The Gallery of the Silenced was a cathedral of frozen grief. The bone-white marble of the floor was so polished that the rows of grey, ashen statues seemed to float atop a mirror of clouds. There were nearly fifty of them, arranged in a spiraling formation that led toward a central dais. Each figure was captured in a moment of absolute, paralyzed terror—hands raised to ward off an invisible blow, mouths stretched in silent screams, eyes wide with the realization of a life being stolen.
Kael Light stepped into the atrium, the heavy double doors thudding shut behind him. The air here was stagnant, carrying a heavy, metallic tang that tasted of lead and suppressed mana. Every step he took echoed like a hammer against a drum, the sound reverberating off the obsidian-etched walls.
The Stasis Ring on his finger—the 'Reforged Sun'—began to pulse with a low, rhythmic thrum. The Star-Core at its center flickered, reacting to the dense web of "Blood-Contract" magic that permeated the floor. This was the work of the Academy's darkest branch, a marriage of high-level stasis spells and industrial-grade lead-poisoning.
THEY ARE STILL IN THERE, KAEL, the God whispered, its voice dripping with a cruel, oily amusement. THEY AREN'T STATUES. THEY ARE LANTERNS. SAM HAS TURNED THEIR VERY SOULS INTO FUEL FOR THE MANOR'S DEFENSES. CAN YOU HEAR THE HUM? THAT IS THE SOUND OF A THOUSAND HOURS OF AGONY COMPRESSED INTO A SINGLE HEARTBEAT.
Kael stopped before the nearest statue. It was a man, perhaps in his fifties, wearing the tattered remains of a dockworker's apron. Kael reached out, his bandaged hand trembling as he touched the cold, grey shoulder.
He didn't use a spell. He used his "Healing Art" to sense the internal state of the vessel.
The shock was immediate.
Beneath the shell of volcanic ash and mana-conductive lead, Kael felt a flicker. It was faint—thinner than a spider's silk—but it was there. A heartbeat, slowed down to once every hour. A mind, trapped in a recursive loop of the moment it was petrified. The man wasn't dead; he was being used as a biological battery, his life-force slowly being drained to power the glowing green lamps that lined the walls.
"He turned them into... machinery," Kael whispered, his voice cracking.
IT IS EFFICIENT, IS IT NOT? the God purred. THE MERCHANT ALWAYS DID ADMIRE EFFICIENCY. WHY KILL AN ENEMY WHEN YOU CAN TURN THEM INTO A RECURRING PROFIT?
"Welcome to the gallery," a voice rang out, cold and metallic.
From behind a pillar of dark gold, the armored figure Kael had seen earlier stepped forward. He was encased in black plate armor that seemed to absorb the light, and he held a halberd that glowed with a sickly, necrotic green. This was a Bound Guard—one of the mages who had signed a contract in blood with the Willer Guild, trading their free will for a direct link to the manor's massive mana reserves.
"Lord Willer calls this his 'Retirement Fund,'" the Guard said, the voice muffled by the featureless helm. "These are the ones who spoke of 'fair wages.' The ones who tried to unionize the foundries. The ones who looked at his wealth with envy. Now, they serve the Guild forever."
Kael looked at the Guard, then back at the petrified dockworker. The "Stable Agony" in his marrow spiked into a white-hot fury. This wasn't just betrayal anymore; it was a desecration of the very concept of life.
"I am going to release them," Kael said.
The Guard laughed, a sound like grinding stones. "To release them is to destroy them, boy. The lead has replaced their blood. The ash has replaced their bone. If you break the stasis, they will crumble into dust. Besides, you have a more pressing concern."
The Guard raised his halberd, and a 5-Ring circle of dark metal magic materialized with a sharp, metallic ping.
"Grand Rite: The Iron Maiden's Embrace!"
The floor beneath Kael's feet suddenly liquified, turning into a pool of molten, black lead. Spikes of dark metal erupted from the liquid, snapping toward Kael's limbs like the teeth of a trap.
Kael vaulted into the air, his grey cloak billowing. Mid-flight, a sharp crack echoed from his chest—his third rib splintering as the full moon's pull intensified. He gritted his teeth, the blood beginning to weep from his eyes.
"I am a healer," Kael roared, his mana flaring. "And I say they are not fuel!"
He landed on the shoulder of one of the statues. He didn't attack the Guard. He ignored the metal spikes whistling through the air. He pressed his palms against the statue's head.
"Primordial Art: The Unfettered Soul!"
He didn't just push mana; he offered his own "White Sun" energy to act as a temporary vessel for the man's soul. He had to replace the lead with light. It was a process that required the precision of a surgeon and the power of a god.
The Stasis Ring shrieked as Kael forced the output. A wave of golden-violet energy washed over the statue. The grey ash began to flake away. The lead-veins glowed white and then evaporated.
The dockworker gasped, his eyes suddenly clearing. For a heartbeat, he looked at Kael with a look of pure, unadulterated gratitude. Then, his body—no longer supported by the magic—began to dissolve into a fine, white mist.
"Go," Kael whispered. "Be at peace."
The man's soul, now freed from the "Blood-Contract," ascended into the rafters of the atrium, a tiny mote of golden light.
"You fool!" the Guard screamed, charging forward. "Do you have any idea what that cost you? You wasted a High Mage's reserve to save a single peasant! You are bleeding your core dry!"
"It was worth it," Kael said, his voice a vibrating thrum of power.
The Guard swung the halberd. Kael didn't dodge. He caught the blade with his bare hand, the necrotic green energy hissing against his skin. The 'Reforged Sun' on his finger flared, the Star-Core creating a field of absolute stasis that shattered the halberd's tip.
Kael punched the Guard in the chest. It wasn't a punch of iron; it was a punch of "Life." He funneled a burst of regenerative mana into the Guard's "Blood-Contract" seal.
The reaction was violent. The Guard's body, sustained by dark, parasitic magic, could not handle the sudden influx of pure "White Sun" energy. The black armor began to crack. The necrotic mana was purged from the Guard's veins in a spray of grey mist.
The Guard fell to his knees, his helm falling off to reveal a young man whose eyes were wide with shock. He wasn't dead, but his link to the manor was severed. He was just a man again—weak, frightened, and free.
But Kael was paying the price.
He fell to one knee, coughing a thick, violet glob of blood onto the white marble. The "Unfettered Soul" spell had cost him nearly a quarter of his current reserves. His bones were cracking in a rapid-fire sequence now, the thud-thud-crack of his remodeling body sounding like a frantic drum.
YOU ARE DYING FOR THEM, the God mocked, the voice echoing in the silence of the atrium. THERE ARE FORTY-NINE LEFT, KAEL. FORTY-NINE SOULS TO SAVE. AT THIS RATE, YOU WILL BE A HUSK BEFORE YOU REACH THE DAIS. IS THIS YOUR JUSTICE? TO BECOME A GRAVE FOR THE SLUMS?
"I... I can save them all," Kael gasped, his vision blurring.
He looked at the rows of statues. Each one was a life. Each one was a "Little Sun" that had been extinguished by Sam's greed. If he left them here, he was no better than the Merchant.
He stood up, using the base of a pillar to steady himself. He looked at the Star-Core in his ring. It was pulsing with a frantic, white-hot intensity.
"Silas said... I am a predator for a God," Kael whispered. "But Elara said... I am a healer."
He closed his eyes and reached deep into his Vessel. He didn't look for his own mana. He looked for the resonance of the "Little Suns" in the city below. He felt their flickering embers, their prayers, their hope. He used the city as his secondary core.
"Ancient Art: The Great Resurrection of the Dawn!"
It was a 4-Ring High Mage spell, but Kael pushed it to the absolute limit of his 4-Ring status.
A dome of pure, golden light erupted from Kael's position, expanding outward to cover the entire atrium. It wasn't a dome of destruction; it was a field of absolute life. As the light touched the statues, the lead was purged. The ash was swept away.
One by one, the motes of golden light rose from the dissolving statues. Forty-nine lives, finally released from their "Retirement Fund." The atrium was filled with a swirling cloud of souls, a beautiful, tragic starlight that illuminated the dark gold pillars.
The "Blood-Contract" of the floor shattered. The green lamps on the walls flickered and died. The "Weight of the Slums" was gone.
Kael stood at the center of the empty atrium, his grey cloak scorched and tattered. His hood had fallen back, revealing a face that was almost entirely covered in blood. His eyes were no longer gold; they were a deep, bruised violet, the Star-Core in his ring the only thing keeping the shadow from consuming him entirely.
He had saved them. But he was empty.
His mana core was a vacuum. His bones were a mosaic of fractures. The full moon was less than twenty-four hours away, and he was standing at the base of the final stairs.
CONGRATULATIONS, SAINT, the God whispered, the voice now heavy with a dark, satisfied anticipation. YOU HAVE SAVED THE SHEEP. BUT THE WOLF IS AT THE TOP OF THE STAIRS, AND YOU HAVE NO TEETH LEFT.
Kael didn't answer. He couldn't. He simply turned toward the central dais, where a narrow set of stairs led upward to the penthouse.
He took the first step.
Crack.
His shin bone snapped. He fell, his face hitting the white marble. He didn't scream. He simply used his hands to crawl toward the next step.
The Hall of Statues was empty. The Gallery of the Silenced was quiet. But as Kael crawled, he felt the motes of light—the souls he had freed—lingering around him. They didn't have voices, but they had warmth. They pressed against his cold skin, a thousand tiny suns giving him the strength to move one more inch.
He reached the second step.
"I am... Kael Light," he whispered into the marble. "And I am... coming for you, Sam."