Chapter 26 – The Ink That Bleeds
[Location: The Golden Spire – Capital City of Eins]
The Capital didn't smell like the North. It didn't smell of pine, sand, or blood.
It smelled of lavender and drying parchment.
In the Hall of Records, silence was not a weapon; it was a rule.
Three thousand scribes sat in rows that stretched into the darkness of the vaulted ceiling. They were the "Ink Veins" of the Kingdom. Every birth, every death, every debt paid in the Eins Kingdom was recorded here.
If it wasn't written, it didn't happen.
High Scribe Morel dipped his quill into a pot of gold-flecked ink. He was transcribing the daily tax reports from the House of The Brute.
He wrote the name of a Captain: Captain Vorian.
The ink hit the paper.
And then, it screamed.
It was a faint, high-pitched sound, like a kettle boiling over.
Morel frowned. He watched the name Vorian shimmer on the page.
The letters twisted. They unspooled like dying snakes. The gold ink turned a necrotic, oily black.
Then, the name dissolved.
It became a puddle of black sludge that dripped off the parchment and onto Morel's pristine white robe.
"What in the..." Morel whispered, dabbing at the stain. It felt cold. Like ice.
"Scribe Morel!"
Morel jumped.
Standing over him was a man who cast no shadow or rather, his shadow moved independently, flickering against the marble pillars like a trapped bird.
High Lord Vane, Master of the House of Mystery.
Vane was old, his face a map of wrinkles hidden behind a veil of silk. He smelled of old books and arsenic.
"My Lord," Morel stammered, bowing so low his nose touched the desk. "I... the ink... it spoiled."
"The ink is fine," Vane whispered, his voice sounding like dry leaves skittering on stone. "The truth is spoiled."
Vane reached out a withered hand, adorned with seven rings, and touched the black puddle on the desk.
"Captain Vorian died three days ago at the Weeping Pass," Vane said softly. "Along with five hundred others."
Morel's eyes went wide. "But... the King's Edict... The King said the expedition never left!"
"Precisely," Vane smiled. It was a reptile's smile. "The King erased them from history to hide his failure. But the World remembers. The World is bleeding, Morel. The King creates a lie, and the Truth rots the paper."
Suddenly, the great iron doors of the Hall burst open.
The temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees.
The scribes gasped, dropping their quills.
King Lazarus entered.
He did not walk; he glided. He was a being of pure definition. His skin was flawless alabaster, glowing with an inner light. Floating around his head was a halo of runic script, constantly rewriting itself.
ORDER. LAW. TRUTH.
Lazarus ignored the bowing scribes. He walked straight to Morel's desk.
He looked at the black stain.
"High Lord Vane," Lazarus said. His voice was beautiful and terrifying. It sounded like a choir of one. "You linger where you are not needed."
"I am merely observing the... glitch, Your Majesty," Vane replied, bowing deeply, though his shadow on the wall remained standing, crossing its arms defiantly.
Lazarus dipped a finger into the black sludge.
"It is not a glitch. It is an infection."
The King raised his hand.
"Purge."
White fire erupted from his palm.
It didn't burn the desk. It burned the concept of the stain.
The black sludge vanished.
But so did the scroll. And the desk. And Scribe Morel.
One second, the scribe was there. The next, he was simply... gone. No ash. No body. He had been edited out of existence.
The other scribes didn't scream. They were too terrified. They kept their heads down, scribbling faster.
Lazarus turned to Vane.
"The Nameless One is moving North," the King stated. "He thinks he has found a sanctuary in the silence."
"A minor nuisance," Vane lied smoothly. "Surely the Brutes can handle a boy."
"The Brutes are blunt instruments," Lazarus said, wiping his hand on the air itself, which cleaned his skin. "This boy does not fight with swords. He fights with unmaking. He requires a surgeon."
Lazarus looked at Vane's flickering shadow.
"Summon the House of Shadows. Tell the Eclipse that I have a job for her."
Vane's eyes narrowed slightly. "The Eclipse? My Lord, she is unstable. If you unleash her, she will not just kill the boy. She will darken the entire North."
"Let it go dark," Lazarus said, turning his back. "If I cannot write my name on the North... then no one will see it at all."
He walked out, leaving Vane standing in the silent hall.
The High Lord of Mystery waited until the King was gone. Then he smiled.
"Let it go dark," Vane whispered to himself. "Darkness is where I do my best work."