"So you're Aldric... You've the same eyes as that black‑hearted woman who ruined everything."
A cold laugh.
"I should have carved you out of Isabelle's womb while she screamed for mercy. But now? Now you'll serve a purpose. Not a man. A key. Turn it once, and when the lock yields—I'll leave you to rot in the same dark that swallowed her."
Past– The Beaumont Estate
The Beaumont Estate rose from the storm like a monster carved of marble—its spires clutching the sky, its stained‑glass windows burning with the reflection of lightning.
Rain lashed through the courtyard as Aldric's limp body was dragged up the steps, mud and blood streaking across the pale stone.
Two silhouettes waited at the archway above the stairs.
Cecilia Beaumont—ice‑haired matriarch, face carved from disdain—and beside her, her daughter, Grizelda: sharp, glittering, and cruel.
"Look at him, Mother," Grizelda drawled, her tone a mockery of sweetness. "Dragged in like a stray cur. No doubt he takes after his whore of a mother."
Cecilia's expression barely shifted. "Take him to the east wing," she ordered. "The Duke will not see this... mistake before council. The rain will wash the stains."
Aldric's head lolled. The drug they had forced into him still burned his veins—Zephine, bitter and dizzying, turning sight to fog. Through the haze he heard echoes of a memory: laughter in the church gardens, the soft brush of fingertips, Elias's quiet smile.
Lies, he thought. All lies.
A boot struck his ribs.
"Up," came Owen Beaumont's voice, low and edged with glee.
Rain gleamed over the leather of his gloves as he gripped Aldric's chin, forcing him to meet his gaze. "Still breathing? Disappointing. I'd hoped the Zephine would have quieted your insolence."
Grizelda wrinkled her nose. "You promised me he'd be broken, brother. This shambles is tiresome."
A flash of movement; then pain—Owen's backhand cracking across Aldric's jaw. "Patience, sister," he said smoothly. "A beast breaks best when it knows there is no escape."
He twisted Aldric's hair, dragging his head back toward the women. "See, Mother? The Duke's shame made flesh."
He turned to Grizelda, smiling faintly. "Shall I feed him to the hounds? Or perhaps... you'd rather a plaything?"
Grizelda's laughter rang like shattered glass. "I've plenty of games for broken things."
"That's enough." Cecilia's tone cut through the echoes of their amusement. "The servants are watching. I'll not have gossip tainting this house more than it already is."
Owen shrugged. "As you wish."
Another yank, another step; Aldric stumbled down the corridor as lightning flared behind them. His knees hit marble. The Zephine raged through him, fracturing thought into shards—his mother's face, Owen's whip, Elias screaming his name across a darkened road.
He vomited bile onto Grizelda's slipper.
She hissed. "Disgusting little wretch!"
Owen laughed, dragging him onward. "Come, brother. Let's find you a kennel fitting of your bloodline."
Months Earlier – The Vision
The first time the vision struck, Elias thought he was dying.
He'd been alone in the monastery garden when light tore through his mind like divine fire. The taste of iron filled his mouth, and the smell of rain and blood invaded his senses.
For a heartbeat, he saw the world through another's eyes—Aldric's eyes.
Two traffickers pinning him face‑down in the mud. Blood on his lips. A chain binding his wrists to a rusted cart.
Walk away, murmured the voice of the Weave. This is not your sin to unmake.
Elias staggered to his knees. "No," he whispered. "I won't."
He conjured light.
"Protectio Divina."
Gold flared around him, the radiance hissing in the storm. The traffickers flinched, exchanging looks that quickly turned to scorn.
"Well, Jerek, fancy that—a saint in the midden," one sneered. "Come to bless your doomed lamb?"
Jerek grinned, jagged teeth flashing. "Kill her—kill the priest, whatever it is."
"Aldric," Elias breathed, locking eyes with him across the downpour.
Recognition surged—hope, bright and terrible.
The first attacker lunged. Yards of chain rattled as the second swung wide.
Elias whispered, Lux Purificata.
Light erupted. The first man screamed, blinded. The second's chain rebounded from a shimmering barrier.
They hesitated. Aldric pushed against his bonds, shouting Elias's name.
Another heartbeat, another spell forming on Elias's lips—
And then the vision changed.
The Consequence
Time froze.
The battlefield dissolved into impossible light. He saw a throne room drowned in blood, Aldric's body at its base. The sun split like an overripe fruit. Oceans boiled, cities screamed, the stars themselves crushed into silence.
"Interfere," the celestial voice thundered, "and the End comes at dawn."
The world returned. Elias choked, collapsing against the monastery altar. The warning still echoed in his skull, trembling his bones.
Aldric.
He saw him again now—just as the Weave had promised. The cart, the chains, the leering traffickers. Everything as foretold.
He could end it.
A single word—Ignis—and their bones would turn to ash.
But the cost hung before him in unseen scales.
Let him go, the Weave whispered. Let the world survive.
A tear slid down his cheek.
The traffickers seized Aldric. One struck Elias across the temple, hurling him into the wall. Copper filled his mouth, vision shattering.
He heard Aldric's voice, terrified. "Eli—Elias! Help me!"
Elias's fingers twitched, the prayer half‑formed.
But his gift recoiled. The future pressed its weight upon his lungs, thick as iron.
Choose, said the voice.
Aldric's life. Or the world's.
His hands fell limp. "Please," he whispered, not to them, but to the resistless heavens. No answer came.
They dragged Aldric away.
He shouted his name until the sound broke into rain.
All Elias could do was watch.
When the wagon vanished over the ridge, he sank to the floor, blood dripping from his lip, nails biting through his palms.He staggered to the hearth, clutching at anything to steady himself. A single ribbon lay on the floor—a piece from his braid, torn loose when the man grabbed him. He pressed it to his chest, trembling.
"Redime eum, Domine," he gasped. "Redeem him, Lord."
But the prayer felt hollow, its echo lost to the storm.
He had healed thousands—raised children from plague beds, stilled tempests with a whisper—yet in the only moment that mattered, his faith had been silence.
"I can't let him fall into their hands, Lord even though he anchors the soul of him" he whispered.
In the firelight, the edge of his collar slipped—revealing the flat bindings across his chest. The air caught against bruised skin, and for a brief, unguarded moment, the lie he wore burned like a brand.
Elias closed his eyes and pressed his hand to the earth where he had stood.
"please...Don't let it go according to the story that you have shown me."