Chapter 28: The Sowing

The fountain's waters shimmered under the midday sun, its surface deceptively clear. Jack stood motionless at its edge, watching as a young woman cupped the water in her palms and drank deeply. The liquid darkened for just a second as it touched her lips before clearing again.

Martin materialized at his side, his elongated fingers twitching at his sides. "The archaeologist's sermons gain traction, my liege. Three more took the mark yesterday."

Jack turned the obsidian seed between his fingers, its surface occasionally rippling with the shapes of blood-red crows. "And the dreams?"

"The butcher's daughter woke screaming about wings growing from her back," Martin said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "The guardsman's wife claims her reflection spoke to her in her sleep."

A slow, razor-edged smile spread across Jack's face. He handed the seed to Martin. His fingers lingered on the corrupted flesh of Martin's palm just a moment too long. "The mayor's castle. Tonight. Beneath his throne."

Martin bowed his head, cradling the pulsating seed against his chest. "Will it... hurt them?"

Jack studied the fountain's statue—the crack across its eye now unmistakably resembling a crow in flight. "Pain is just the body's way of saying hello."

As Martin melted into the crowd, Jack's gaze drifted toward the Warrens. Somewhere in those filthy streets, Elara was preparing her test. He wondered if the thief girl had screamed yet.

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### **The Architect's Work**

The rented house smelled of burnt sage and copper. Elara sat hunched over her worktable, surrounded by scattered notes and half-dried ink. The black veins around her eyes had faded to faint shadows, but the Starved Saint's hunger still gnawed at her insides like a caged beast.

Her latest design stared back at her—a series of interlocking circles that resembled a bird's spread wings. Smaller than Jack's grand rituals. More intimate. More painful. At its center, she'd inscribed the phrase in jagged, angry strokes:

*Hunger binds tighter than chains.*

A knock shattered her concentration.

Suia stood in the doorway, her straw-colored hair matted with sweat and soot. A fresh bruise bloomed across her cheekbone, and her knuckles were split and raw. The knife at her belt—the same serrated blade from their first meeting—was dark with something that wasn't rust.

"You're late," Elara said without looking up.

The girl wiped her nose with the back of her hand, leaving a smudge of blood across her face. "Had to teach a lesson." She reached into her coat and pulled out a cloth bundle, the fabric stained crimson. "Got what you asked for."

Elara unwrapped it carefully. The human heart was still warm, its veins blackened at the edges. The Starved Saint's power surged in response, making the veins along her wrist darken.

"Whose?" she asked, though the answer was written in the girl's split knuckles.

Suia's grin showed too many teeth. "The butcher. The one who broke Tomas's arm last week."

Elara studied the girl—the way her pupils had begun to elongate, the unnatural stillness in her stance. The corruption was taking hold beautifully.

She set the heart aside and unrolled another parchment covered in jagged runes. "Midnight. The tannery. Jack will be watching."

Suia's fingers twitched toward her knife. "Why him?"

"Because," Elara said, tracing the ritual's final line with her fingernail, "he needs to see you scream."

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### **The Tower's Secrets**

The clock tower's hidden chamber reeked of antiseptic and old blood. Jack stood over his latest subject—a hollowed one captured mid-transformation, its human features still warring with the Maw's corruption. Its left arm had split into twin appendages, the bones audibly cracking as they rearranged themselves.

Perfect.

The scalpel flashed in the lamplight as Jack made the first incision. The hollowed one shrieked, its voice still half-human.

"Tell me," Jack whispered, peeling back muscle to expose the pulsing black veins beneath, "what does the Maw promise you?"

The creature's remaining eye rolled wildly. "*Power*," it rasped. "*Freedom from—*"

Jack severed a thick tendril of corruption. The veins withered instantly, crumbling to ash. The creature's human features stabilized—briefly.

Interesting.

A whisper of feathers. One of his crows perched on the dissection table, its star-flecked eyes fixed on the experiment.

*She prepares the thief.*

Jack didn't look up. "And the girl?"

*Vicious. Loyal. Terrified.*

The hollowed one gurgled, its split arm twitching. Jack slit its throat without ceremony.

"Tell Elara I'll attend her little show," he said, wiping the blade clean on the creature's shirt. "Midnight sharp."

The crow inclined its head and vanished into shadow.

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### **The Seed's Descent**

Moonlight painted the castle walls in silver and shadow as Martin slipped through the deserted corridors. The black seed pulsed in his grip like a second heartbeat, its surface occasionally rippling with the shapes of crows in flight. The guards at their posts slept fitfully, their dreams already touched by Jack's influence.

The throne room loomed ahead, its double doors carved with the city's crest—a lion rampant, its features worn smooth by time. Martin pressed a clawed hand to the wood, feeling the vibration of power within.

The mayor lay slumped in his throne, a half-empty bottle of brandy dangling from his fingers. His neck bore no mark—yet.

Martin knelt before the dais, digging his fingers into the ornate rug. The seed squirmed as he buried it deep, the threads of the fabric twisting to cocoon it. A faint hum filled the air, the sound of something ancient stirring beneath the castle's foundations.

A whisper of movement.

Martin froze as a figure emerged from the shadows—a woman in a tattered gray dress, her eyes hollow pits, her fingers ending in hooked claws.

CeeCee smiled, her mouth splitting far too wide. "*Planting seeds, little thief?*"

Martin's breath caught. The crow inside him shrieked a warning.

She circled him, her tattered skirts brushing the floor with a sound like rustling wings. "*The Maw sees. The Maw knows.*" Her claw traced his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood. "*Tell your master...*"

The seed in the rug pulsed violently.

CeeCee recoiled, her form flickering like a guttering candle. "*Clever,*" she hissed. "*But not clever enough.*"

Then she was gone.

Martin exhaled shakily, the crow within him settling. The seed had taken root—he could feel it spreading through the castle's bones, thin black tendrils creeping along the walls.

Somewhere in the city, a fountain's water turned to blood.

Somewhere in the Warrens, a girl prepared to scream.

And somewhere beyond the Veil, the Hollow Maw stirred.

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