Chapter 22 – Embers in the Ash
The firestorm shattered the market square. Flames licked across wooden stalls, twisting them into blackened bones. Smoke rose into the rain-heavy sky, the storm hissing as it tried to smother the blaze. The screams had faded into silence. Only the clash of steel and the crackle of fire remained.
When the smoke thinned, Lucian still stood. His cloak was torn and scorched, blood staining one sleeve, but his blade remained steady. Around him, Whitecloaks lay in heaps—burned, broken, or dead. Only their captain yet drew breath, kneeling in the mud, face pale and eyes wide with disbelief.
Lucian pressed the tip of his sword to the man's throat. The Whitecloak's lips trembled, forming half-prayers, half-curses.
Lucian's voice was low, almost drowned by the rain.
"Tell your masters. The world will no longer kneel."
He drove the blade into the mud beside the man's neck and walked away. The priest gasped, shaking as if death itself had brushed against him. He would carry the message, Lucian knew.
The people began to emerge from shadows and doorways. Wide eyes followed Lucian, some filled with awe, others with fear. A few whispered words like angel or demon. None dared speak aloud, not with blood still steaming on the cobblestones.
Lucian disappeared into the alleys, his cloak heavy with rain. He did not pause until the sounds of pursuit faded behind him. His chest heaved, not from the fight, but from the truth pressing against his mind.
There was no turning back now.
---
Elsewhere, high within the Cathedral of Radiance, bells tolled not in celebration, but warning. Maltherion, the High Father, sat upon his gilded throne as reports arrived in hurried whispers. A lone swordsman had slain an entire Whitecloak patrol in open daylight.
The High Father's hand tightened on his jeweled scepter. His voice was soft, yet it carried through the chamber like thunder.
"Find him. Break him. Make his death a sermon."
The Cardinals bowed, their eyes gleaming with zeal and fear.
---
In a forgotten cellar beneath the streets, a circle of conspirators listened to the tale of the market square. Among them, a veiled woman lit a candle, her voice measured.
"So the ember has caught flame."
Another leaned forward, eyes sharp. "Then perhaps the time has come to test him. If he can stand against the Church's dogs, perhaps he can stand with us."
The candlelight flickered, shadows dancing like the birth of something vast.
And in the rain above, Lucian walked alone, unaware that both friend and foe had begun to take notice of his step.
The storm no longer felt like it was falling on him. It felt like it was following him.