The doors of Zefar's throne room loomed above me, black stone etched with jagged sigils that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight.
The air was thick with the acrid tang of smoke rising from Babel below, curling into the high ceiling like restless fingers.
Somewhere, metal rang—a hammer on steel, far off, precise, and unnerving. The city hummed beneath me, a low vibration crawling up my spine.
My teeth tingled. Somewhere beyond the walls, a train screamed past, tearing the quiet into pieces. Even the sunlight had weight, searing through the narrow windows, catching on dust and particles floating like fireflies.
I inhaled. The heat of the sun hit my shoulders. The smell of stone, iron, and smoke filled my lungs. It grounded me.
The polished stone beneath my boots reflected light but made no sound. My cloak clung to me, shadows twisting in its folds.
I stopped at the threshold, hand flexing at my side. Before I could touch the doors, they swung open.
Slowly, deliberately. I stepped inside, alert but steady, every muscle tuned to the possibility of violence.
"Zefar, we need to talk."
The throne was massive, gold catching the light, carved with impossible detail. And there he was. Leaning back, the corners of his mouth tugging upward, amusement dancing across his features.
"Oh, if it isn't my future assassin," he said, voice echoing off the high ceiling, reverberating through my bones. "Have you finally decided my fate?"
I did not smile. Not a twitch. Not a flicker.
Zefar's grin only widened. "I see you're serious as usual. What urgent matter demands my attention?"
I shifted my weight, unsure where to begin. Words felt too small. "It's a complicated mess. Some entity fell from the skies of Oma… and has somehow tricked my people into believing he's some Savior of some kind."
Zefar leaned forward, elbows resting on the throne arms, eyes glinting sharp and probing. "Now that's interesting. Don't stop now. Tell me more."
I didn't like the ease in his tone. My jaw clenched. Fists tightened. "Zefar, the guy's not human. He's convincing them to come after you—and your Summoned."
He shrugged, unbothered. "Have I ever rejected a challenger? They are welcome to try."
Rage ignited in my chest, hot and sudden, spreading like fire beneath skin and bone. "Zefar! It's my people you're talking about!"
He raised a brow, calm, untouchable. "And so?"
I didn't think. I moved. Shadow swallowed me whole, darkness flowing like liquid around my form. In an instant, I covered the distance to his throne. When I emerged, my hands slammed against the golden armrests. Every joint screamed. My knuckles stung. I leaned in, eyes locked with his.
"Have you forgotten I can kill you here and now?" My voice was steel, cold, deliberate.
He met me evenly. No flinch. No fear. "Have you also forgotten I beat you twice in a row? Empty threats don't scare me."
I straightened. Breathed in slowly. Breathed out slowly. Clawing back the control I almost lost. "They call him The Blood of Haven."
Zefar's posture shifted. The casual amusement fled, replaced by something darker, sharper. His eyes narrowed. "What's his name?"
"Arinthal," I said.
The chamber went silent. Not a creak. Not a hum. Just the hum of Babel, muted now behind the walls. Then Zefar's head tilted back. His eyes caught the high ceiling. Laughter spilled out of him—low, chilling, uncontrolled. It filled the space like smoke, curling in the corners, sharp as broken glass.
"The Heavens be damned," he said.
And then he stopped. Abruptly. Maniacal. "Get me Eva."
I froze. Cold knuckles white on the armrests.
Confusion cut like a blade.
"How the hell is summoning your maid going to help us? You're barely this serious in a warzone. Zefar, tell me what Arinthal is."
He rose from the throne, moving like a predator. Long strides. Predatory grace. "Eva isn't just some maid. And with all due respect… you're dismissed."
Dismissed.
I stepped forward, shoulder moving to block him, to force him to answer.
He caught it.
Pain exploded in my wrist as he snapped it effortlessly. The sound echoed in my head like a whip cracking.
My vision blurred, hot shock blooming up my arm. He shoved me back into the throne seat. I landed hard. Leather bit my skin. My breath caught, hot and sharp.
"Get to Naya before it ruptures," he said, voice calm, unshaken, as if he were commenting on the weather. "I'm sure there's lots you two need to talk about."
I stayed seated. Coiled tight. Every fiber of me wanted to reach for my dagger, sink it into his back. But I didn't. I had no leverage. Not here. Not yet.
The doors swung closed behind him. The roar of Babel returned, low, insistent. Machines clanged. Smoke stung my nose. The train screamed past. The air felt thick, heavy with heat and soot.
I could taste iron on my tongue. Could feel the leather of the throne biting into my thighs. My wrist throbbed. My shoulder ached where he shoved me. My fingers flexed.
Why Eva?
What could she possibly have to do with this?
My shadow pooled at my feet, restless. I could hear the faintest scrape of stone as it shifted. The silence inside my chest was worse than any battle noise.
Every instinct screamed, every muscle tightened, but the answers weren't mine to take yet.
I exhaled, letting my breath fog the air. The temperature inside the room dropped suddenly, or maybe it was just me noticing the chill now.
The scent of smoke and metal pressed into my senses. My heart still hammered.
Eva. Naya. Arinthal.
Their names rolled off my tongue.
Outside the walls, Babel moved, alive and indifferent. Sunlight caught on the edges of the towers. Smoke rose from hundreds of chimneys, stinging my nostrils.
The distant clatter of machinery beat against the city's rhythm. Somewhere, a bell rang, sharp and metallic. I could feel the vibration through my boots, up my spine.
I wanted to scream. Wanted to move. Wanted to leap through the doors, grab Zefar, shake the truth out of him.
But I didn't.
I stayed. Seated. Breathing. Counting the pulse in my wrist and the bite of heat on my shoulders. I would surely get back at Zefar for this. That was my petty promise.