Chapter 11
The tension in the plaza snapped like a bowstring. Just as the High Priest opened his mouth to denounce Seraphina as a deluded heretic, the heavy oak doors behind him on the Great Balcony burst open.
A figure stumbled out, his silver-and-white Holy Knight armor scorched and splattered with dark blood.
"Alaric!" Seraphina's cry was lost in the collective gasp of the crowd.
Alaric was barely upright. He leaned heavily against the stone balustrade, his breath coming in ragged, wet rattles. In his left hand, he clutched a bundle of scorched parchments—the ledgers of the High Priest's secret tithes and the signed contracts for the Duke's assassination. With a snarl of defiance, he hurled the papers over the edge. They caught the wind, fluttering down into the hands of the stunned citizens like white birds of omen.
"The Holy Knight... he's bleeding!" someone in the crowd shouted.
Killian tightened his grip on Seraphina's hand, his eyes scanning the balcony for the "Silent Brothers" who must have been hunting Alaric. "Thorne, move up! Protect the base of the stairs!"
Alaric locked eyes with Killian and Seraphina. He didn't look triumphant; he looked terrified. He ignored the High Priest, who was shrinking back in horror at the evidence falling into the hands of the people. Alaric crawled toward the edge of the balcony, his voice hoarse and desperate.
"Killian! Seraphina!" he wheezed, coughing up blood that stained his white surcoat. "The Priest... he wasn't just trying to take the throne. He was a distraction!"
Seraphina felt a cold sweat break out across her skin. In her past life, the story ended with her death and the Priest's rule. She had never known what lay beyond that curtain of shadow.
"What are you talking about, Alaric?" Killian roared over the rising murmur of the crowd.
"The Southern border," Alaric choked out, pointing a trembling hand toward the horizon. "I found the letters in the inner sanctum. The High Priest didn't just bribe the coachman... he sold the gates. He made a pact with the Shadow Legion of the Barren Wastes. They aren't waiting for the Emperor to die. They're already here."
As if summoned by his words, a low, guttural horn blasted from the distance—not the silver clarion of the Empire, but a sound that felt like grinding bone. The ground beneath the plaza began to vibrate.
"The High Priest invited them in to 'purify' the city once he took control," Alaric gasped, his eyes beginning to glaze over from blood loss. "They are less than a league from the walls. Thousands of them. We've fought for the throne... but we've forgotten to guard the door."
The High Priest suddenly laughed, a high, thin sound of pure madness. "If I cannot rule a holy city, I will rule a graveyard! The Light was never meant for the likes of you!"
Killian pulled Seraphina behind him, his sword glowing with a fierce, desperate light. The chemistry of their touch changed—it was no longer just about love or the past; it was the spark of two survivors realizing the world was ending in a way they hadn't predicted.
"Alaric, hold on!" Seraphina screamed, her heart breaking for her friend.
"I can't," Alaric whispered, falling to his knees as the crowd began to scream. "The threat... it's not the Priest anymore. It's the dark. Killian... save her. Save the Empire."