But the light wounded Me .
Far below the Shomon Hotel, where the light of day had never touched, the chamber waited. It was older than the hotel, older even than the city built above it. The walls were carved with runes that seemed to breathe, drawing air from nowhere, whispering to one another in low, secret tones.
In the center pulsed a heart it wasn't a symbol carved of stone, but a living, beating thing. It was the last remnant of King Hermon. He was once a ruler of men, but now he has become the imprisoned Host. The recent failed ritual of his immortality had trapped his essence here: with no body, no voice, only will. The heart had fed for centuries on worship, fear, and the souls offered to it.
Tonight, it pulsed faster.
The darkness around it stirred as if sensing pain. Veins of black and red light crawled along the floor, stretching toward the corners of the chamber.
Mr. Griff knelt before it. His uniform was torn, stained with ash and dried blood. His face looked worn, almost transparent in the flickering light of the candles. Where his shadow touched the floor, it wavered like oil on water.
"Master," he whispered, his head bowed. "The light has spread through the city. It is killing your reach. I can feel your strength slipping from the air."
The voice that answered was not a voice at all. It was pressure, rolling through his mind like a tide.
They have touched My root, it hissed. The light burns the soil that keeps Me bound.
Griff pressed a trembling hand against the cold stone. "Tell me what to do, my lord. I have served you all these years. I will not fail you now."
The shadows stirred. From the heart came a low rumble, it was the sound of centuries compressed into a single breath.
You will not serve. You will become.
Griff looked up, startled. "Become?"
The air shimmered. The veins of light crawling from the heart reached for him like roots. They wrapped around his arms, searing his skin, crawling beneath it. The pain was instant and terrible. He gasped, falling forward, his hands scraping the stone.
The bond between us is incomplete, the voice whispered through him. You brought the vessel. You opened the gate. But the light wounded Me - and now, I must live through you until the heart is whole again.
Griff screamed. The red glow under his skin turned white for an instant, then dimmed, leaving marks ,a faint sigils , which burned into his veins.
"You mark me?" he gasped.
I remake you, the voice replied. You will carry My reach until I rise again. Through your flesh, I will see. Through your hands, I will strike.
Griff staggered to his feet, panting. The pain faded, but something else replaced it. It was a cold fire moving through his body. He looked down and saw that his shadow had changed shape; it no longer matched him. It moved on its own, as though waiting.
He clenched his fists. "The light… the one that burns you ... it's spreading faster than before."
The girl carries what you stole, said the Host, its tone trembling with hatred. The vessel you chose now bears the divine spark. And she has given it to another.
Griff's jaw tightened. "Marcus."
Yes.
The chamber trembled, dust falling from the ceiling. The walls cracked, bleeding faint lines of gold light , the same glow that had poured through Thecla's pendant. It burned wherever it touched the old runes, erasing them like chalk under rain.
The Host roared, it was not in sound, but in a wave that made the stones scream.
They defy My will! They spread the flame that should have been Mine!
Griff fell to one knee, covering his ears, though there was no noise to block. He shouted over the pressure. "Tell me where to find them!"
The brother walks the city, the voice said. The blood of the vessel returns. Find him, and through him, I will reclaim what the light stole.
Griff rose slowly. The runes on his arms glowed faintly red, pulsing in rhythm with the heart. He felt power flood his limbs, it was heavy, cold, unstoppable. Yet beneath it, fear still lingered.
"My lord," he said quietly, "why do you remain only this… shape? Why not rise and take form again?"
For a moment, there was silence. Then the heart pulsed once, harder, and the answer came with the weight of grief.
When I reached for eternity, I bound Myself to the living earth. The price of dominion was the loss of flesh. I am will without bone, hunger without hand. Only through the vessel's blood can My body be born again.
Griff stared at the throbbing mass. "So the curse that made you a god also made you a prisoner."
Do not mistake sacrifice for curse, the voice said. I chose this to remain beyond death. But the light seeks to unmake what I built. Bring Me the brother, Griff. Bring Me the one who bears her blood — or I will end what you have become.
The command struck him like a blow. Griff dropped to his knees, clutching his marked arm. His veins burned with fire. The scent of scorched flesh filled the air.
"Yes, my lord," he rasped. "I will bring him."
The veins of light retreated back into the heart. Silence fell again, heavy and wrong.
Griff stood slowly, his breath shallow, his shadow writhing faintly beneath his boots. He looked around the chamber one last time. The candlelight seemed weaker now, swallowed by the pulse of the heart.
He turned toward the stairway. "Let them come," he whispered. "Let them see what they've called back."
As he left, the heart beat once more, and from the fissures across the stone, small streams of light began to leak upward, seeping into the soil, crawling toward the streets above.
The foundation of the city trembled, as if remembering something ancient and alive.