"The heretic shall be a crack in my seal. Burn them. Mistakes will be made. But better to consume by error than to let corruption spread. Your fire shall imitate the one by which I sealed it."

  — Words of Solar?s, XXXV

  Revealed to Thérion the Veiled, Year 1 of the Endless Day

  CHAPTER XIII

  The squadron had dispersed according to their leader's orders, each departing to accomplish their mission in the corrupted bowels of Shadow Fort. While R?chard and Mei headed toward the northeast exit to surveil and infiltrate the mine, the Green-Gaze and his brother-in-arms began their own exploration of the accursed city.

  Juuh'ma brought his hand to his shoulder and unclasped the ochre veil he had drawn from the royal chests at their departure from Solheim. The fabric, designed to protect him from the motionless sun, still drifted with a warm hue beneath the raw light of the zenith.

  He crouched beside a blackened wall and gathered a handful of cold soot. Without a word, he plunged the cloth into it and rubbed it long between his palms, crushing it into the dark dust until the ochre disappeared beneath a dirty, uneven grey.

  He rose and handed the veil to his leader.

  "The whiteness of your sacred cloth will betray us in these alleyways, my brother," he murmured. "You should cover yourself."

  Siegfried inclined his head. Over the pearlescent white veil and the ivory cuirass bearing the solar symbol, he draped the soiled fabric, fastening it to the braided leather straps running across his chest.

  The paladin's radiance extinguished at once. The fine inlaid scales ceased to reflect the light. He did not disappear entirely — but ceased to be a standard of Solar?s.

  Thus darkened, they plunged into the winding alleyways where the shadows of squat houses devoured the raw light of the zenith. The atmosphere thickened with each step, laden with a palpable malevolence that seemed to seep from the blackened stones. The faint vapours escaping from cracks in the pavement created a thin mist that distorted silhouettes and made every movement suspect.

  Their progression led them naturally toward the heart of the city, where the Whiteiron Tavern stood. But as they approached the establishment, they found its shutters and door firmly closed. No sound emanated from within, though the hour should have seen miners gathering there to drown their fatigue in beer.

  "Strange," murmured the Stone-Skin, observing the silent establishment. "Where are all the inhabitants hiding?"

  Having no choice but to continue their exploration, they moved away from the condemned tavern to plunge deeper into the urban labyrinth. It was then that through the dancing vapours, Siegfried began to perceive furtive movements from the corner of his eye. Shadows slid parallel to their route, moving from alley to alley with a discretion that betrayed organised surveillance.

  "We are being followed," he whispered to his brother, his hand instinctively moving toward the hilt of his sword.

  As if in answer to his fears, a voice arose from nowhere, almost inaudible, seeming to emanate from the walls themselves.

  "Leave this place, strangers... Madness has seized this accursed place. Flee while there is still time..."

  They scrutinised the surroundings but distinguished no one, only the blind windows that seemed to watch them like so many dead eyes.

  Continuing their path with heightened caution, they descended a series of disjointed stone steps, their footsteps resonating sinisterly in the nauseating air. The descent led them toward an even darker quarter, where the buildings seemed to close in around them like the jaws of a trap.

  When they passed beneath a low archway with moisture-weeping stones, the city's latent hostility suddenly exploded. Shrill laughter burst from the overhanging windows, high-pitched and demented cackles that resonated like the cries of Abominations. These satanic laughs multiplied, creating a cacophonous concert of madness that chilled the blood.

  "Ahahahaha!" rang out a female voice, distorted by insanity.

  "Hihihihi!" another answered, deeper, tinged with cruel malice.

  By instinct, both warriors pressed themselves against the walls of the archway, melting into the shadowy recesses. As Siegfried adjusted his hood, both understood it was better to observe than to be observed.

  Suddenly, the laughter ceased all at once, replaced by cries of collective hatred.

  "Bring her! Bring the heretic!"

  Sounds of struggle broke out above them, punctuated by moans of pain. The two brothers exchanged a tense glance, invisible witnesses to a scene they could not see but whose horror they could divine. Then the demented laughter resumed at once, accompanied by screams of agony that mingled with this symphony of madness.

  They waited, crouched in the darkness of the archway, until the cries degenerated into inarticulate death rattles and gradually faded. The silence that followed was hardly more reassuring than the preceding tumult, charged with a dull threat that seemed to weigh upon every stone of the city.

  Only after long minutes of stillness, assuring themselves that calm had returned, did they dare resume their progression. They emerged at last onto a small square where a deceptive tranquillity reigned, as though the storm of madness had momentarily subsided, leaving behind a troubling void that perhaps presaged new outbursts of violence.

  It was there that they discovered a group of children with soot-stained faces, crouching in a secluded corner of the square. With twisted sticks, they traced crescent moons in the ash gathered on the ground, their quick gestures evoking the accomplishment of a forbidden ritual.

  A girl with bouncing chestnut curls cascading over her shoulders suddenly raised her head, her hollow eyes meeting those of the hooded knight. She leapt to her feet and fled, her curls dancing in a movement that stopped the paladin dead in his tracks.

  A vision then surged forth, brilliant and painful: Er?, his sister, laughing uproariously, running through the Outskirts of their shared youth, her chestnut curls floating in the warm wind, her light steps perfectly identical to those of the girl who had just vanished. He froze, his breath suspended, the present world fading into the echo of that heartbreaking memory rising from the depths of his wounded heart.

  A woman in a threadbare tunic then appeared without warning from a nearby door, her face blanching with terror at the sight of the heretical symbols.

  "Wipe that away, quickly!" she screamed at the children, frantically stamping out the drawings in the ash.

  The children scattered like a startled flock of birds, abandoning their sticks in the dust, but Siegfried remained frozen, prisoner of his vision of the past.

  A massive and comforting hand then came down upon the top of his skull, gently bringing him back to present reality. Juuh'ma looked at him through the opening of his hood, his dark eyes carrying a mute understanding and a brotherly solicitude.

  "That little girl…" whispered the N'zonki in his deep voice, tinged with empathetic melancholy. "I too saw her shadow in her. But shadows do not return lost souls, my brother. The dead return only in our hearts."

  The knight blinked, the bite of the memory slowly softening beneath his companion's wisdom. He nodded and pressed a firm fist against the colossus's chest.

  "You are right, my brother. The past must not hinder our mission. Let us continue."

  With a tacit gesture, they resumed their march through the city, the tortuous path leading them to a desolate square, where they spotted a disparate gathering — hunched figures in threadbare tunics, whispering near an abandoned cart, its broken wheels sunken in the dust. Faces, hollowed by fatigue and a contained malice, turned toward them, their gazes gleaming with veiled hostility. Siegfried stepped forward, his hand still brushing the hilt of his sword.

  "Gentlemen, could we know where the cleric of this city resides?" he asked with authority.

  The figures exchanged furtive glances, a rictus tightening their lips. Then an old man with a scarred face and fingers long as roots inclined his chin toward the east, his gesture slow, almost mocking.

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  "That way, knight. All the way east, you can't miss it," he muttered with a cruel gleam in his bulging eyes.

  Without another word, they set off in the indicated direction, their steps muffled by the dust accumulated on the flagstones. Behind them, a snicker began to rise, a chorus of dry chuckles like breaking bones, which faded in the corrosive wind.

  The path opened onto a dead-end square, a desolate space dominated by a charred edifice, its blackened beams crumbling beneath the zenith. The smell of burnt wood filled the air, and a vision of horror imposed itself: a dozen tortured bodies hung from worn ropes, swaying in macabre silence. At the centre, a man in the shreds of a soot-blackened clerical robe was suspended, his faithful at his sides, their remains desiccated by the heat. Their cracked skin bore deep gashes — barred suns carved into their chests, arms, and faces, sacrilegious marks of an impious purge. The empty eye sockets of the tormented seemed to stare into an eternal void, and the creaking of the ropes composed a mournful requiem.

  But something caught the Green-Gaze's attention — a gleam scintillating at the neck of one of the hanged. Siegfried narrowed his eyes and clearly distinguished a sun-shaped medallion hanging from a fine chain, shining faintly in the light of the God of Suns.

  The revelation struck him like a warhammer to the chest.

  "All these bodies... all these so-called heretics hanged since our entry into Shadow Fort..."

  The images flashed through his mind with atrocious clarity: the remains on the ramparts, those swaying in the streets, the cleric and his flock... All bore the flame of Solar?s. All were slaughtered servants.

  His breathing became laboured, his hands trembled. The knight of legendary composure felt something break within him, an inner dam giving way under the pressure of a primordial fury. His green eyes became bloodshot, his features twisted under the effect of a hatred so pure it became terrifying.

  "GRAAAAAAVEEEEEEEEN!" he roared, the cry tearing from his throat like a wild beast's bellow, rending the stagnant air with a violence that shook the surrounding walls.

  His voice, ordinarily measured and controlled, shattered in an absolute fury that echoed between the buildings like the echo of a damnation. The hanged men's ropes vibrated under the sound wave, and even Juuh'ma started at this explosion from his usually self-possessed brother.

  The two warriors exchanged a glance laden with terrible understanding. Juuh'ma clutched his chains in his fists, a muted anger rumbling in his voice.

  "Those sons of... They hang the servants of Solar?s while accusing them of heresy. Graven has played us all."

  Siegfried was unrecognisable. His fury now smouldered like a blaze, transforming the calculating strategist into a predator thirsting for vengeance.

  "He dared..." he growled through clenched teeth, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword. "He dared massacre the Benefactor's servants before our eyes and make us applaud his so-called justice."

  Yet when Juuh'ma stepped forward calmly, his gaze filled with sadness despite the anger rumbling within him, to cut down the hanged bodies, something in Siegfried changed. The sight of his brother performing this gesture of respect for the dead gradually brought the knight back to himself. The bestial aura surrounding him diminished, his breathing regulated, and the tactician slowly reclaimed possession of himself, driving out the last vestiges of the savage creature he had become.

  Joining his brother in arms and soul, they cut down the bodies one by one, laying them delicately on the ground and uttering a prayer that each might find peace in the company of the God of Suns.

  No sooner had this task been accomplished than, from the corner of his eye, the colossus saw silhouettes surge from the pestilential vapours. Six heretics, their daggers and clubs gleaming beneath the Sun, their faces twisted by fanatic fervour. They blocked the path, their threatening forms creating a vice around the two warriors.

  The instant the knight caught sight of the assailants, the beast resurged with redoubled violence. All the composure he had regained vanished at once, replaced by a thirst for destruction more intense than before. His green eyes once again blazed with a murderous gleam, and the bestial aura enveloped him anew like a mantle of pure hatred.

  Siegfried rose slowly, an icy smile splitting his face. It was no longer the confident smirk of the seasoned warrior, but that of the ashwolf that had found its prey. His half-cape and veil swirled in the movement as he drew his longsword with a hiss of steel, his green eyes now burning with a murderous determination. Juuh'ma placed himself back-to-back with him and flexed his massive arms, ready to deflect the slightest attack.

  "Well, well, well… here come the new sons of Sola..."

  Too late. The N'zonki had already crossed his arms above his head and the golden metal shrieked before the blasphemy could finish. In a gesture as swift as it was abrupt, he cracked his chains, which whistled like steel monsters.

  Since they had understood that Nihibel reigned as mistress in these places, nothing obliged them to any form of forgiveness. Only the eradication of the servants of evil flowed in their veins.

  The links coiled around the waists of two heretics on his flanks and he yanked them toward him with fury. The bodies were wrenched from the ground in a lightning movement, their daggers slipping from their trembling hands. Crouching in his shadow, the Green-Gaze surged forward like a blade leaping from its scabbard.

  Instead of his habitually precise and economical strikes, a savage brutality guided the paladin's arm.

  He plunged toward the captives still in the air, his blade falling in repeated blows. He was no longer seeking to kill efficiently — he wanted to destroy.

  The first two heretics were literally cut to pieces. The blade drew deep gashes in their chests, arms, and legs. Their bodies collapsed not in two pieces, but into an unrecognisable human pulp, in a scarlet pool that rapidly widened.

  A third heretic surged behind Juuh'ma, brandishing a club. But Siegfried, his instincts sharpened by rage, had already perceived the danger. With a swift gesture, he seized one of his brother's hanging chains and gave a sharp tug. The colossus, carried by the traction, shifted a step, his massive body pivoting just enough to avoid the attack.

  The weapon had barely shattered against the ground before the Vaan Hart was already upon the assailant.

  His first thrust pierced the heretic's belly. He did not withdraw the blade but drove it upward toward the sternum to tear through the flesh, eviscerating his victim. The entrails spilled onto the ground with a nauseating sound. The man, still alive, brought his hands to his gaping abdomen and let out screams of agony before Siegfried withdrew his sword to remove his head from his torso with a brutal backswing that sent a jet of blood more than three metres across.

  The last three heretics, terrorised by the butchery unfolding before their eyes, charged the Stone-Skin simultaneously in a surge of desperate panic. Impassive, the colossus drove his feet into the ground and brought his chains around in a sweeping motion. The links coiled around his massive forearms like living armour. The heretics struck, but their assaults were parried with disconcerting ease. His arms blocked each blow with a metallic crash. The blades, fragile against the hardness of the chains and the warrior's raw power, shattered into splinters.

  In a sudden lunge, Juuh'ma thrust both open palms against the chests of two assailants — a blow so powerful that a shockwave lifted the ash and sent them several metres back. Their bodies crashed against a charred wall, stunned but still alive.

  Siegfried, already in motion, descended upon them with a ferocity that no longer had anything human about it. Rather than finishing them cleanly, he set upon the broken bodies. His blade fell again and again, shredding flesh, crushing bone, transforming what had been men into a bloody and unrecognisable pulp. Each blow was accompanied by a bestial grunt, as though the knight were releasing years of contained rage.

  With his customary method, Juuh'ma dealt with the last enemy. With a precise sweep of his planted leg, he swept the heretic off his feet; the man collapsed onto the flagstones, his breath cut short. The N'Zonki placed his massive boot on the man's chest, pinning him to the ground, motionless beneath his weight, his eyes wide with terror.

  Slowly, the ashwolf approached, his half-cape soaked in blood floating in the corrosive wind. He stopped beside the immobilised heretic and plunged his ice-green eyes into the man's terrified gaze. A deathly silence fell, broken only by the condemned man's laboured breathing. With surgical precision, the knight placed the sharp tip of his blade on the heretic's right iris. The man tried to close his eyelids, but terror kept them wide open.

  "Don't… Don't… Don't kill me, paladin," he stuttered as urine began to run down his leg.

  The N'zonki's foot sank further into the man's ribcage.

  "I beg you..."

  "Solar?s grants no mercy for the worshippers of Nihibel," the paladin interrupted coldly.

  With a sharp and brutal movement, the knight drove the sword through the eye, piercing the skull through and through. The steel emerged from the back in a crack of shattered bone, pinning the head to the flagstones for good.

  Ordinarily, the colossus would have averted his gaze — but not here. His oath prevented him from silencing human lives in eternal darkness, but not from watching die those who had committed the unforgivable.

  Calm fell once more, heavy as the ambient furnace, broken only by the drip of blood and the laboured breath of the Vaan Hart. The six heretics lay in scarlet pools. They were not simply dead — they had been torn apart by the fury of the Green-Gaze.

  Slowly, Siegfried straightened, his dripping sword still planted in the flagstones. His face was splattered with blood, his green eyes still bright with that demented gleam. Then, as Dame H?lda had taught him, he closed his eyelids and expelled all his hatred in a long, trembling exhalation that seemed to last an eternity. The air left his lungs laden with all the violence that had inhabited him, carrying with it the bestial aura that had enveloped him. His shoulders sagged, his hands ceased their trembling, and gradually the predator's mask dissolved to give way to the impassive face of the knight. The strategist slowly reclaimed possession of his mortal frame, driving out the last vestiges of the savage creature he had become.

  When he reopened his eyes, his brother found in them the cold, calculating gleam he knew. His leader wrenched his sword from the flagstones and wiped it methodically on the cloak of one of the corpses, his movements once again precise and controlled. His hands still trembled slightly — not from fear, but from the aftershock of the violence he had just unleashed.

  "Sieg, would I be wrong to say that Shadow Fort is responsible for the disappearances, and that it has nothing to do with what we thought?" asked the colossus in his heavy voice, crouching beside a corpse to close its eyes.

  Having resheathed his weapon, the knight cleaned the blood from his face and spoke.

  "You may be right, my brother. Nevertheless, there is one thing of which I remain convinced."

  "Which?"

  "I still believe a shadow threatens our kingdom. But we shall reflect on that later, shall we? For now, let us make for the mine — I fear for Mei and the boy…"

  Without another word, they set off, their hurried footsteps echoing through the alleyways, every shadow seeming to pursue them, running toward the northeast ridge to rejoin R?chard and ward off the danger that awaited them.