The air above the tomb smelled like burnt parchment and old incense—familiar, but wrong.
Kael emerged first, climbing through a ruined sewer grate behind an abandoned apothecary in the lower city of Solmereth. Leonis followed silently, his breath misting in the air despite the warm spring night.
Neither of them spoke for the first full minute.
The city was too quiet.
No footsteps. No merchants. No priests droning in the distance. Only the distant crack of banners caught in the wind—ripped and snapping overhead.
Leonis looked up.
And froze.
There—across the entire side of the outer temple wall—was a massive woven banner. His face, stylized and severe, stitched in black and crimson. Across the top in holy script:
"BEWARE THE UNHOLY PRINCE."
Below it, another line:
"REWARD: 300,000 BLOOD COINS – DEAD ONLY."
Kael whistled low. "Well. That didn't take long."
Leonis didn't answer. His face showed no emotion, but his fingers twitched slightly at his sides.
They moved through the alley, cutting through shadows and side passages. Every wall was painted in ash-gray symbols—wards, divine marks, binding glyphs hastily carved by temple zealots. Even the commonfolk's doorframes had been marked.
The people weren't fighting.
They were preparing.
Afraid.
Kael stopped as they passed an abandoned prayer square. Someone had written in charcoal across the prayer stones:
"He rose from the pit. He walks without breath."
Below it:
A sigil drawn in blood.
A chained sun.
Leonis's mark.
Kael muttered, "They're making you a myth already."
Leonis looked at the symbol and knelt beside it, tracing the lines with one finger. The blood was still wet.
Not a warning.
A message.
"They're listening," he said quietly.
Kael blinked. "Who?"
Leonis stood. "The ones the gods couldn't kill. The ones they buried instead."
Kael scanned the rooftops. "You think they're watching us?"
Leonis didn't answer. But he turned left—not toward the palace, or the main gate—but into the deeper warrens of the lower city. He moved with purpose.
Kael followed. "Where are we going?"
"To find the others," Leonis said.
"Others?"
"The ones who know what it means to come back wrong."
As they walked, the temperature dipped.
Shadows grew longer.
And up ahead, at the edge of the merchant district, a young girl stumbled into the street—dressed in travel-stained robes, a courier's bag slung over one shoulder.
She saw them.
Her eyes widened.
And she ran.
Leonis moved without a word. A flicker of shadow beneath his feet—Gravewalk activated—and he vanished from Kael's sight.
When he reappeared, he stood behind the girl, one hand gently on her shoulder.
She froze.
Trembling.
"Please," she whispered. "I'm just a messenger."
Kael caught up, blades ready, but didn't strike.
Leonis looked into the girl's eyes.
"You've seen my face on the banners."
She nodded slowly. "They gave us orders. If we see you, we run. Scream. Or die."
"Who gave the order?"
"High Priest Varion. And… and Lady Celianne."
At the name, something flickered in Leonis's expression.
Kael saw it.
He asked, "What message were you carrying?"
The girl swallowed. "Not a message. A map. To the ruins where they say the Crimson Order hides."
Leonis lowered his hand.
Then offered it again—open palm. "Give it to me."
She hesitated. Then slowly, reverently, reached into her bag and handed him a scroll sealed in wax with a symbol: a burning eye inside a broken wheel.
Kael leaned in. "That's not a temple mark."
"No," Leonis murmured. "It's a war brand."
He looked back at the girl. "You told the truth."
"I swear—please—don't kill me."
"I won't."
Then he leaned closer and whispered something Kael couldn't hear.
The girl's eyes went wide.
She turned and ran.
"What did you tell her?" Kael asked.
Leonis didn't look away from the scroll. "To spread a new message."
Kael waited.
And Leonis finally said:
"Tell them the prince isn't running anymore. He's building something."