The great hall of Sarfin was filled with nobles, soldiers, and scholars alike. Golden drapes shimmered under the dome of the throne chamber. Musicians played a subdued melody while servants passed wine, unaware of the tension flowing beneath the surface.
At the center stood Toji, face calm, arms folded. Governor Helmund had considered sending Toji out of the city but he couldn't let go of such a talent, he smiled with polished ease, the crown of light around his head glittering with embedded jewels.
"In honor of your contributions to the kingdom," the governor proclaimed, "I, Helmund, grant you the title of Guardian of the Crescent Flame."
A roar of polite applause followed. Courtiers bowed their heads. Pages moved to present a ceremonial blade wrapped in violet silk. The governor motioned toward Toji. "Accept this gift, and take your place among our honored few."
Toji didn't move.
The applause faltered.
"I refuse," he said.
Gasps cut through the room like daggers.
Helmund's smile twitched. "You… what?"
"I refuse your title," Toji repeated, voice even but firm. "I don't serve vanity, nor politics dressed as gratitude."
Murmurs rippled among the nobles. Some sneered. Others leaned closer, like vultures scenting scandal. Whispers spread: Arrogant. Disrespectful. Dangerous.
"Why insult the governor?" one of the lords muttered under his breath.
Helmund descended the dais slowly, each step measured. "I offer honor, and you return insult?"
Toji stared him down. "You offer chains with silk lining. I don't wear symbols of a court built on forgotten screams."
The tension in the hall surged like a storm waiting to break.
Then Toji turned and walked away.
Frankie and Elian met him at the gates, both pale.
"You just spat in the face of the most powerful man in the kingdom," Elian said under his breath.
"No," Toji replied. "I spat in the face of a liar."
Later that night, under the cover of darkness and with most of the palace distracted by a hastily rearranged banquet, the trio slipped past the upper wing guards. Frankie led them with a stolen schematic in hand—one he'd found buried in a scroll meant for decommissioned sectors of the keep.
They arrived at a tall, oak-bound door. It bore no lock, but a sigil burned faintly on its surface: the same spiral symbol from the dungeon.
Toji waved his hand. Nano-energy shimmered around his fingertips as he reprogrammed the seal. The door creaked open.
Inside was the governor's private study.
It smelled of wax, herbs, and decay. Shelves lined every wall, some filled with historical texts, others with tomes bound in dark leather etched with unfamiliar symbols.
Frankie picked one up. "It's the same script… from the dungeon. And the altar."
Toji scanned the room, his eyes settling on a locked cabinet behind the desk. With a whisper and a snap, he cracked it open.
Inside lay a bundle of papers. And among them, a single letter—sealed with a wax emblem resembling a horned crown.
He broke the seal.
"'To my faithful servant, Helmund,'" he read aloud. "'You've done well. The Project nears its next phase. Remember—you are one of many. The others move within their courts. Their nations. Their temples. Ensure the Crescent Flame does not falter. Soon, we will fracture the Veil itself.'"
Toji's voice dropped to a whisper. "'Glory to the Fractured Flame. Glory to the Reclamation.'"
Silence followed.
Elian stepped back. "He's not just a traitor… he's part of something global."
Frankie's eyes widened. "The Veil… That's what protects this world from total corruption. If they fracture it—"
"They let the rest in," Toji said. "And not just demons. Entire planes of destruction."
He folded the letter slowly. "This changes everything."
From outside the study, footsteps echoed down the corridor.
"We need to go," Frankie hissed.
Toji looked once more at the shelves, memorizing every title, every mark.
He pocketed the letter.
And as they vanished into the shadows, far beneath the city, something began to stir.
A war was coming
The chamber had long gone cold.
Dust hung in the air like lingering secrets, untouched despite the flickering candles scattered throughout the governor's private study. Even hours after they left, Toji's mind remained tethered to the pages he'd read, to the words written not for public eyes, but for the ears of demons and the pages of a dying man's soul.
He sat now in silence, hunched beside a rusted lantern on the rooftop of the eastern armory, staring across the palace skyline. The letter from the horned man rested beside him, folded into a neat square. Its words still whispered in his thoughts:
You are one of many.
He'd always known the world was broken—but now he understood: it was fractured by design.
Earlier that day, Toji had poured over the governor's personal journal, hidden deep within a false drawer behind the desk. Its pages were messy, scrawled in a hand growing more unsteady with each passing entry.
"I've studied them—those who call themselves gods. The Ten. They rule from above and below. Untouchable. Eternal. I serve them only out of necessity, but I know they fear what I pursue. They fear the horned one. His knowledge is ancient—older than their lies."
"The body dies. The soul withers. But the dark path offers a third way. A union. Not of decay, but of transcendence."
Toji remembered reading those words, remembered the smudges of ink like blood.
The governor didn't worship the horned man.
He feared death.
And like so many who feared it, he reached not for hope—but for power.
"We need to catch him in the act," Toji had said that evening.
Frankie was the first to agree. "We can't just confront him. Without proof, it's our word against the governor of Sarfin."
Elian nodded, though reluctant. "And if we fail?"
"Then we die," Toji replied, without hesitation.
They had spent the rest of the day mapping the passageways, observing the guard shifts, and preparing tools. Toji worked silently while Frankie took notes. Elian fletched darts with numbing powder, just in case. Their tension was thick, but none dared name it.
The three of them moved through the dusk with purpose. They were no longer guests in the palace—they were ghosts in its corridors, shadows passing through candlelight.
Toji stopped only once.
A window had caught his eye. Through it, he saw a young boy no older than ten, playing with a toy sword, pretending to fight invisible enemies. He smiled, triumphant.
Toji stared longer than he should have.
"Let's go," he whispered at last, turning away.
Night came, slow and thick.
The trio waited beneath the servants' walkway, cloaked in silence. From there, they could access the ceremonial wing—normally closed during feast recovery days, but always lit, always guarded.
Toji laid the trap. He had observed the patterns, the guards, the gaps. But it was Frankie and Elian who moved first.
Frankie had studied the servants' schedules and intercepted one of the castle runners. He spilled water, faked confusion, caused enough of a stir to send guards chasing a phantom thief. Elian played his part perfectly—slipping into the east courtyard and drawing attention with a cloaked figure darting through the trees.
Toji remained hidden.
And that's when he saw him.
Governor Helmund, robed not in royal color but in black linen, hooded and hunched. He moved through the hallway without escort, slipping through a hidden corridor behind the royal chapel.
Toji followed.
Step by careful step, heart steady, energy low and silent. He passed beneath forgotten frescoes, through doors laced with sigils. And then—he arrived.
The chamber was circular, carved from black stone, lined with red crystal. A brazier burned in the center, casting cruel shadows.
A prisoner lay bound at the altar—gagged, eyes wide. Beside him stood the governor.
Toji watched from the shadows.
Helmund raised his hands. His voice changed—deeper, older.
"In flame and fracture, I offer this life. Not to the false ones above, but to the horned king beneath."
He drove a blade into the prisoner's chest.
Blood pooled, and from it, smoke rose.
The smoke formed into shape—a creature half-man, half-shadow, horned and crackling with violet fire. Its eyes burned like dying stars.
"You have done well," it whispered. "But the time grows short. Fracture the Veil. Burn the cities. Let chaos cleanse."
Helmund dropped to one knee. "I await your command."
Toji's hand clenched.
He could strike now. End the ritual. Kill the demon and the man who summoned it.
But instead—he waited.
Watched.
He wanted more than blood.
He wanted the truth.
The demon vanished into smoke. The chamber went silent.
And Toji stepped back into the shadows.
Outside, as the first light of dawn bled over the horizon, Frankie and Elian returned to the rendezvous.
"What did you see?" Frankie asked.
Toji looked at them. His voice was calm. Too calm.
"He's worse than I thought."
"And the demon?" Elian asked.
Toji didn't answer.
He only turned his gaze to the east.
Where the sun met the mountains.
And the wind carried the scent of burning.
What comes next, Toji thought, won't be witnessed. It will be survived.