The air was thick with tension that clung like smoke.
Up high, two shadowy figures stood solemnly on a ruined monument. One of them, a woman, judging by her voice, spoke again. Her voice was colder now.
"By Royal Decree, issued by the King himself, you are to take your men and retreat. What happens here is no longer your concern."
That sentence rippled through the ranks of the Inquisition like a stone breaking still water.
The leader's jaw clenched tight.
They had weathered mutinies, silenced heresies, executed people who strayed from the path. They did not kneel to self-proclaimed orders delivered from the shadows.
And yet… this was the King's seal. Disobedience was no longer an act of righteousness, it was treason.
The leader inhaled slowly, lifting his hand to signal the retreat.
Then—
A voice echoed in his mind. Unseen yet undeniable. He froze. His arm trembling mid-air. The moment stretched thin.
Then he spoke.
