his movements as he returned to his place amongst the senior members.

“Come forward, my brethren,” Malachai commanded. “Receive the blessing of our renewed covenant.”

One by one, the other blackguards stepped forward and took a drink from the chalice. Each underwent a similar change—their dark auras intensifying, their eyes taking on that similar purple glow. The air grew thick with accumulated power as more and more partook.

My turn would come soon. I studied each participant, looking for any signs of the essence’s aftereffects. On the surface, everything appeared normal. But something deep inside me screamed danger. The way their movements became more synchronized, their expressions hardening... it reminded me of a puppet’s strings being slowly tightened.

Baylin was next. There was iron certainty in the dwarf’s expression, the unwavering resolve of a warrior whose faith and duty transcended fear. Despite his earlier warnings to me, he stepped forward without hesitation. The contradiction was striking—mere hours ago he had cautioned me about the wrongness of it all, yet now, here he was walking willingly into the very trap he himself saw.

But that was Baylin’s way. Even when he suspected deception, his absolute devotion to Valic and the order would always prevail. His faith was unshakeable, built on decades of service and sacrifice. In his mind, he would rather suffer a thousand betrayals while remaining true to his oaths than to preserve himself through disobedience.

I watched him approach the altar with steady steps, his weathered face set with the conviction of a true believer. Here was a warrior who had given everything to the Dread Lord—his life, his soul, and now, perhaps, even his free will. The dwarf’s eyes met mine briefly, and in that moment I saw both apology and acceptance. He knew the risks, yet he would walk this path regardless, ready to sacrifice everything in service to his dark faith.

He took the chalice with steady hands and drank. The transformation was immediate and disturbing. Shadow energy coalesced around him like a living shroud, and when he opened his eyes, they held that same unnatural purple glow. The old warrior I knew—my mentor and friend—seemed to vanish behind that ethereal light.

As others continued to step forward, I noticed Corvus hanging back, his blindfolded face turned slightly in my direction. Despite his inability to see in the conventional sense, his posture suggested deep unease. He seemed to be deliberately delaying his turn, though, whether out of suspicion or some other motive, I couldn’t tell.

“Brother Caelum.”

Malachai’s voice cut through my thoughts like ice. The chapel fell deadly silent, and all eyes turned to me. The purple flames cast dancing shadows across the assembled brotherhood as I stood frozen in place.

“Come forward,” Malachai commanded, his tone brooking no argument.

The walk to the altar felt like an eternity. Each step brought me closer to Malachai’s carefully laid trap.

He held out the vessel, its liquid contents still emanating with a sickly purple glow. In that moment, I could feel the weight of destiny pressing down upon me. Whatever choice I made here would set in motion events that could not be undone.

“Drink,” Malachai said, his voice lowered to a more intimate volume once I was standing closer to him. “Bind yourself to our brotherhood’s sacred purpose.”

I took the chalice with proper ceremony and stared at its contents with a keen eye. The way the liquid caught and refracted the dim light in unnatural ways triggered a memory. Something I’d seen in my past life—a rare poison that alchemists had warned the city guard about. There was one particular case I’d investigated during my tenure in the city watch.

There had been a string of mysterious deaths amongst the nobility—victims found with strange black patterns around their lips, their final moments marked by convulsions and screams of agony. The city’s master alchemist had eventually identified the cause: a rare toxin distilled from shadow-touched nightshade and the venom of cave-dwelling serpents. The poison was particularly insidious because it was undetectable until it was too late. It looked like ordinary harmless liquid until it began its deadly work.

The substance before me now bore all the hallmarks of that same poison, though twisted and enhanced by whatever dark magic Malachai had employed. If this was indeed what I suspected, then even a single sip would mean an agonizing death, one that no conventional healing could prevent.

Yet those who had already partaken appeared unaffected by what they had consumed. In fact, they seemed enhanced with augmented powers. Dark energy radiated from them with newfound intensity. Even their eyes glowed with an unnatural purple fire that spoke of abilities beyond normal shadow manipulation.

Could this realm’s strange nature have changed how the poison worked? Or was something else at play?

“Is something wrong, Brother Caelum?” Malachai’s voice carried a dangerous edge. “Do you hesitate to renew your vows to our brotherhood?”

The purple flames cast dancing shadows across his armor as he loomed over me. The challenge in his words was clear. Around me, I could feel the attention of the assembled blackguards sharpening, waiting to see how I would respond.

“Not at all, Grandmaster,” I replied, keeping my voice steady. “I was merely reflecting on the significance of this moment.” I raised the chalice higher, as if in salute. “To the glory of our order.”

Malachai’s helmet inclined slightly. “Then drink, brother, and bind yourself to our cause.”

I slowly brought the cup to my lips, then stopped as the brim hovered mere inches away. The shadows moved around me with purpose, anticipating what was to come. Another thought suddenly occurred, and I furrowed my brow.

Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

I’m not of this world, so this essence could affect me differently than my Aetherian brothers. It made perfect sense. Malachai knew my true origins. What better way to eliminate me than through a sacred ceremony? My death would simply be seen as my body rejecting the ritual, proof of my unworthiness. A perfect murder disguised as divine judgment.

The realization wrought a surge of bitter anger. This was the same corruption I’d fought against in my previous life—those in power using ceremony and tradition to hide their darker purposes. But this time, I had advantages my former self had lacked.

In one swift move, I spun and hurled the cup’s contents at the nearest brazier. The liquid hit the purple flames with a sound like shattering glass, erupting into a cloud of dark vapor. The flames turned black for a moment as they lapped up the remnants of the corrupted essence.

“Sacrilege!” Malachai’s voice thundered through the chapel. “You dare defile our sacred ritual? To disobey the Dread Lord’s will?”

I turned to face him, letting my anger show now. “You speak of defilement when you’re the one using our order’s ceremonies to mask murder, Grandmaster.”

The assembled brotherhood stirred uneasily, weapons sliding partially from sheaths. The purple flames cast ever-changing shadows across black armor as tension filled the air.

“Bold accusations,” Malachai said. “Especially from one who has just shown such contempt for our traditions.”

“Traditions?” I laughed, the sound harsh in the tense atmosphere. I addressed the assembled warriors. “Tell me, brothers, when was the last time we held a renewal ceremony at this phase of the moon? When have we ever conducted such rites without proper preparation and purification?”

That caused more stirring and murmurs amongst the assembled warriors. Several exchanged glances with visible unease.

“You overstep, Brother Caelum,” Malachai warned, but I could hear a note of concern in his voice. He probably hadn’t expected me to challenge him so openly.

“Do I?” I turned back to Malachai. “Or perhaps I’m the only one willing to speak truth in a place dedicated to power and order. That essence,” I pointed to the obsidian box, “is no sacred substance. It’s poison—shadow-touched nightshade mixed with serpent venom, enhanced by dark magic.”

“That essence,” I continued, caught up in my anger, “kills its victims slowly, leaving black patterns around their lips. I’ve seen it before, when I investigated noble deaths in—” I stopped abruptly, realizing my mistake too late. The words had slipped out before I could catch them, betraying knowledge that no one from Aetheria should possess. In this realm, shadow-touched poisons seemed to manifest differently, their effects more mystical than mundane.

More low murmurs rippled through the assembled brotherhood. Malachai’s posture shifted, and though I couldn’t see his face behind his helmet, I could sense his satisfaction.

“Poison?” Malachai’s voice carried triumphant malice. “How fascinating that you know such specific details about a substance that doesn’t exist in that form in Aetheria. And yet, Lord Valic showed me visions of other realms where such toxins flow. Realms that have never known our eternal twilight. Your knowledge betrays you, Brother Caelum. You speak of things that could only be known by one who was born of another world!”

The revelation sent shock waves through the assembled warriors. Weapons cleared sheaths with metallic whispers as their unified gaze turned hostile.

“Lord Valic has revealed the truth of his deception. Seize this impostor!” Malachai commanded.

Before anyone could reach me, I leapt away from the altar and drew my kukris in a fluid motion. “Think carefully, brothers,” I warned. “Ask yourselves why our grandmaster would break tradition for this ceremony. Why he would risk our order’s sacred protocols for one member’s alleged ‘unworthiness.’”

“Enough!” Malachai barked. “Your treachery ends here!” He raised his hands, and shadows coalesced around him like living armor. “Brothers, destroy this traitor who would undermine everything we stand for!”

The chapel erupted into chaos. Blades sang from sheaths as my former brethren advanced, their movements fluid yet unnatural. The essence they’d consumed had seemingly bound them to Malachai’s will more than any oath could manage.

“Caelum!” Baylin’s voice carried pain and rage as he charged forward, his battle axe wreathed in shadow-energy. “You betrayed us all!”

I managed to parry his strike, the impact sending shockwaves up my arms.

In those glowing purple eyes filled with hate, I saw nothing of the mentor who had guided me. Nothing of the friend who had shared drinks and laughter with me just a few nights ago, who had called me brother and family. It had all been erased, replaced by a puppet bound to Malachai’s will.

“Baylin, stop! Listen to me! You don’t know what you’re doing!” My plea was desperate, but I knew it was futile.

I countered Baylin’s wild swing. His rage had compromised his usually perfect form, revealing a gap in his armor beneath his arm. My kukris found their mark with practiced efficiency, penetrating the vulnerable spot. Blood sprayed as I yanked the blades free and shoved him backward. He crashed into a group of advancing blackguards, temporarily disrupting their coordinated attack.

“You were always too loyal for your own good, old friend,” I said coldly, watching the dwarf struggle to rise despite the grievous wounds. Even as the essence worked to heal him, I felt a twinge of regret. Baylin had been both mentor and brother, one of the few I genuinely respected. His blind devotion to hierarchy had made him predictable, but his strength and wisdom had earned my trust. Now Malachai’s corruption had turned that same loyalty against me.

More of my brethren joined the attack, their coordinated strikes impossibly fast and powerful. Purple flames cast wild shadows across flashing blades as I desperately defended against multiple attackers. Each blow felt like being hit by a battering ram. The essence had apparently enhanced their strength far beyond normal limits. Their betrayal demanded retribution, but practicality demanded survival first.

“You should have obeyed,” Grath snarled, his massive war hammer crackling with dark energy as it swept towards my head. “It would have been quicker!”

I ducked under the swing mere seconds before the hammer struck a column behind me. The stone shattered, sending fragments flying. Taking advantage of Grath’s overextended position, I slipped inside his guard. My kukris penetrated an exposed area in his armor near his hamstring. The half-orc fell as blood gushed from the wound. But the essence’s power was already starting to heal him.

“Kill him!” Malachai’s command echoed off the chapel walls. “Let his death serve as a warning to all who would question our order!”

Shadow-wreathed blades came at me from all directions. I spun and parried, each movement a desperate dance between life and death. But I was far outnumbered, and their attacks were too strong and well coordinated. A blade slipped past my guard, scoring a line of fire across the side of my neck.

I needed to escape. Fighting through the pain, I parried another series of attacks as spells of dark energy crackled around me. The air itself twisted with malevolent power as multiple blackguards channeled their enhanced abilities.

Corvus’s crow suddenly dove at my face, its beak and talons raking for my eyes. I swatted it away with my forearm, earning more bloody scratches for my effort. The momentary distraction cost me as a blade found its mark, opening a deep gash along my bicep. Several more strikes got through, leaving burning cuts across my forearms and shoulders. The wounds weren’t fatal, but they were slowing me down. Blood ran down my arms, making my grip on the kukris treacherously slick.

With no other choice, I fled. I charged towards the chapel doors, batting aside attacks with desperate strength. A blast of shadow energy caught me in the back, nearly driving me to my knees, but somehow I stayed on my feet and kept moving. The doors loomed ahead—my only chance for survival lay beyond them.

I burst through the doors and into the corridor beyond, boots pounding against stone as I ran for my life. I had to leave the Sanctum completely, but I wouldn’t get very far on foot.

The stables! my mind screamed. If I could reach a mount, I might have a chance.

I switched direction. Behind me, enraged shouts and the thunder of armored pursuit filled the air.

I fled into the courtyard, the night air a welcoming contrast after the suffocating tension of the chapel. But the respite was short-lived. The gargoyles, the smaller ones that perched on the lower ledges of the courtyard, stirred from their stony slumber. To them, I was an intruder now. Their red eyes glowed with malevolent intent as they dropped from their perches, their stone wings beating with unnatural speed.

They swarmed me, their stone claws raking across my armor, their fangs gnashing at my limbs. They were too small to do serious damage, but their sheer numbers were still overwhelming. I spun and slashed, my kukris shattering some of them into dust. Others I hurled into the pursuing blackguards, buying myself precious seconds.

A ball of shadow energy exploded into the courtyard, too close for comfort. I grabbed one of the gargoyles, its stone body surprisingly heavy, and used it as a shield. The spell obliterated the gargoyle, sending fragments of stone and shadow flying into the air. The impact nearly knocked me off my feet, but I steadied myself and pushed my way through the remaining gargoyles.

The creatures’ stone bodies regenerated with unnatural speed, and they gave chase.

I could see the stable doors ahead, but as I was about to reach them, a shadow rippled in front of me, solidifying into Thaddeus’s armored form. His eyes burned with purple hate.

“This is as far as you go, traitor,” he snarled.

I didn’t respond, knowing that every second spent talking was a second that brought my pursuers closer.

I lunged at Thaddeus, my kukris a blur of motion, seeking to exploit any weakness in his seemingly impenetrable defenses. He met my attack with surprising strength and ease, his blade a wall of polished steel that deflected each strike with practiced precision. We clashed, the sound of steel on steel ringing through the courtyard like a death knell as our blades met in a shower of sparks. He was faster, stronger, his movements fluid and deadly. I was like a child trying to fight a fully grown warrior. Thaddeus’s superior skill, infused with the dark essence, was readily apparent. His attacks came with relentless power, each strike aimed to kill. I managed to dodge and parry, but I knew I couldn’t hold out for long.

“You were a fool to believe you could challenge the Dread Lord’s will!” Thaddeus growled, his blade pressing against my neck.

My heart raced, and my mind clouded with fear and the will to survive. The stable doors lay just beyond. I knew I had to get there.

With a desperate surge of adrenaline, I summoned every last bit of strength I had and shoved Thaddeus backwards with all my might. The cold steel of his blade disappeared from my neck as he stumbled and fell. He landed on one of the small gargoyles, his weight smashing the creature to pieces. The brief commotion gave me just enough time to make a break for the stables.

I burst through the doors and immediately slammed and locked them behind me just as Thaddeus recovered and pursued. I could hear his enraged roars echoing through the courtyard, but I knew I’d bought myself some time.

The stable doors shuddered under the impact of weapons and dark magic. Wood cracked and splintered as my former brothers attacked with enhanced strength. Purple energy seeped through the growing cracks, casting eerie shadows across the obsidian floor.

The hunched stable master emerged from the shadows, his face hidden beneath his deep hood. “You dare violate the sanctity of these stables?” he said. His hands crackled with dark energy as he moved with surprising agility for one who appeared so bent.

A bolt of shadow magic erupted from his palms. I dove and rolled across the floor, the spell crackling past where I’d stood moments before. Coming up in a fluid motion, I struck him in his side. My blades bit deep into his kidneys, drawing a satisfying spray of blood. The stable master crumpled with a cry that echoed through the pristine chamber.

“You should have stayed neutral in this conflict,” I said coldly, watching him writhe. A part of me savored his pain. These men and women had once been family. They had pledged themselves to a sacred hierarchy. Now they were all trying to kill me. They groveled at Malachai’s feet, betraying not just me, but the very foundations of power they had vowed to uphold. Their blind faith had become a mockery of our true order. Their deaths would serve as examples of how power punishes those who pervert its principles.

The stable doors groaned ominously as another round of magic and blades smashed against them. They wouldn’t hold much longer.

The other nightmare steeds shifted restlessly in their stalls, their red eyes glowing like embers in the darkness. A familiar black stallion nickered in one of the stalls as it watched me with intelligent eyes. It was the same horse that had previously carried me to Ebonheart. Steam curled from its nostrils as it recognized me, and I felt an immediate connection.

The stallion sensed my desperation. It stamped the ground anxiously, sharing my urgency to escape.

I quickly opened the stall and vaulted onto its back, not bothering with a saddle. I grabbed the beast’s mane, which moved fluidly like purple flames, and it reared.

The main doors exploded inward in a shower of splinters and dark energy. Armored, shadow-wreathed figures poured through the entrance, their eyes glowing with that terrible purple light.

“Go!” I shouted, digging my heels into the beast’s flanks. We burst through the rear doors at full gallop, wood shattering around us as we emerged into the night air.

Alarm bells rang, and furious shouts called out as we fled. More blackguards were already mounted, their nightmare steeds raking the ground eagerly. They wheeled to intercept us, weapons gleaming in the crimson moonlight.

My mount’s hooves pounded against stone as we raced towards the Sanctum’s outer gates. Behind us, the pursuit quickly organized. I could hear the beating of hooves, the whistling of steel cutting air, the crackle of dark magic being summoned.

Purple-tinged lightning split the sky as the Sanctum’s mages unleashed their powers. A bolt struck my horse’s flank, drawing a screech of pain from the creature. But nightmare steeds were more resilient than any mortal horse. Wisps of smoke rose from its wounded side, but it kept running.

I risked a glance back. Several mounted figures pursued us, their armor gleaming dully in the crimson moonlight. Corvus led them, his crow-feathered armor making him unmistakable even in the darkness. His mount was gaining ground rapidly.

More spells flashed through the night, their dark energy illuminating the hellish landscape. My mount’s breathing grew ragged as we raced across the ashen plains, each stride carrying us further from the fortress but not fast enough to escape our pursuers.

Corvus pulled ahead of the group, his mount’s hooves striking sparks from stone as it closed the distance with supernatural speed.

“You can’t escape judgment, Caelum!” his voice carried over the thunder of hooves. “The shadows themselves condemn you!”

He sent forth his murder of crows, and they descended like a storm of black feathers and razor beaks. Their caws echoed with supernatural malice. They swarmed around me and my mount and attacked—precise and relentless.

I clung desperately to the nightmare steed’s shadowy mane with one hand while swinging my kukri in wild arcs with the other. The blade flashed through the air, driving away some of the attacking crows, but for each bird I scattered, three more took their place. Their beaks and talons found gaps in my armor with frightening precision, creating dozens of small, bloody wounds that began to accumulate. Pain flared across my body as they pecked and clawed, their attacks coordinated with terrifying intelligence.

The crows then focused their assault on my mount’s head and began pecking viciously at its eyes. Blinded, the horse let out a terrifying scream. The beast reared in panic and pain, losing its footing on the treacherous ground. We went down hard. I was thrown clear, hitting the ground with bone-jarring force and rolling through grey dust.

Pain lanced through my body as I tried to stand. Something was broken—ribs, perhaps more. The taste of blood filled my mouth as I struggled to my knees, my kukri still somehow in my grip.

Corvus reached me and dismounted with fluid grace. He drew his sword, the blade gleaming with unholy purpose. His crows now circled overhead, their calls mixing with the wind, creating an eerie dirge.

Helpless and unable to get away, I looked up at the blind warrior. “Why, Corvus?” I managed, spitting blood. “We were brothers.”

“We were.” Corvus advanced slowly. His blade wove patterns in the air. “And so your death will be quick, at least. A mercy Malachai might not have granted.”

My hands shook as I tried to raise my kukri. The fall had done more damage than I’d realized. “I thought you, of all people, would have been able to see through Malachai’s lies.”

Ignoring my comment, Corvus raised his blade, its edge catching the crimson moonlight. “Lord Valic,” he intoned, “receive this sacrifice, this traitor who would upset the proper order of power. Let his death serve as a warning to all who would challenge your chosen hierarchy.”

The sword began its downward arc, and in that moment, I saw my death written in its shadow-wreathed blade.