The man stood tall beneath the broken arch, the wind catching the edges of his white cloak. Scars ran along his jaw, and his eyes, gray as ash, held the weight of centuries.
"I am Seraphen, Commandment of Mercy," he said, voice low but steady. "And I have not raised my blade in decades."
Kaien watched him closely. "Why show yourself now?"
"Because Elias still fights. Because the truth stirs." Seraphen stepped forward, slow and deliberate. "And because the light is dying."
Iria narrowed her eyes. "If you knew the others were corrupt, why didn't you stop them?"
Seraphen flinched—not in shame, but in memory. "We were brothers. Sisters. I believed in them. But power... it's a seductive thing when disguised as virtue."
Solryn's voice was colder than his ice. "So you let them fall."
"I survived," Seraphen whispered. "That's all."
Kaien turned toward the remains of the altar. "Tell us about Alteron."
Seraphen's jaw tightened. "He was no Commandment. Not by blood. Not by creed. But he desired power greater than any of us. And when the Commandment of Love—once the gentlest of us—fell to madness, Alteron welcomed it with open arms."
"Then he's just a vessel," Iria muttered.
Seraphen nodded. "A willing one. The Corrupted Love lives through him, twists him. And it will not stop at Alteron."
Kaien raised his blade. "Then we stop it before it spreads."
Seraphen stared at the abyss-infused edge. "That blade will take more than limbs. It'll cut through lies—yes—but also through the truth you may wish you never saw."
Kaien met his gaze. "That's a risk I've already accepted."
And in the shadows behind them, something began to stir—watching.