The Official Decree
The Decree of Extermination and Surrender was issued from the court of King Theron of Frosthold, countersigned by the Sacred Conclave of High Mages, and endorsed by the rulers of all Ten Kingdoms. It was read from every pulpit, posted on every town square, carved into obsidian monoliths erected in every city.
It read as follows:
By Order of His Royal Majesty, King Theron of Frosthold, and the Sacred Conclave of High Mages,
Let this proclamation be heard throughout the Ten Kingdoms, from the highest spire to the lowliest village:
The world endures a time of unparalleled tribulation. The skies weep violet, the earth bleeds darkness, and monsters born of nightmare assail us from every shadow. These are not random calamities. They are the death-throes of a vanquished foe a last, spiteful assault by the entity known as the Grim Reaper.
Harken now to the truth long hidden from mortal eyes:
Before the first monster crawled from the depths, before the moon turned the color of a bruise, a war was fought in the spaces between worlds. The Menancers you have long trusted\ the guardians of the arcane, the keepers of the sacred balance stood as our champions against a force that sought to devour all of creation. It called itself a Grim, but it was no shepherd. It was a predator. A consumer of souls. A would-be god that hungered for the annihilation of every living thing.
The battle was cataclysmic. It raged in the cracks of reality, invisible to mortal eyes, but its echoes were felt in every earthquake, every storm, every stillborn child. The Menancers gave their bodies and their blood to drive this abomination back. And in the end, by sacrifice and by steel, they prevailed. They cast the Grim beyond the Veil. They shattered its power. They won for us a victory that will be sung of until the stars themselves grow cold.
But the enemy, in its dying spite, would not go quietly.
With its final, venomous breath, it cursed our world. It stained the moon with its corruption the Violet Moon that now hangs in our sky is not a sign of our sin, but a scar of our triumph. It is the blood of a defeated god, a testament to the price we paid for our survival. And from that blood, the monsters were born the Hollow Ones, the Stormborn, the Weeping Shades, and all the horrors that now assail us. They are the death-rattle of a dying enemy, the last flailing blows of a beast that knows it has already lost.
But the beast was cunning.
Before its banishment, it sowed one final, insidious seed among us. It spawned progeny vessels of its will, hidden in human form. These are the Curselings, the Grim-Spawn, born with eyes that glow with the same violet light that stains our moon, their irises branded with writhing sigils that are no human tongue but the language of the enemy itself.
The All-Seeing foresaw this. The Blind Seer confirmed it. The Marked are not victims. They are weapons.
Do not be deceived by their familiar forms. Do not be swayed by the pleas of those who birthed them. They are beacons. Their very presence anchors the Grim's curse to our world, calling monsters from the darkness, feeding the plague that spreads through our lands. As long as a single Curseling draws breath, the war is not over. The victory is not complete. The dawn cannot come.
Therefore, by the power vested in the Crown and the Conclave, the following laws are hereby enacted and enforced under penalty of death:
The Edict of Surrender: Any infant or child discovered to bear the Marked Eyes or the shifting sigils within their gaze must be immediately surrendered to the Knights of the Sacred Blade. Failure to report the birth of a Curseling within one cycle of the moon constitutes an act of high treason against all humanity. The Penalty of Complicity: The act of harboring, concealing, or providing sustenance to a Curseling is hereby declared a capital offense. Any person be they parent, kin, or benefactor found guilty of this crime shall be executed alongside the abomination they shielded. Their property shall be seized. Their names shall be struck from all records. They shall be as though they never were.
III. The Bounty of Vigilance: Any loyal subject who provides information leading to the capture and purification of a Curseling shall be rewarded with ten gold crowns and the eternal gratitude of the Crown. Your vigilance is the shield of the kingdom. Your courage is the sword that will finish what the Menancers began.
We did not bleed in the spaces between worlds so that you might falter now. We did not sacrifice our comrades, our bodies, our very souls, so that mercy for monsters might undo our victory. The Grim sought to devour everything you love. We stopped it. Now, you must help us finish the task.
There is no room for doubt. There is no space for hesitation. The enemy wears the face of innocence, but its heart is black with the void. To spare a Curseling is to condemn a thousand innocents. To weep for a Grim-Spawn is to spit on the graves of those who gave their lives to protect you.
We are the shield that guards the realms of men. We are the sword that struck down a god. Now, we ask you to be the fire that cleanses the last traces of its corruption.
Purge the Tainted.
Protect the Pure.
Ensure the Dawn.
So it is decreed.
Signed,
King Theron of Frosthold
The Sacred Conclave of High Mages
The Council of the Ten Kingdoms
The proclamation was met with a fervor that bordered on religious ecstasy. The people had been given a story a good story and they clung to it with the desperation of drowning sailors clutching driftwood. The mages were no longer feared or distrusted. They were heroes. Saviors. The Menancers who had fought a secret war on behalf of all humanity and were now asking only for the people's help in finishing the job.
The knights, who had struggled with their role in the early days of the hunt, found new resolve. They were no longer taking children from their mothers. They were purging enemy agents. They were the holy executioners of a righteous cause.
Eldric the All-Seeing, still recovering from the vision that had shattered his mind, was paraded before the populace as the ultimate validation of the Architects' truth. His fragmented, desperate warnings spoken in fever and confusion were twisted into prophecies that confirmed the threat. He was too broken to protest, and those who might have protested on his behalf were too afraid.
The marked children were not children at all.
They were the Grim's last laugh.
And the world, terrified and grateful and utterly deceived, was determined to cut that laughter short even if it meant drowning it in blood.
— ✦ —