Early next morning

The little basement where he held communion was dark and dusty. Its single light flickered over his desk against the wall opposite the door. Telero stood with his palms against the table, staring at the prize between his hands. His copy of the Book of Jomens rested nearby, open on a page at the end of the second-to-last chapter.

So, the plan failed, Telero thought, staring at the little object on the desk. The realization bore down on him and threatened to drown him in a surge of fresh doubt. My path is true, but not clear. That much is obvious.

Jora was dead.

The Betrayer was awake completely.

Only the little bead of metal under him, no bigger than the tip of his thumb, assured him that the Visionary had sent all that just to test him, to poke at his resolve and make sure he was the one to bring the Tyrant down. All he had to do was keep fighting.

Static charge filled the air of the space and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. It was like the whole room suddenly developed an electric current. How did he even know where this place was?

“Don’t turn around,” the Storm Devil said behind him. Telero didn’t move, just kept staring at the little bit of metal on the desk. “I know what you did, Telero. I found your message to the gildgrown. You were smart about it, or just lucky by not signing your name, so my evidence is thin. But we both know what you did. The blood of your people is on your hands.” The Fiend went quiet for a long moment, and a small, terrified part of Telero’s mind wondered if he was about to be stricken down.

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No, I am protected. He steeled himself and didn’t speak. Plus, Halari would never forgive him.

“The only question now,” the Tyrant continued, “is how do I tell your sister? She loves you, Telero, so the truth about your real nature would destroy her. Along with that, I can't arrest you or make an accusation without real proof. So, for now, congratulations... I’ll keep your secret. But one day, your horrible truth with come to light and Halari will forsake you. Fortunately, I will be there to comfort her when that day comes. And know this, any interference by you or your people on our operation going forward will result in severe consequences. No pleading on the part of your family will save you from my wrath.” All went quiet and the static charge in the air dissipated. The Tyrannical Betrayer was gone.

Telero breathed a sigh of relief, then picked up the little bead of metal and held it in front of his face. Found in the shattered remains of his god’s statue, the small sphere was glossy black and the light that glinted off it in reflection was purple and red, exactly like the Storm Devil’s power.

He scanned the passage in the Book of Jomens again.

‘No Flame may die except by the power of Melokon,’ it read. ‘And as no mortal man owns nor can even obtain this prize, we are effectively immortal. Invincible. Our reign will be forever.’

The power of Melokon... He grinned at the little bead of metal like it was a child. He had no way of shaping it; two hours of cooking it in a personal furnace and hammering the thing had proved ineffective and useless, but that wasn’t an impossible problem. He just needed to get a little creative.

“Don't worry, sweet, sweet Hala,” Telero murmured, cradling the bead to his chest. “I’ll save you, I promise.”