The night had barely lifted when Kael moved again. Dawn was nothing more than a pale bruise across the horizon, but already the ruins stirred with something that had not existed the day before. His followers—no, his chained—stood taller. The fire of the bond pulsed faintly in their veins, feeding strength into limbs that had known only weakness.
The square where they had bent their knees was silent now, empty but for the broken fountain. Yet the air still smelled of scorched stone, as though the oath they had spoken lingered, smoldering in the cracks.
Kael stood at the fountain’s edge, cloak dragging across the dust, his gaze fixed toward the eastern quarter of the city. The shard in his chest hummed in rhythm, as though tugging him, guiding him like a compass.
He could feel it.
Fear.
