The people of Redgate did not cheer.
They watched.
When the Sun-Stake fell, no songs were sung. No prayers were offered. Only stunned silence filled the ashen hills.
Kairo no, Vaelen stood at the center of the crater, a man reborn.
The rebels stared at him as one might gaze upon a weapon that had once saved them… and might now destroy them.
Elya remained at his side. Ryven stood back, unreadable. The Seer, Liris, watched with quiet calculation, her veils fluttering in the mountain wind like warning banners.
The war table had been rebuilt in a nearby cave, one of the few structures untouched by Tribunal bombardment. There, hours after the collapse of the divine flame, Redgate's surviving leaders gathered.
Vaelen stood before them all.
Ryven folded her arms. "So… you're a Herald?"
The word hung heavy in the air.
Heralds were more than warriors. They were instruments of divine will, chosen to enforce the Writ across cities and kingdoms. When they broke rank, it wasn't disobedience.
It was blasphemy.
Vaelen didn't flinch. "I was."
Elya leaned forward. "And now?"
"I am something else."
Liris nodded. "You are a scar in the Tribunal's great song. A fracture. And where there is fracture, there is freedom."
Ryven scowled. "You speak like a priestess."
Liris turned slowly to her. "I speak like someone who survived your gods' mercy."
The silence that followed was long.
"We don't have time for this," Ryven said at last, gesturing toward the map. "Redgate held. Barely. But our scouts report that the north roads are blocked. The Tribunal's vanguard is pushing east. If we don't move now, they'll cut us off from the marshes."
Elya frowned. "We don't have the numbers to challenge them directly."
"We're not going to," Ryven said. "We're going to disappear."
She stabbed her finger into a line on the map. "There's a route through the Echo Canyons. Dangerous, narrow, half-collapsed. But it's unmonitored. We slip through, regroup in the Ember Reaches, and establish a new front."
"And if they follow us?" Liris asked.
"They won't," Ryven said. "Because Vaelen will stay behind."
All eyes turned again.
Vaelen didn't move. "You want me to die?"
"I want you to delay them. If you are what you claim, you'll survive."
Elya rose. "That's not your call."
"He's not your soldier," Ryven snapped. "He's a myth. A living question mark with a corpse trail behind him. He bought us time once. Let him do it again."
"I'll do it," Vaelen said.
Elya stared at him.
"I'll do it," he repeated more softly. "But not alone."
Ryven raised a brow. "You want volunteers?"
"No," he said. "I want witnesses."
That night, in the hidden places of Redgate, the Accord was forged.
Seven figures gathered in a ruined watchtower lit only by ember lamps. Liris stood at the center, her voice steady.
"Let this be the Ashlight Accord. A pact between the scarred and the silenced. Between memory and fire."
Each member placed their hand on the central blade of Vaelen's cracked halberd.
Vaelen, the Revenant
Elya, the Watch
Ryven, the Blade Marshal
Liris, Seer of Eastreach
Thom Drayle, exile from the Inner Wards
Zaiya, a mute spy who had memorized three thousand glyphs
Jordan, a former cleric stripped of rank for refusing an execution order
None of them were chosen by fate.
They chose each other.
They met in whispers by torchlight, each carrying secrets and steel.
The Ashlight Accord, though named in ritual, was born in desperation.
Seven chosen. Or perhaps cursed.
Their plan was madness: a two-pronged escape. Ryven would lead the main force through the Echo Canyons toward the Ember Reaches, harsh territory but untouched by Tribunal surveillance. Vaelen would lead a small team to strike a delay into the heart of the vanguard's path, baiting the Tribunal into pursuit.
They had no command structure. No sanctified blessing. Just will.
And now, time.
Inside the chapel ruins, Liris spread the scroll across a slab of scorched stone.
The parchment writhed, yes, writhed as though alive. The script etched into it moved like veins under the skin, twitching faintly as it adjusted the shape.
"It's Aetherscript," she said. "Older than the Writ. This passage refers to the 'Ashborn,' a soul who has died beyond counting, who returns not through grace, but through defiance."
Vaelen stepped closer. "Is it about me?"
"I can't be certain," Liris replied. "But the phrase 'Ashborn will break the ledger's spine'… sounds timely."
Elya leaned in. "And this prophecy, if it's true, what happens if it's fulfilled?"
Liris met her gaze.
"Then the gods bleed."
Meanwhile, in the Sanctum of Writ Enforcement, several miles behind the Tribunal's front lines, a figure emerged from shadow.
She wore a mask of polished bone.
Not adorned. Not ceremonial.
Just smooth, white death.
Clerics bowed as she passed, though none dared speak.
Her name had been struck from the Writ decades ago.
Now, she was simply called:
The Pale Censor
The Censor stood before the shattered remains of the Sun-Stake, her robe trailing across the crystal-cracked soil. She touched the ground, sniffed the air, and whispered something too quiet for mortal ears.
Behind her, a Tribunal Knight approached.
"High Censor," he said, kneeling. "We found this."
He held up half of a nullglass blade, its edges still humming with reversed resonance.
She took it wordlessly.
Then, she raised her hand and snapped the knight's neck with a gesture.
No sound. No magic flare. Just a pure, silent verdict.
She turned to her silent attendants and wrote a glyph in the ash with one finger:
破信者 — Breaker of Faith.
Her target was no longer a heretic.
He was a symbol.
And symbols must be erased.
Back at Redgate, dawn came heavy.
The strike team gathered on the ridge: Vaelen, Elya, Zaiya, and Jorran. Liris would stay behind with Ryven, escorting the remaining force through the canyons.
No armor. No banners.
Just travel cloaks, relic weapons, and resolve.
Vaelen adjusted the grip on his reforged halberd. The soulglass tip pulsed faintly. Not bright. But awake.
Zaiya, still silent, checked her glyph-daggers each etched by memory, not magic. Jorran muttered half-remembered prayers, his hands shaking.
Elya stood beside Vaelen, eyes on the road ahead.
"You don't have to lead this charge alone," she said.
"I do," he replied. "But I'm glad you're with me anyway."
They set off.
The gods would follow.