The thunder of hooves on cobblestone shattered the pre-dawn silence. Arthur stood on the palace battlements, watching the approaching riders with eyes that saw too much—System signatures blazing like torches in the darkness, each one calling to the hunger that never slept.
"That's not Lyralei's standard escort," Hawklight observed, counting the riders. "Six guards for an emperor? Either he's trying to move fast—"
"Or he doesn't have anyone left to bring." Arthur's jaw clenched as the lead rider came into view. The figure slumped in the saddle, bound to it with ropes to keep from falling.
They met the party in the courtyard. When the guards cut Lyralei down from his horse, Arthur barely recognized the Phoenix Emperor. The man who'd arrived three days ago looking eighty now appeared to be actively dying. His skin had taken on a grey pallor, breathing came in rattling gasps, and when his eyes opened, they were clouded with pain.
