The smoke was still curling from the ruins when Arthur reached me. He offered a hand, pulling me out from the wreckage with the strength of someone who wasn’t even winded. His blade still shimmered faintly, embers dripping from its edge like dying fireflies.

  “Talk,” he said flatly. “What happened here?”

  I steadied myself on the dock, rain pattering against my face. The smell of charred timber, wet stone, and blood hung thick in the air. Beyond us, soldiers were scrambling to cordon off the ruins, barking orders and shifting rubble as if order could be salvaged from this.

  “Everyone’s gone,” I said solemnly. “The thing… consumed them. Every last one. You killed it, but…” I shook my head. “They’re not coming back.”

  Arthur winced - just a flicker, his eyes closing as he bowed his head for a heartbeat. I caught the words of a silent prayer under his breath, almost lost to the rain. Then his eyes hardened again.

  “What in the Saints’ names could have even done that?”

  “They found smugglers,” I explained, forcing the words out. “Men unloading weapons from the ship. We were pinned down, couldn’t break through. I did my thing and eliminated the threat. But then that thing came.”

  Arthur turned, gazing at the skeletal ruin of the warehouse. Half of it was just rubble, beams jutting like broken ribs. He shot me a sideways look, dry as a desert.

  “And I’m guessing you’re the reason half the building is missing?”

  I gave a tired shrug, brushing soot off my sleeve. “If the smugglers were the only problem, all the others would be alive.”

  Before he could press, a soldier jogged up, boots splashing through the mud. He saluted crisply, chest heaving from the run.

  “Commander - reporting in! Most of the warehouse is collapsed or in flames. But-” he held up a rifle, bent but still recognizable, “we recovered some weapons. Kalgarian make, sir.”

  Arthur’s brow furrowed, eyes narrowing as he muttered the word like it was sour in his mouth. “Kalgarian…”

  “Dismissed,” he said curtly. The soldier saluted again and hurried off.

  I glanced sideways at Arthur. “Kalgarian. As in the southern kingdom?”

  Arthur gave a grim nod. “The very same. One of the largest arms exporters on the continent… and one of our closest allies. They’d never hand rifles to dissidents, not with how terrified they are of rebellion themselves.” His gaze swept the chaos, soldiers digging through ash and shattered crates. A sigh left him, heavy and tired. “Heretics are a far worse foe, but at least this clears the commoners’ name. I’ll take some relief in that.”

  I shook my head. “Don’t. It’s not all good news.”

  Arthur’s eyes sharpened. “Explain.”

  I hesitated - my mouth dry. Then I forced it out. “The Bishop was here. He said the smugglers were just a tool, the attacks a distraction meant to frame lower class dissidents. And before he vanished… he said the city has thirty-six hours.”

  Arthur’s face paled, his eyes widening for the first time since I’d met him. “Thirty-six hours until what?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted, voice low. “But it’s nothing good. Something about retribution on the city.”

  He turned sharply, jaw clenched. “Then I need to see the Regent. Immediately.”

  “I’ll tag along,” I said, stepping in beside him.

  Before leaving, I looked back at the ruins of the building. At least fifty men had died there, not even their bodies could be recovered. Fifty men who had widows, children, family. In all other circumstances, it would be considered a tragedy.

  Yet at that moment, I felt nothing. I felt numb, as though I was too tired to form any emotion at that point.

  I lowered my head respectively and offered a few words, before I departed with Arthur.

  —

  Arthur and I stood in silence as the Regent loomed over his desk. The office was dim, lit only by the gray glow of rain filtering through tall windows. A map of Morren stretched across the desk before him, covered in ink marks and pinned notes. His hands pressed against it like he could crush the city beneath his palms. His eyes were furrowed, his jaw set tight.

  Arthur finally exhaled. “And that should be it.” His voice was steady, the last words of his report hanging heavy in the air.

  The Regent didn’t move. For a moment, the only sound was rain ticking against the glass. Then he straightened slowly, gaze sweeping across the map with the weight of a man who carried the entire city on his shoulders.

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  “The whole city is in upheaval,” he said at last, his tone flat. “The chaos is no longer whispers, no longer a hidden fear. It’s an idea - and ideas spread faster than fire. Families wiped out in the convoy explosions. Soldiers lay dead on the street, military equipment now mere scorched husks. All for a lead that amounts to nothing more than an admittance to guilt, and a time-frame of unknown consequence.” His lip curled faintly.

  Arthur shook his head, his brow furrowing deeper. “We know he's in this city, yet he could be anywhere. It seems hes always one step ahead of us.”

  The Regent’s reply was sharp. “We have our scapegoat. The propaganda machine will do what it can to calm the populace, if that even remains effective at this point. But one fact remains constant - blood must be spilled to sate the hunger for revenge. We now know for certain the Cardinal is being used by the Bishop. And now, on top of that, you tell me we have thirty-six hours before… something happens.”

  He stopped. Rubbed his forehead. His voice dropped. “No. Twelve.”

  Arthur and I both stiffened. “What?” we said in unison.

  “Twelve hours,” the Regent repeated, turning his gaze on us like a hammer. “That’s the time I have before I must call for a full evacuation of Morren. I cannot risk more. Not with this… Bishop of the Black Sun. Not with the heretics breathing down our necks. I can not risk the people any longer.”

  My eyes went wide. “Twelve hours isn’t nearly enough to find the Bishop. And this city isn’t a village you can herd onto carts. Hundreds of thousands of people - supplies, routes, shelter. Where do you expect them to go?”

  “There is no choice,” he said coldly. “The heretics would kill everyone if we give them the chance. Better chaos in the streets than graves in the ruins.”

  Arthur’s eyes darkened, his voice low but steady. “Then I’ll send soldiers to sweep the city. Every block. Every cellar. Every hidden room. We’ll tear it apart until we find them.”

  The Regent raised an eyebrow. “Will twelve hours be enough?”

  Arthur was already moving to the door. “It will have to be.”

  The Regent’s voice followed him, calm as steel. “You have until midnight.”

  The door shut. The room fell quiet.

  The Regent’s eyes turned to me. “And you, Damian. Is there anything you’ve omitted from Arthur? Anything I need to hear now?”

  I hesitated. My mouth felt dry. “…Did you receive my letter?”

  His gaze sharpened. “I did.”

  “Then you know,” I said carefully. “I've encountered the Silent Choir again - it seems they were the ones smuggling the arms for the Bishop. It seems my assumption was unfortunately true."

  I furrowed my brows, looking at the map at the Regents table.

  "I can now say with certainty that Halrigg has no ties to the Heretics, despite his more rebellious undertone. I've walked into the Bishops palm at every turn, and returned empty handed until now. I have to apologize for my lack of results.”

  “Don't. You've shown you're capable enough by even coming this far against such a intelligent foe,” the Regent leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking. "I underestimated this Heretic. Most succumb to the madness of their Unholy pathways. But he seems to maintain a high level of cunning."

  The Regent looks out the window, seemingly lost in thought.

  "We still have no idea why a Heretic from the Black Sun would attack Morren. My assumption would have been revenge for the Nameless Ones - but they were notoriously quite antagonistic towards even other Heretics. I fear none of my theories have any logic or evidence to them.”

  The Regent rubbed between his eyes, seemingly sleep deprived. A cigar lay in his ash tray, burning faintly in the dim light of the room.

  My mind reeled back to when I first met the bishop. Despite how mad he seemed, he spoke with utmost certainty. During that night, one thing had caught my mind. One thing I had forgotten until now.

  He mentioned that they said me and Mary would be here in Morren. That means the Bishop came with knowledge of our eyes, and had changed his plans once he confirmed it.

  I tapped my fingers anxiously against my palm while my mind raced.

  Could it have been an oracle from the Black Sun? I should ask Charlotte.

  Finally, the Regent sighed.

  “But for now, we must focus on the Bishop. I have few Inquisitors at my disposal - and all have been assigned to searching the city for the Heretics whereabouts.”

  He drummed his fingers against the desk once, then stopped. His eyes slid sideways to me, cold calculation in their depths. “The parade was announced only this morning, around eight in the morning. Last-minute. On purpose. And yet, somehow, a ship full of weapons was already halfway down the Valga River by midnight, and arrived perfectly timed, during the peak of the parade? Not to mention how well coordinated the ambush was,” His lips pressed thin. “Tell me, Damian. How the hell did they organize that in three or four hours?”

  I felt my stomach twist. The word left me before I could stop it. “Traitors.”

  The Regent nodded once, slow and deliberate. “Find the traitors, and you find the Bishop. That much, I believe.”

  He intertwined his fingers, pondering before continuing.

  “The only people who knew this was a diversion was me, you, Arthur, and his faction since they’re loyal soldiers of the Empire. Every other person that night, assumed the parade was just that - a parade.”

  My eyes widened, before I smirked.

  “You’re as cunning as Mary said. So, that means the traitor…”

  He only smiled as well, finishing my sentence for me.

  “Is most likely a part of Arken's faction. One of his men are in collusion with the Heretics.”

  His eyes narrowed, crossing his arms against his chest.

  “But the problem is, finding out which one is the traitor - and not alerting him that he’s been found out. We can either torture him, which I highly doubt that Heretic hasn't accounted for. Or we monitor him, and wait until he gets in contact. Even with this knowledge, twelve hours may just not be enough…”

  He sighed then, the faintest crack in his iron mask, before dismissing it with a wave of his hand. “But that is my job now. Not yours. You’ve done enough.” His eyes lingered on me, softer, though the weight never lifted. “It’s unfortunate you can’t have your initiation ceremony under better circumstances.”

  I nodded faintly, the words bitter in my throat. “…And if you can’t find the Bishop in time? If you can’t find the traitor?”

  The Regent’s eyes returned to the map. His voice was quiet, but heavy as a bell toll.

  “Then, Damian… most likely, we face utter calamity.”