The horses climbed the winding road toward the Baron's manor, hooves striking cobblestone in rhythm.

  Behind them, the Arlen River caught the Emberveil Nebula, its light shimmering across the dark water. From this height, all of Veilmouth lay spread below. The marble domes of the Grand Athenaeum gleamed to the north, their brilliance drowning out everything else. Lowtown was barely visible beyond the river, swallowed by that radiance and eclipsed entirely.

  The manor rose before them, its weathered stone dark with age, ivy climbing its walls. The clock tower jutted from the central structure, its face catching the nebula’s pale gold light.

  Dalen raised a hand at the gate.

  Two guards straightened. “Cap’n. Didn’t expect you back at the crack of dawn.”

  “Things have changed.” Dalen said as he dismounted.

  The guard’s eyes shifted to the ash-covered survivors. His hand tightened on his sword. “Sir, what—”

  “The Baron must be made aware. Open the gate.”

  Iron groaned. The gate swung inward.

  Dalen turned to the riders. “You lot, dismissed. Double the patrols everywhere. Eyes on every road to the ruins. If anything moves, I want to know. Nobody goes in or out without my word.”

  “Captain.” The soldiers saluted and rode off.

  Only two remained, the ones who had carried Selene and Selis. They helped them both down.

  Selene’s feet touched the cobblestone. Aldric’s ankle gave out, and she caught herself against the horse, breathing through the pain.

  The gate clanged shut.

  They stood in the courtyard, wide and open, paved in old stone settled unevenly over decades. At its center rose an ancient tree, bare and black, its branches spreading overhead like a skeletal canopy. Its roots pushed through the paving stones in patient defiance. The old wood creaked softly in the night wind, a sound older than the manor itself.

  Lanterns hung from iron posts, painting everything amber. The smell of lamp oil drifted across the courtyard.

  Dalen gestured to the two soldiers. “Stay here with them. I will see the Baron.”

  He studied Aldric’s face in the lamplight for a moment. Something flickered across his expression—the main manor door swung open wide.

  A servant emerged, early thirties, his leather apron stained. He carried a lantern, making his rounds, and froze when he saw Dalen.

  “Captain?” His voice cracked. “Didn’t expect you back at this hour—”

  His eyes found Selene and Selis. The lantern trembled. The smell of oil grew stronger, and Selis flinched, a sharp intake of breath as the memory of burning canvas flickered behind her eyes. She pressed the journal harder against her chest.

  “Get inside,” Dalen said, already moving toward the door. “The Baron must be woken. It concerns the camp at the ruins.”

  The servant’s color drained. “Captain, the Baron won’t like being disturbed. He was up late, and when I brought his wine—”

  “Wake him.” Dalen’s fingers drummed against his sword pommel. Once. Twice. Still. “It’s urgent.”

  The servant swallowed hard, nodded, and disappeared inside.

  Dalen followed.

  Silence settled.

  The soldier beside Selene cleared his throat. “You need to sit, or—”

  “I’m fine,” Selene said quietly. Aldric’s voice, rough and measured.

  Beside her, Selis stood perfectly still. A fresh line of blood traced down her cheek, a crimson tear catching the lamplight.

  The soldier beside her watched the blood trail down her face. His tongue ran across his bottom teeth, brown and soft at the roots. His eyes tracked from the blood to her chest, then lower, lingering. When Selis shifted, his gaze snapped back to her face, a wet smile spreading to reveal too many of those rotten teeth.

  Selis did not hesitate, nor did she flinch at the soldier’s lingering gaze. “How long,” she said evenly, “were you watching the camp?”

  The soldiers stiffened. The one beside Selene shifted his weight, his boot scraping stone.

  The one with the rotten teeth frowned. “Don’t know what you mean, miss.”

  “You arrived too late. You were watching from a distance, were you not?”

  "Cap'n doesn't share his business with the likes of us."

  Selene's hands clenched. "Cowards," she said quietly. Aldric's voice carried the word like a blade. "Waiting for the smoke to clear before showing your faces."

  The soldier’s expression shifted. His hand tightened on his sword.

  “Leave it,” Selis said, her tone sharp but controlled.

  Selene said nothing, but her disgust hung in the air between them.

  Selis’s mouth set, and she fell silent.

  Minutes stretched. Above them, the clock tower marked time that felt increasingly meaningless.

  Then it stuttered—clack… pause… clack—and everyone flinched at the broken rhythm.

  The soldiers remained at their posts, hands on their weapons. They watched prisoners, not survivors.

  Then—footsteps. Heavy. Uneven. Careless.

  “This better be bloody important, Dalen! D’you have any idea what hour it is? That bloody fuckin’ tower’s still chiming off-rhythm and—”

  Baron Arvane stumbled through the doors and stopped dead.

  He was large, with a round face and a thick, unevenly trimmed beard. His red tunic was richly patterned but rumpled, thrown on without care. A fur-lined cloak hung crookedly from his shoulders. His belt strained around his belly.

  His eyes were red-rimmed. Wine lingered on his breath.

  "What—Dalen, who are these people? Why're they covered in ash?"

  Dalen stepped forward. "Survivors from the excavation camp. The camp was destroyed. They're all we found alive."

  The Baron stared. One hand reached for his beard, murmuring as he said, “Destroyed. You’re sayin’ the entire camp—”

  "Burned. Bodies everywhere. Craters in the earth. Something attacked them."

  "Something." The Baron's face flushed. "What kind of bloody something?"

  “They said,” he said, pointing to Selene and Selis, “shadows moved through the camp, and after that came fire that burned everything.”

  The Baron’s eyes lingered on Selis, on the dried blood tears and her unnaturally bright eyes. His mouth twisted faintly. As they watched, another tear of blood welled and traced down her face.

  “Shadows and fire. And you two just… what, walked out?” His voice rose slightly, then stopped. For a moment, his red-rimmed eyes cleared. “Survivors of impossible things are either blessed, cursed, or lying.”

  His fingers found his belt. He shoved it higher, adjusting it as his belly shifted in a slow, uneasy roll beneath the fabric.

  Selis met his stare. "Yes."

  Selene said nothing. She just stood in Aldric’s broken body, exhaustion pressing down like stone.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Her gaze drifted upward, to the clock tower. Eldric’s work. The gears he’d designed, the mechanism he’d perfected. Eighteen years of steady rhythm, now broken.

  The Baron followed her eyes. His face darkened.

  "That," he said bitterly, "has been the ultimate bloody humiliation from the Athenaeum."

  The words slipped out before Selene could stop them. "It helped everyone keep time together. That's what it was meant to do."

  Her shoulders squared, her anger bleeding through his borrowed features and sharpening the lines of his face.

  The Baron laughed, short and sharp, edged with something ugly.

  He walked to the courtyard’s edge, where the entire town spread below. The Athenaeum gleamed to the north. Lowtown was barely visible beyond it, swallowed by scholarly light. Behind him, the ancient black tree groaned in the wind, its roots having long ago shattered stonework around it.

  “That fuckin’ tower,” he said, staring down at it all, “was meant to control people. To tell ’em when to work, when to think, when to take a shit. And now it can’t even do that right.”

  Selis glanced at Selene, the faintest shake of her head. Selene understood, relaxed, and said nothing.

  The Baron stood there a moment longer, breathing hard. The soldiers exchanged glances.

  Then he turned back, his red-rimmed eyes finding hers.

  “So tell me,” he said, his voice rough. “What do you see? When you look at this miserable fucking place from up here, what do you see?”

  "I see Veilmouth," Selene said quietly.

  The Baron laughed—sharp, bitter. "That's fuckin' obvious, ain't it? Are you really a scholar?"

  He stepped closer, wine-heavy breath visible in the cold air. "What else do you see?"

  Selene's eyes moved across the town below. "I see the Grand Athenaeum of Veilmouth."

  She said nothing else.

  The Baron waited. “And?” His head tilted slightly, one eyebrow raised.

  "I don't see anything else."

  “Bloody exactly!” He pointed down toward the southern bank, toward the darkness where Lowtown sat, swallowed by the Athenaeum’s light. “That’s the whole bloody point, innit? They made sure of it.”

  He turned back to the courtyard, pacing now, anger building in his voice. “When that clock tower was built, they put up a plaque commemoratin’ the builders. You know what it said? It listed every scholar, every engineer who worked on the design. But not a single name of the people who actually built the fuckin’ thing. Not one mason. Not one labourer. Not one pair of hands that lifted stone.”

  His voice rose, rough with years of resentment. He kicked at one of the tree roots breaking through the stones, the ancient wood unmoved by his fury.

  “Those egocentric bastards sittin’ in the Athenaeum dome—they’re good with words. Convinced me to put this tower here. Said people would remember me. Said it’d be a legacy.” He laughed again, uglier this time. “But it was just another plot to humiliate me, weren’t it? They use me to take the blame when bad shit happens in this village. Didn’t put my name on the plaque when it worked—oh no. But when it breaks?”

  He gestured violently toward the tower. “When it breaks, it’s the Baron’s clock tower, innit? When somethin’ don’t work, it’s the Baron’s fault.”

  Above them, the clock chimed—clack... clack-clack... pause—and everyone flinched at the broken rhythm.

  His eyes locked on Selene, furious. “Well? Tell me again—what is this cursed tower supposed to do?”

  Selene opened her mouth, Aldric’s lips forming around words. She glanced quickly at Selis, who did not look away. She closed it again and said nothing.

  The Baron held her gaze a moment longer, then turned away, staring at them both. The soldiers shifted uneasily.

  “Two survivors,” he muttered. “From a camp full of the Athenaeum’s best and brightest. All dead except…” His eyes narrowed, his hands jerking toward them both. “Except you two.”

  The ancient tree creaked ominously in the wind, as if acknowledging some dark decision forming.

  “Maybe this is finally my moment,” he said, his voice rising with desperate hope as he looked up at the nebula above. “Where this fuckin’ town will finally recognise somethin’ good that I’ve done. We’ll solve this mystery about the scholars camp.” His voice grew stronger, more certain. “The answer’s right fuckin’ in front of us, ain’t it? Somebody’s gotta be responsible.”

  He gestured toward Selene and Selis with sudden decision. “Take ’em to the dungeon.”

  Dalen’s fingers drummed against his sword pommel. Once. Twice. Still. “My lord.”

  He turned to the soldiers. "You heard him."

  The two soldiers moved forward, hands already reaching for Selene and Selis.

  "Wait." Dalen's voice cut through the movement. His eyes fixed on the charred journal still pressed against Selis's chest. "The book. Hand it over."

  Selis's fingers tightened around it.

  "It's evidence," Dalen said flatly. "Could tell us what happened before the fire."

  "It's all I have left of him." Her voice was quiet but steady.

  "Your sentiment won't bring him back." Dalen extended his hand. "The book. Now."

  Selis didn't move.

  The soldier with the rotten teeth stepped closer, his hand drifting toward his weapon, though his eyes never left Selis’s. His mouth twitched with that same wet, unsettling expression. “Miss, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

  For a long moment, Selis just stood there, blue eyes unnaturally bright in the lantern light, clutching the journal as if it were the only thing keeping her upright.

  Then, slowly, she held it out.

  Dalen took it carefully, noting the charred leather and the brass corners that had preserved what remained. He opened it briefly—pages brittle, some burned beyond reading, but enough survived. Equations. Observations. And something else. Diagrams that made his expression change.

  He closed it and tucked it under his arm.

  “Take them below.”

  The Baron laughed as the order was carried out, the sound rough and pleased, echoing across the courtyard.

  The soldiers gripped Selene’s and Selis’s arms, firm and unyielding. There was no room for resistance.

  The dungeon lay beneath the manor’s oldest wing, stone stairs descending into cold darkness.

  The soldiers led them down, boots echoing off narrow walls. Torchlight threw their shadows long and twisted across ancient stonework.

  At the bottom, a corridor stretched between cells, most of them empty, doors hanging open on rusted hinges.

  The soldiers stopped at the last cell. The door was ancient iron, its surface eaten through with rust, orange and brown oxidation spreading like disease across the metal. Red-brown flakes drifted to the floor as they swung it open. It groaned, metal scraping stone, then stood waiting.

  “In you go,” the soldier with the rotten teeth said, gesturing with his weapon.

  Selene limped inside. Selis followed, moving like someone who'd forgotten how to feel anything at all.

  The soldier continued to grin as he pulled the door shut, torchlight flickering across his face. More rust flakes fell from the hinges, settling like dried blood on the stones.

  “Don’t worry, loves,” he said, a quick laugh scraping out of him. “The Baron’ll sort you out proper in the mornin’.”

  His eyes crawled over Selis, lingering on her eyes. “With eyes like that?” He ran his tongue along his rotten teeth, grinning. “Bet you’ll be his personal pet soon enough—warmin’ the lord’s bed while he decides what to do with you.”

  He jerked his chin toward Selene. “And you? Old man?” His laugh was sharp as a knife. “Dawn’ll come quicker than your lies. He’ll have you swingin’ from the gallows before you can open that scholarly mouth to defend yourself. Perfect solution, ain’t it? Scapegoat sorted.”

  The other soldier spat on the stones near Selene’s boots. “Scholars. Always pokin’ at shit that ain’t theirs. Look where it got you.”

  He continued on, chuckling darkly. “Pity about the camp, though. All them bodies…” He winked. “But the Baron gets two birds with one cage.”

  Their laughter faded up the stairs, swallowed by darkness as the torchlight vanished.

  Darkness reclaimed the dungeon, thick and cold, smelling of wet stone and old iron. The chill seeped through the stones, creeping into their bones. Somewhere in the distance, water dripped, a steady, broken rhythm echoing through the dark.

  Selene sank to the ground, Aldric’s twisted ankle screaming. Ash drifted from his tattered coat, settling on the damp stone. “He’s going to use us,” she said through clenched breath, Aldric’s voice grating with exhaustion. “Blame us for the ruins. Solve his mystery with our necks.”

  Selis stood rigid by the door, her silhouette sharp against the weak light filtering through the high window. Her fingers traced the rusted bars absently, and more oxidized flakes fell away at her touch.

  “Yes.”

  “We can’t prove otherwise.”

  A long silence stretched. Selis turned slowly, her blood-marked eyes finding Selene in the gloom. She moved closer, then sank down opposite Selene, her movements deliberate and controlled.

  She held her hands up before her face, studying them in the faint light. Her fingers trembled slightly.

  “Do you believe in design?” she asked quietly, her voice strange—clinical and reverent at once.

  Selene blinked. “What?”

  “That things have purpose. An architect guiding events.” Selis turned her hands slowly, watching the divine blood move through her veins beneath her skin. “Corvan believed the universe could be understood through patterns. Mathematics. Logic.” Her voice softened. “I believed those patterns were expressions of divine intent. That faith and reason weren’t opposed—they were two languages describing the same truth.”

  She lowered her hands and looked at Selene. Really looked, her blue eyes tracing Aldric’s borrowed features with unsettling focus.

  “I know you consumed his blood and became him.” Her eyes didn’t waver. “Your blood entered me, and now I see things I shouldn’t be able to see. My wounds heal impossibly fast. Even when I close my eyes, I can still… see—” She paused. “There’s an architecture here.”

  “What do you mean?” Selene said.

  Selis was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice carried something new, something that sounded almost like prayer.

  “That divinity doesn’t live in temples or unreachable heavens.” She gestured vaguely upward, blood tears catching the faint light, then lowered her hand to rest against her chest. “It lives in blood. Within you.”

  The words hung in the cold air between them.

  Anger and exhaustion warred within Selene. She wanted to scream that this was a parasite, a monster in disguise, not divine. That she was a killer wearing a dead man’s skin, not some divine entity.

  But Aldric’s body was too heavy. Too broken.

  “Come here,” Selis said softly, shifting position. “Rest properly.”

  Selene tried to protest, but her borrowed limbs were already moving, drawn by exhaustion more than will. She let herself slide down, settling beside Selis.

  Selis guided her gently, letting Selene’s head rest in her lap. Her fingers brushed ash from Aldric’s hair, then pressed deeper—nails dragging slowly through the strands, fingertips kneading against the scalp in deliberate circles that lingered.

  "Rest," she murmured, her eyes never leaving Selene's borrowed face. "Dawn will come soon enough. And with it, judgement."

  Selene tried to form words. Aldric’s lips moved. Nothing came.

  From Selene’s coat, the pocket watch ticked. It pulsed against her chest. Constant. Faithful.

  Exhaustion dragged her down beneath the weight of burned flesh, and Selis’s conviction.

  Deep in the Baron’s dungeon, trapped in a dead man’s form, Selene sank into oblivion. The rusted cell door stood sentinel in the darkness, its corroded surface waiting like kindling for a spark that might yet come.

  Above her, Selis sat watchful and devoted in the dark, her bright eyes unblinking, untouched by the cold. Her fingers moved gently through Aldric’s hair, studying the borrowed face of her goddess in the grim silence.

  In that darkness, as exhaustion finally claimed her, Selene’s mind drifted backward, away from the dungeon, away from Aldric’s broken body, away from everything she had become.

  She was in Eldric’s tent again. Lamplight flickering against canvas walls. The warmth of the brazier. Corvan’s laughter. Selis’s quiet smile. The clink of bottles and the familiar comfort of normalcy, that perfect moment before the world had torn itself apart.

  Before the fire. Before the blood. Before the sword.

  But even in memory, shadows began to gather at the edges of the light.