Franklin's boots rang hollow on the polished stone as he and the soldiers crossed the cathedral threshold. The air inside was thick with incense and desperation, a choking blend that clung to his throat. Torchlight flickered off stained‐glass windows depicting ancient rituals that twisted light into grotesque shapes on the walls. Every step forward felt like a descent into another world: one where faith had curdled into fanaticism.
Soldier after soldier filed in behind him, their armor clinking in nervous pace. Banji strode ahead, shoulders thrown back, as if testing his power in every echoing archway. Franklin watched the tyrant's silhouette flicker under vaulted ceilings, laden with carved runes that pulsed with malevolent energy. Women in tattered veils knelt along the side aisles, hands clasped in fervent prayer. Their voices rose in a muted chant, but to Franklin's ears it sounded more like a dirge.
They reached the nave, where a circle of crimson‐soaked tiles framed an altar carved in black marble. Hooded priests chanted beneath Solorth's icon: a coiled serpent with eyes like molten obsidian. Candles guttered, shedding a sickly red glow on the heads bowed low. The bound children from the courtyard sat in the front row, their cords now wound around ancient pillars, binding them in place. Each child's eyes were glazed; some whispered prayers to a god they didn't understand.
Banji advanced to the altar. He raised a chalice, its brim dripping with dark ichor. Franklin felt the pulse of arcane energy radiate from Banji's veins, familiar, poisoned. It was the same necrotic power that had once danced in his blood. He frowned, resisting the urge to reach for the blade at his side. To unleash his power here would expose him. He needed more leverage than brute force.
From the shadows came a soft footfall. A woman's voice, laced with urgency, whispered in his ear: "Franklin."
Franklin's breath stilled. He turned to see Brenda stepping into the flickering light. Her gown, once sumptuous silk, was now muted grey, soot‐stained around the hem. She moved with quiet grace, but her eyes burned with a fierce reckoning. The serpent tattoo curled up her forearm, half hidden beneath scarlet sleeves that betrayed her noble birth.
"Your Grace," she murmured, her voice strained. "This is madness."
Franklin inclined his head. He studied her face, pale, yet unbowed. A single tear carved a streak down her cheek. He slid closer, his heart thrumming at the sight of her. "Brenda," he said, voice low, "why are you here?"
She glanced at Banji, then back at him. "To end it," I found a weakness in the ward's one candle snuffed out, and the ritual collapsed."
Franklin's pulse quickened. This was the chance they needed. He nodded once. "Where?"
Brenda motioned behind a pillar. "Three steps from the altar, on the north side. A single candle burns on a silver stand. Extinguish it, and the wards falter."
He risked a glance at Banji, whose head was bowed in false piety. Franklin stepped away, blending into a shaft of crimson light. Guards shifted positions, creating an impassable ring around the circle. But Brenda's whisper cut through his mind: Trust me.
Franklin slipped between two priests, his feet silent on the stone. He kept his eyes on the candle's glow, an unsteady flame atop a delicately carved stand. The moment he reached it, a sudden surge of power throbbed through the floor beneath his palm. He drew back, heart pounding.
Not yet, he reminded himself.
A guard's voice echoed nearby: "Your Grace!"
Brenda's lips parted in a silent apology. She stepped forward, sweeping the hem of her gown as she approached the guard. "Sir," she said, her voice trembling with feigned emotion, "do not harm him." He is no beggar, he is the true king returned.
The guard hesitated, uncertainty flickering across his features. Banji's chant thundered louder, drowning out all thought. Franklin felt the wards strengthening again. Time was slipping.
He lunged forward, grasping the candle stand with both hands. The guard drew his spear, but before he could strike, Brenda plunged at him, knocking the soldier sideways. The silver stand toppled; flames fizzled into smoke.
The cathedral seemed to convulse. Runes carved into the pillars were fractured with dull cracks. Priests gasped, their chants strangled by the sudden silence. Banji's cry of fury ricocheted through the vaulted ceiling.
Franklin spun, sword drawn. Guards rushed him from every side. He moved like lightning, one swing, a shield shattered; a thrust that drove a man into a pillar. He felt mortal strength surge through him: a borrowed gift from Solorth, momentarily unbound by the faltering wards.
Brenda joined him, blade in hand. Together, they carved a path toward the altar. Candles were guttered, one by one, until the only light came from the serpent's eyes carved in marble. The hushed whispers of magic recoiled, leaving a ringing void.
Banji stood atop the altar steps, face contorted in rage. He raised his hands, summoning darkness that coiled around his fingertips. "Traitor!" he bellowed. "You'll burn for this!"
Franklin ignored the blast of necrotic energy that singed his cloak. He rushed Banji, every strike measured to disarm, not to kill. But Banji's magic flared, shoving Franklin backwards. Franklin stumbled into a cluster of pews, the wood splintering around him.
Brenda rushed to his side, eyes blazing. "Franklin, look!"
High above them, the cathedral dome cracked. A single beam of moonlight pierced the darkness, illuminating the broken seal at the heart of the chamber a sigil of Solorth, once sealed by Franklin's bloodline, now shattered.
The weight of centuries pressed down on Franklin. He realised that even if they slew Banji tonight, the curse would linger. This cathedral was the nexus of Solorth's power in the realm. They needed to break deeper seals, undo the pact's binding magic.
He took Brenda's hand. "We must move to the catacombs. There lies the original seal, our only chance."
She nodded, guiding him through the shattered pews toward the crypt entrance. Torches exploded on the walls as priests, frantic, tried to reignite the ritual. The guards fell back, their discipline shattered.
In the narrow passage leading down, they paused. The air grew colder, damp with the stench of rot. Franklin pressed his palm into the carved stone door. It resisted his touch, as though sensing his immortal blood. He closed his eyes, drawing on the echo of his father's magic, an act he loathed and feared.
With a tremor, the door groaned open.
Inside, the catacombs stretched to pitch black. Niches lined the walls, housing the bones of ancient kings, his ancestors. Their skulls stared down like silent judges.
Brenda raised a lantern, its light dancing on the columns of bone. "The seal lies in the central chamber," she whispered. "But it's warded with living blood. We'll need a sacrifice to breach it."
Franklin's heart clenched. The Blood Tithe had already damned the innocent. "Then we give them hope instead."
She looked at him, puzzled. He turned her toward a winding side passage. "There's another way, a hidden alcove my mother carved when she feared this day. We'll bypass the wards, but only if we move swiftly."
Halls of memory whispered through his mind: childhood games of hide-and-seek, the echo of his mother's lullabies. He led Brenda down twisting tunnels until the walls narrowed, forcing them to stoop.
At the end, a low arch opened onto a small chamber. In its centre stood a shallow basin filled with water so still it mirrored the lantern flame. Beneath its surface, a faint sigil glowed like a heartbeat in the dark.
Franklin knelt, tracing the rune. His breath fogged the water. "This is the unbinding seal. To shatter it, we need blood, true mortal blood, willingly given."
Brenda's gaze dropped to her gown. "Mine will do."
He shook his head. "No, not yours. Yours must remain untainted; your unborn child's life depends on it."
She hesitated, lips trembling. "Then mine."
Franklin put a hand on her shoulder. "We'll find another way. I won't ask for another sacrifice."
She took a step back, pain flickering in her eyes. "Your mercy is why I love you and why I betrayed you."
He stood, determination hardening his features. "I asked you not to."
They locked eyes as the distant roar of battle echoed above. The cathedral trembled, as if the very foundations rebelled against the breaking wards. Beyond the arch, Franklin saw a faint red light, the last flame of Solorth's power clinging to this world.
He lifted his sword. Then we fought our way to the next seal. Together."
Brenda drew her blade, its steel humming in the darkness. "Together."
Side by side, immortal and mortal, they stepped into the heart of shadows, where redemption and ruin awaited.