High Inquisitor Kaelen of the Silver Flame stood before the entrance of the dungeon, clutching a leather satchel to her chest like a holy shield.
She had been gone for a few days.
Days of filing reports. Days of lying to the Bishop. Days of explaining why she hadn't purged the "Anomaly" in the mountains.
"It is a strategic asset," she had told the High Council. "A vassal state. I am monitoring it for heresy. Closely."
Monitoring.
That was the official term.
Unofficially, she was hyperventilating.
She stared at the heavy stone doors. She remembered the ride on the horse. She remembered the cold press of his chest against her back armor. She remembered the way his corrupted mana felt, like ice water poured over a sunburn. It was wrong. It was heretical.
It was the only thing she could think about.
