Darius knelt before the Flame.
Its light wasn't warm.
It never had been.
The pyre roared in the heart of the Hall of Silence, casting long shadows across the stone. Golden pillars lined the chamber like spears reaching skyward. Tapestries hung above—scenes of radiant angels slaying beast-possessed heretics in crimson and gold.
He had stared at them a thousand times.
Today they felt heavier.
He kept his eyes low.
"Rise, Inquisitor-Ascendant."
The voice was old and brittle, but every word cracked like a whip.
Darius obeyed.
High Inquisitor Vaelen stood at the altar, draped in robes of silk-threaded steel. His face was a mask of purity—no lines, no softness. The golden circlet above his brow shimmered with embedded Beast Cores, harvested from slain familiars.
It pulsed faintly as he stepped forward.
"You carried out the sentence?"
Darius hesitated.
A heartbeat too long.
"…Yes, Grand Inquisitor. He died screaming."
A lie.
Cain hadn't screamed. Not even when the binding circle ignited, not when the pit opened beneath him.
He'd looked Darius in the eye. Calm. Silent. Like something ancient had already touched him.
"And yet," Vaelen said, walking slowly, "the forest burns."
Darius swallowed.
"The ritual must have… awakened something. Residual energy."
"Perhaps." Vaelen's tone was mild, but cold. "Or perhaps your weakness delayed the purge long enough for the infection to spread."
That stung.
He bowed his head again. "I will cleanse the region personally."
"No," the Inquisitor said, pausing before the Flame. "You will not."
Darius looked up, startled.
"You will return to your former life. You will wait. Observe. Play the loyal son of the Hollow. And when the time comes…" Vaelen turned, eyes like glass. "You will kill the boy again."
The words froze the air between them.
Darius didn't respond.
He couldn't.
Later, alone in his quarters, Darius unwrapped the chain around his wrist.
A pendant hung from it.
Worn leather. A wolf fang bound in iron.
Cain's.
They'd found it after the ritual. Bloodstained. Left behind like a forgotten part of his old self.
Darius stared at it long into the night.
He hadn't wanted to do it.
They'd grown up like brothers—orphans raised within the Order's orphanage, trained side by side. Cain had always been reckless, wild, too curious. But he wasn't evil.
He wasn't a monster.
Until the Affinity test said otherwise.
Until his blood touched the sigil stone and it hissed.
Until the flames whispered his fate.
The Inquisitors had told Darius what had to be done. If he wanted to ascend. If he wanted to protect the Hollow. Protect the people. Keep the world clean.
"He's already corrupted. It's mercy."
But Darius remembered Cain's face as he stood in the circle. Not afraid. Not angry.
Just… betrayed.
He rose from the desk and looked out the stained-glass window.
Far below, the Hollow buzzed with life—merchants, scholars, clergy. None of them knew that a beastbinder had been born beneath their feet. None of them knew Cain might still walk.
Part of him prayed Cain was alive.
Part of him dreaded it.
Because if Cain had survived…
Then Darius had chosen the wrong side.