He reached for her bleeding hand, trying to redirect her blood into the original channel.
Lucien stepped forward.
This was the moment from the plan.
If he moved too soon, Serast could frame it as disruption.
But the chamber had revealed enough.
Names bleeding through plaster.
Blood channels fighting visibly.
Sabine’s body under coercive pressure.
The submission reservoir opening like a mouth.
Lucien blocked Maelor physically, bloodied wrist catching the Bloodwright’s arm.
“The chamber accepted the answer,” Lucien said. “You are the one forcing it.”
Maelor tried to push past him.
Serast commanded again.
“The sanctification must be completed under orthodox form!”
King Aeron’s voice cut across the chamber.
“Stand down, High Hierophant.”
The room went silent.
Serast turned.
“Your Majesty, the sacred rite—”
“You asked for witness.” Aeron’s voice shook, but his command was absolute. “You have it. I see what the chamber demands. I see what you have hidden behind plaster and corrected stone. You will not force this under my crown.”
His hand shook on the rail.
He did not remove it.
If he let go, Sabine thought, he might fall.
His gaze moved to the exposed names.
To Isolde’s truth bleeding through newer lies.
To Sabine kneeling with blood on her hand and rebellion in her mouth.
Aeron’s guilt resolved.
Not into redemption.
Into action.
Late.
