Night in Giltspire was not dark.
Gold light spilled from every tower, every market stall, every watch-lantern. Bridges gleamed like the ribs of a giant creature, glowing veins across the hill. Music bled from courtyards — drums from Verdant, stringed zithers from the Broken Sky, pipes from the isles. The air tasted of spice and smoke and debt.
Kael walked through it all with his hood low, the mark on his chest burning under his shirt like a second heart. Each pulse felt louder than the next, like a clock that had decided to keep time with his veins.
Nia led them through backstreets slick with rain, always a step ahead, crimson-dyed locks bouncing with each stride. Taye limped behind, his blue-tipped locks now wrapped in a rag to keep them from dripping on his wounds. He looked pale but alive, joking still to keep himself upright.
"Funny thing," Taye muttered, nodding at the lamps overhead. "They keep the streets bright so shadows don't have teeth. But shadows are still here. Look at mine. Smiling at me. Rude as ever."
Kael glanced — and sure enough, Taye's shadow stretched too long, its head cocked at an angle, a grin cut into the dark.
He didn't say anything. Some truths were too heavy to carry aloud.
They stopped at a tavern tucked between two counting houses. Its sign bore three scales unevenly balanced: The Broker's Rest.
Inside, the air was thick with smoke and secrets. Merchants lounged with their ledgers open beside their drinks. Dice clattered. A bard sang in a language Kael didn't know, her voice low and mocking.
At the back table, hunched over a bottle of something green, sat the woman Nia had promised.
She was tall, sharp-featured, with locks dyed gold at the tips. A scar split her lip. Her eyes were pale gray, almost colorless, and they flicked up as the group approached.
"This her?" she asked.
"This is Sefira," Nia told Kael. "A Chainbreaker. The only one worth trusting."
"Trusting is expensive," Sefira said, lifting her drink. "You'll pay in gold, or in something gold can't buy. Which are you offering?"
Kael sat across from her, setting Abyssfang on the table. The blade giggled, drawing wary glances from nearby patrons. "Gold runs out. Blood doesn't."
Sefira studied him for a long moment. Then her eyes dropped to the mark glowing faintly through his shirt.
"Three rings," she said softly. "A Harrow's promise. You don't need a Chainbreaker. You need a grave."
"I'm not in the mood," Kael said flatly. "Can you break it?"
"Maybe. But the Ninth Hall will want you before dawn."
"The Witnesses said—"
"The Witnesses said nothing," Sefira cut him off. "They never do. They make you think law is on your side until the bell tolls, and then they feed you to the Chain Below."
Taye raised a hand. "Hi, new friend, question. What exactly is the Chain Below? Because I'm tired of hearing the name like it's an uncle we don't visit."
Sefira's gray eyes flicked to him, then back to Kael. "It's not an uncle. It's the first debtor. The first promise ever broken. And it still eats."
The mark on Kael's chest flared hot, as though agreeing.
They didn't stay long. The tavern was too open, too loud. Sefira agreed to meet them at the Ninth Hall just before dawn, "if you're still alive."
Outside, the rain had turned to mist. The streets seemed emptier, but Kael felt eyes on them. Always. Giltspire's towers were full of glass, and glass was full of watchers.
Halfway to their rented room, a procession blocked their path.
Children carried lanterns shaped like suns, their locks tied with golden ribbons. Behind them came priests in robes of shimmering cloth, each wearing a mask carved from polished wood. At the center, on a litter draped in silks, sat a man in chains of pure gold.
Not bound. Adorned. He wore them like jewelry, each link etched with runes. His locks were long, twisted into ropes dyed silver. His eyes glowed faintly, not with magic, but with certainty.
The crowd parted in reverence.
"Who's that?" Kael muttered.
Nia's voice dropped to a whisper. "The Chancellor of Chains. He oversees contracts for the Gilded Domain. If he's here tonight, it isn't coincidence."
As the litter passed, the Chancellor's gaze slid across the crowd. For a moment, Kael felt it pin him like a blade. The brand on his chest seared.
The Chancellor smiled.
And then he was gone, carried into the night with his priests and lanterns, leaving the scent of incense behind.
Kael exhaled slowly.
Taye leaned close. "I don't like how he looked at you."
"Neither do I," Kael said.
Nia's jaw was tight. "Dawn can't come soon enough."
They didn't sleep. Not really. The rented room above a spice market smelled of cardamom and mildew. Taye sprawled on his side, groaning each time his wounds pulled. Nia sat by the window, watching the streets. Kael sat on the floor, Abyssfang across his knees.
The sword hummed softly, almost like a lullaby. Tick, tick, tick, it sang. Chains love the dawn.
Kael stared at the mark glowing faintly through his shirt. He remembered the Harrow's faces. He remembered the girl with the flower in his locks. He wondered how many more faces he had forgotten, and how many the chain would take.
When the bells rang in the distance — slow, deliberate, summoning the city to its judgments — Kael rose.
"It's time."
The Ninth Hall was nothing like he expected.
It was not a courtroom. It was not a palace. It was a cavern beneath the city, carved into stone, lit by rivers of molten gold that ran through channels in the floor. The walls were lined with chains — iron, silver, gold, some rusted, some polished, all humming faintly like strings on a harp.
At the far end stood a dais. Upon it, robed Witnesses watched with glass eyes. And beside them, seated on a throne carved from obsidian, was the Chancellor of Chains. His golden links gleamed brighter here, alive in the firelight.
"Kael Omari," the Chancellor said, his voice smooth as silk and sharp as a knife. "Child of the Abyss. You carry a debt not yours to bear."
Kael stepped forward, the mark burning like a brand fresh from flame. "Then take it off me."
The Chancellor's smile widened. "Oh, I will. But debts do not vanish. They are transferred."
The chains along the walls rattled. Something stirred in the molten gold, a vast shadow rising.
Taye whispered, "Oh no. Oh no, no, no—"
Nia's hand brushed her daggers, though her eyes stayed locked on the Chancellor. "It was never going to be simple."
The molten gold split open. From it rose a figure bound in chains, taller than any man, its body a tangle of metal and shadow, its face hidden behind a mask of iron.
The Chancellor's voice echoed through the chamber:
"Face your debtor, Kael Omari. Prove you can cut the first chain… or be consumed by it."
To be continued…