Unburned.
Untouched.
Pristine white robes flowed around him like fog as he stepped across melted crystal and corpses. His expression was unreadable. Not horrified. Not even surprised.
Just…observing.
He paused a few feet away from the wreckage where Kailorien knelt with Auryn in his arms. For a long, excruciating moment—he said nothing. Then he tilted his head. Eyes flicked to the scorched corpse of Sevrion Hale and the other Councilors. The still-smoking Godblind tossed aside. The disfigured walls and floors, glowing with divine fire and wrath.
Finally, his gaze returned to them.
“Well,” Shu’Khan said, his voice smooth as poured glass, “that escalated past Our expectations.”
Kailorien rose with Auryn clutched to his chest. His hair hung loose around his face, soaked with sweat and blood. The runes on his arms snarled and writhed. He gritted his teeth, though he could hardly feel the pain past his terror for the woman in his arms.
“You knew,” he said. His voice was low, too low.
Shu’Khan raised a brow.
“You let them do this to her.”
“We allowed nothing,” Shu’Khan explained, as though admonishing a child. “They acted without Our sanction. And now…” He gestured toward the carnage. “They have paid the price. More than fairly, We should think.”
Kailorien took a step forward. “You will never touch her again.”
Shu’Khan didn’t flinch. A pause. Then a smile—so soft, so infuriating.
“Dear Iridias,” Shu’Khan murmured, “as always, you lack vision.”
He stepped delicately over a still-smoldering corpse, brushing an invisible fleck of ash from his sleeve as if the carnage were nothing more than a mild inconvenience. His eyes lingered on Auryn—limp, burned, barely breathing—head tilted in idle curiosity.
“Fragile things burn so bright,” Shu’Khan mused. “But they rarely last long, do they?” Shu’Khan’s gaze slid back to Kailorien, smooth as a blade. “Unless they are properly safeguarded.” He paused. “And so We will ask you again. Are you certain you wish to keep her from Us?”
Kailorien did not reply.
“You are leaving soon,” Shu’Khan continued, stroking his lips with his fingers. “And judging by…” His eyes drifted down, examining the furious blaze of red-hot runes coursing across Kailorien’s arms and neck, “well, the state of you…We would say you must depart the Flaeme within months or risk erasure.”
Kailorien gritted his teeth, but said nothing. Not yet.
Shu’Khan sighed, the sound obvious, exaggerated.
“But this,” he said, gesturing lazily to the ruin surrounding them—the melted stone, the divine-burned bodies, the blood still cooling on the floor. “This won’t stop the dissenters. The moment you step out of the Shields, the wolves will descend.”
He took one final step forward.
“If not the Sovereign Flame,” he murmured, voice low, coaxing, “then who else would watch over your precious little Sokâr?”
Kailorien’s jaw clenched. His arms tightened around Auryn’s fragile, burning body. His lips parted—then closed.
He looked at Shu’Khan.
At the ruin of the chamber.
At the bodies.
At her.
At his Sovereign Star.
