Chapter 6: Ashes and Revelation

Smoke choked the narrow tunnels.

Kael dragged Ryn's sister behind him, her small hand trembling in his grip. Lirya took point, her daggers slick with blood. The sounds of shouting templars and clanking armor echoed through the cathedral's underbelly, growing louder by the second.

"Left here," Lirya hissed, veering down a side passage.

The girl—Elara—stumbled, her bare feet raw from the rough stone. Kael scooped her up without breaking stride. The Ruinmark throbbed with each step, its power still simmering beneath his skin.

A crash behind them. Boots pounding closer.

"They're cutting us off!" Lirya skidded to a stop as torchlight flooded the tunnel ahead. Six templars blocked their path, sunsteel blades drawn.

Kael set Elara down and pushed her behind Lirya. His marked arm burned as shadows coiled around it. "Stay back."

The lead templar leveled his sword. "In the name of the Eternal Light—"

Kael didn't let him finish.

Darkness erupted from his palm, slamming into the templars like a living wave. Their armor crumpled like parchment, bones snapping as they were hurled against the walls. One survivor gurgled, trying to crawl away—until Lirya's dagger found his throat.

Elara stared wide-eyed at the carnage.

Lirya wiped her blade clean. "We can't keep fighting through every patrol. There's another way." She pointed upward, where a rusted grate led to the cathedral's main floor.

Kael boosted them up, then hauled himself through. They emerged in a shadowed alcove behind the towering altar. The vast sanctuary stretched before them, empty except for—

"Ryn!" Elara tore free, sprinting toward the center aisle where her brother knelt in chains.

"Elara, no!" Lirya lunged too late.

The cathedral doors burst open.

Twenty templars marched in formation, sunsteel glinting. And at their head stood Serath the Zealous, his gilded armor unscathed, his burning sword resting on Ryn's shoulder.

"Kael Aranthor," Serath's voice boomed through the sacred space. "You were promised to us."

Kael stepped forward, the Ruinmark flaring in response to Serath's holy flames. "Let the children go."

Serath's lips curled. "They were never the prize." With a flick of his wrist, Ryn's chains fell away. The boy scrambled to his sister, clutching her close.

Lirya's daggers twitched. "What game are you playing, zealot?"

"The oldest kind." Serath raised his sword—not to strike, but in salute. "The Church calls you monsters. But we were the first to bargain with the dark." His armor's glow intensified, revealing intricate markings beneath the gold—not holy symbols, but Ruinmarks painted in sacred ink.

Kael's breath caught. "You're one of us."

"Not one of you." Serath's eyes burned with fanatical light. "*Above* you. While you scurry in shadows, we wield the power in daylight." He spread his arms. "Join us. Your bloodline was meant for more than petty vengeance."

The truth hit Kael like a physical blow. The Church hadn't destroyed the old gods' power—they'd *stolen* it.

Lirya spat at Serath's feet. "You slaughtered thousands!"

"And saved millions," Serath countered. "The Ruinmarks unchecked would have drowned the world in blood. We *controlled* the power. Contained it." His gaze locked on Kael. "Until now."

Kael's mark seared with understanding. The Aranthor massacre. The relentless hunts. They hadn't been trying to exterminate the Ruinmarked—they'd been *culling* them. Keeping the power scarce. Contained.

Serath extended a hand. "The mark chose you for a reason, Kael. Don't waste it on revenge. Help us shepherd this power as your ancestors once did."

For a heartbeat, Kael hesitated.

Then Elara screamed.

The girl pointed upward, where the cathedral's great stained-glass window depicted the Eternal Light's triumph over darkness. The glass was melting.

No—*burning*.

Black flames licked across the sacred images, reducing saints and angels to dripping slag. The fire spread unnaturally fast, consuming stone and wood alike.

Serath's composure cracked. "What have you done?"

Kael looked at his Ruinmark. The tendrils had reached his collarbone. And they were *glowing*.

Not with stolen power.

With *awakening*.

The ground trembled. The cathedral's great pillars groaned. Somewhere deep below, something ancient stirred.

Lirya grabbed Kael's arm. "We need to go. *Now*."

As the first stained-glass shards rained down, Kael made his choice. He swept Elara into his arms and ran—not toward Serath's offered hand, but through the burning altar, into the chaos beyond.

The city burned behind them.

Kael ran through the streets with Elara clinging to his back, her small hands gripping his shoulders. Lirya kept pace beside him, her daggers still drawn. The cathedral's black flames had spread to nearby buildings, devouring stone and wood alike.

A thunderous *crack* split the air as the great spire collapsed, sending a shockwave through the streets.

"They did this," Lirya panted. "The Church—they provoked the mark somehow."

Kael's Ruinmark pulsed in agreement, the inky tendrils now creeping up his neck. It felt different—hotter, *hungrier*. Like something inside him had awakened.

Ryn stumbled ahead of them, his face streaked with soot. "This way! There's a smuggler's tunnel near the docks!"

They ducked into an alley just as a squad of templars charged past, their polished armor reflecting the unnatural firelight. Serath's voice boomed in the distance, shouting orders to evacuate the city.

Kael set Elara down as they reached the hidden tunnel entrance. The girl immediately clung to her brother, her entire body shaking.

Lirya checked the tunnel. "Clear."

Kael hesitated, staring back at the inferno. "We should let the whole damn city burn."

Ryn grabbed his arm. "My friends are still in there! Innocent people!"

The Ruinmark flared at the contact, sending a jolt through both of them. Ryn gasped as his stolen Sunmark brand glowed gold in response.

Kael yanked free. "Don't touch me."

Lirya stepped between them. "We're not the Church. We don't sacrifice children." She turned to Ryn. "Get your sister to safety. Head for the *Wraith's Kiss*—Dain's crew will protect you."

Ryn hesitated. "What about you?"

Kael flexed his marked hand. The darkness within it *purred*. "We're going back."

---

The city center had become a warzone.

Templars fought side-by-side with civilians to contain the spreading flames, but the black fire resisted all efforts. Water hissed to steam on contact. Sand melted like glass.

Serath stood atop a crumbling fountain, directing survivors. His gilded armor was scorched, one eye swollen shut. He spotted Kael immediately.

"You!" He leapt down, his sunsteel blade flashing. "This is your doing!"

Kael caught the blade barehanded. The metal seared his flesh—but the mark's darkness surged up, *consuming* the holy fire. "No. This is *yours*."

Lirya stepped in. "The marks are reacting to something. What did your Church do?"

Serath's remaining eye twitched. Then, shockingly, he lowered his sword. "The pact is breaking."

"What pact?"

"The one our founders made!" Serath gestured wildly at the burning cathedral. "They bound the old gods' power, split it between Sunmarks and Ruinmarks to keep the balance! But now—"

A deafening *roar* cut him off. The ground trembled as the cathedral's ruins *heaved* upward, something massive stirring beneath.

Kael's mark *screamed* in recognition.

Serath paled. "They're waking up."