Draevan Sol’s hand was unmistakable—precise, spare, and urgent. A summons to Iliri. His private laboratory. The matter required her direct attention.
Lu’ma noticed at once.
‘Does Your Radiance trust him?’
Auryn considered that as they turned into a busier alley, where displaced Artisans from the Han now held trade in improvised market stalls.
“I trust that Draevan prefers data to performance,” she said. “He has given me his support of late. Perhaps he wishes to discuss the Mandate.”
‘He is not harmless,’Lu’ma warned.
“No.” Auryn looked toward the distant rise of the Jade Lattice, where the Iliri towers gleamed pale and sharp against the lowering light. “No one is in the Lattice.”
The victory in Axis Hall still glowed warm within her. Another year without Estâr. Another year bought back from the machine that fed on Kailorien’s soul piece by broken piece. It should have been enough to ease her fear. To let her sleep, at least.
Yet the same dreams still plagued her. The same violet eyes. Vargrún’s voice growing louder with each passing day.
Behind them, temple bells rang the hour.
Auryn folded Draevan’s note once more and tucked it back into her sleeve. She adjusted Veilpiercer on her back.
“Come,” she said quietly. “We will risk a meeting.” Her fingers brushed the bracelet on her wrist.
A key sigil with five portal charges. A connection to Kailorien.
Lu’ma fell into step beside her.
The Commons roared around them with shifting robes, hammer blows, and the stubborn pulse of a city limping along after disaster. In the distance, the Iliri district towers caught the dying light like knives of glass. Auryn could not shake the feeling that somewhere far above, in the glass heart of Iliri, a different kind of trial awaited.
55
Silence in the Veil
Auryn’s unease lingered as she stepped out of the portal with Lu’ma into the Iliri district. She was sore from the morning spent in the temple. Yet, despite the pain and wariness in her body, she felt lighter than in previous months. Victorious. Hopeful. Even when she knew hope was a poison in the Crystal City.
The Rite was over. She had come to the Axis Hall and stood as Sokâr, unchallenged. Some had spoken against her, but she had given voice to her most ardent wish.
And the Council had listened. Shu’Khan himself had spoken. The Mandate was not yet won, but the path forward had been carved.
And yet you walk into this place to celebrate your victory? You have poor taste.
For once, Vargrún had a point.
All sound died far too quickly here, swallowed in the lifeless gaze of glass towers and polished marble corridors. The Iliri district was different from the Commons and the Rising. No hammering and sounds of heated forges spilled from open windows. No vendors signed from coloredmarket stalls. No apprentices ran through the streets running errands for their Houses through drifting banners of light.
Only sterile quiet.
The avenues stretched wide and immaculate beneath their feet, built not for citizens but for Attendants, sanctioned Roles, and the marching ranks of the Reskala. Tall structures of mirrored glass and pale stone loomed above them, their surfaces reflecting the Shields’ unnatural light.
Every door was sealed.
Every window dark.
Somewhere deep within one of the buildings, machinery hummed—a low, constant vibration that thrummed through the pavement beneath Auryn’s shoes. A pair of Reskala passed at the far end of the avenue, their armor whispering as they turned down another corridor without acknowledging their Sokâr.
Even the air smelled wrong.
Acrid smoke. Something scorched and chemical that burned the back of her throat.
