The air in the cold archive was still thick with the tension of their confrontation when the heavy thud of armored boots echoed down the stone corridor. The four of them instinctively shifted into a defensive formation—Killian's hand on his hilt, Alaric stepping in front of the women, and Eveline's fingers sparking with a preparatory light.
But it wasn't a cultist who emerged from the shadows.
A young knight of the New Guard stumbled into the candlelight, breathless and pale. He stopped short, his eyes darting between the Imperial knight Commander and the Holy Knight Commander standing in a pile of rubble in the middle of the night.
"Commander Killian... Sir Alaric," the messenger gasped, bowing low. "I have been searching for you for hours. The Palace is in an uproar."
"What happened?" Seraphina stepped forward, her voice sharp. "Has there been an attack?"
"No, My Lady," the knight replied, still catching his breath. "But the Emperor has issued an emergency summons. He requires the four of you at the castle immediately. He said... he said the 'vines of the past have reached the throne.'"
The four companions shared a look of grim understanding. The secrecy they had been trying to maintain was already unraveling.
"He knows," Eveline whispered. "The Emperor isn't a fool. If Killian was finding black parchment in the archives, the Imperial Spies were likely finding it in the noble houses."
"We were supposed to infiltrate the cult's cell tonight," Alaric grumbled, looking at the map of the lower city. "If we go to the Palace now, we lose the element of surprise. The cult has eyes everywhere; they'll see us entering the royal gates."
"We don't have a choice," Killian said, his voice a low growl. "If the Emperor is calling us out by name in the middle of the night, it means the threat has moved beyond a few disgruntled priests. It's inside the walls."
They left the archive, but they didn't go as the humble builders the city had seen for the past year. As they walked toward the Palace, the atmosphere shifted.
Alaric adjusted his cloak, the silver sun of his Holy Knight crest catching the moonlight. Killian's face settled into the cold, lethal mask of the Commander who had once held off entire armies. Seraphina and Eveline walked with the poise of women who had looked death in the face and refused to blink.
As they crossed the inner courtyard, the guards—men Alaric had trained—stood at stiff attention. There was a heaviness in the air, the same feeling that preceded the Great Fire in the first life.
The heavy doors of the throne room swung open. The Emperor was not sitting on his throne; he was standing by a massive window, looking out over the sleeping city. Beside him stood Duke Astra, his face etched with a worry that made him look ten years older.
"You're late," the Emperor said without turning around.
"We were busy doing your Spies' work for them, Your Majesty," Seraphina replied, her voice echoing in the vast hall.
The Emperor turned, holding a piece of parchment that looked identical to the ones Killian had found. "Then you know. The 'Order of the Final Breath' isn't just a cult of peasants. They've reached the High Council. They've poisoned the festival's wine and compromised the guard."
He looked at the four of them, his gaze lingering on Alaric and Killian. "I didn't call you here to protect me. I called you here because I am officially authorizing a 'Purge of the Shadows.' Tonight, you are no longer builders. You are the four pillars of this Empire."
The Emperor handed Killian a golden seal—the authority to command every knight in the city.