The moment the heavy oak doors of the royal solar slammed shut, Kaelen's legs gave out. He collapsed, his silver gauntlets clattering against the marble floor. The Blade of Dawn remained sheathed, but it pulsed with a rhythmic, violet hunger that visible even through the scabbard.
"It's... it's eating me alive," Kaelen choked out, clawing at his throat. His face, which had looked so radiant moments ago, was now grey and gaunt. "The priests... they said it would be a blessing. But I feel like a hollow shell."
Lia stood over him, her silhouette elongated by the flickering candlelight. She didn't kneel to help him. Instead, she watched him with a clinical, detached pity—the look of a gardener deciding which branch to prune.
"The priests are fools, Kaelen," Lia said, her voice echoing with a cold resonance that wasn't entirely her own. "They worship a sun that has already set. What you feel isn't death—it's recalibration."
She stepped forward and placed her hand on his trembling shoulder. Kaelen gasped as a surge of cold, indigo energy flowed from her palm into his veins. For a second, the agonizing suction of the sword stopped. The pain vanished, replaced by a numbing, artificial strength.
Kaelen looked up at her, his eyes bloodshot. "You... you can stop it? Who are you truly? In my visions, you were a sage of light, but your touch... it feels like the void."
Lia smiled, a thin, sharp line. "The light failed us in the last life, Kaelen. I've found a much more... efficient patron. If you want to keep that crown on your head and that sword in your hand without turning to ash, you will listen to me. And through me, you will listen to Him."
Kaelen clutched the edge of a mahogany table, pulling himself up. He felt the 'Leash' tighten around his soul, but the relief from the pain was so addictive he didn't care. "Who is 'Him'?"
Lia turned toward the window, looking at the moons. "The one who owns the farm, Kaelen. And he has a task for his favorite reaper."