Testament of the Fallen

The chamber was colder than the rest of the Order's hall—deep below the ground, beneath two sets of reinforced staircases and a gate that sealed like a vault. Here, in this place where words became legacy, there was no comfort. No distractions.

Only stone, silence, and the burden of truth.

The room was octagonal, the walls carved with ancient scripture and the sigils of the four divine churches: the Forge, the Holy Mother, the Shield, and the Librarian. Light came from the ceiling—veins of glowing crystal threaded through the stone, casting a white-blue luminescence that left no shadows. It was not meant to feel warm. It was meant to feel clear.

At the room's center sat a long obsidian table shaped like a blade tip driven into the earth—seven seats prepared on one side for Koda and his party. On the opposite side sat the recorders.

Three members of the Order, draped in the heavy robes of senior officers, their necks clasped with iron-threaded seals that marked them as truth-binders. Their faces were hard, their hands resting on etched slates designed to transcribe every word spoken in this room, enchanted not to miss even a breath.

And among them—one figure stood apart.

The Head Librarian of Cael'Rhain.

A woman of tall frame and hawk-like gaze, her hair pinned back with the same cold precision as her robes, marked with the swirling emblem of the Divine Librarian. She did not sit. She stood behind the scribes, hands clasped in front of her, motionless. Watching.

Koda and his party took their seats in silence.

There were no greetings.

No blessings.

Only the nod of one recorder, and the soft whisper of rune-inked quills beginning to move.

"State your names," one officer began, voice echoing slightly in the chamber. "And confirm you are here willingly to submit testimony on the events following your departure from Callestan."

One by one, the group did. The names of the seven rang through the chamber like hammers against ice.

Maia of the Holy Mother.

Terron of the Divine Shield.

Junen of the Holy Mother.

Thessa of the Holy Mother.

Wren and Deker, both of the Divine Librarian.

And Koda… of the Eternal Guide.

The final name carried a silence after it. No one wrote. No one spoke. Until the recorder cleared his throat and resumed.

"What do you bring us?"

Maia was the first to speak.

Her voice did not waver. "We bring testimony of the death of Delrest."

It was like a storm passed through the room.

Even the enchanted quills faltered.

The Head Librarian's lips parted, but no sound came. Her brow furrowed, and for a moment, the mask of protocol cracked. The three officers leaned forward, their eyes hard with disbelief.

"What do you mean death?" one asked.

"They were taken in their sleep," Maia said. "We found no signs of suffering. No signs of attack. No wounds. Just… stillness. Entire households. Families. Children. All of them."

"We burned them," Terron added grimly. "We made sure they wouldn't rise. The city is ashes now."

The scribes' pens moved slower, their expressions no longer detached. One swallowed hard, blinking as if the dust of Delrest had passed into his eyes from a thousand miles away.

The Head Librarian stepped forward for the first time.

"How many?" she asked.

Koda answered, his voice low. "Everyone. We saw no one alive. Not until we left. A single caravan, late leaving. They survived by days. That's all."

A heavy breath passed through the room. The officers sat back in their chairs. The silence was thick with mourning that had no time to form yet. That would come later.

And then Koda spoke again.

"We found the scar. The source."

This brought the officers to attention.

"A scar?" the Head Librarian asked. "Inside Delrest?"

Koda nodded. "And sloth at its heart. Not a battle. Not a fight. Just… the embodiment of absence. We prepared to engage, but…"

"Something else arrived," Maia whispered.

Koda's expression darkened. "Wrath."

They could feel the temperature in the room drop.

The recorders froze mid-stroke.

"Wrath broke through the city's outer district," Junen said. "We barely had time to register its presence before it tore through buildings, walls… and then—"

"It found sloth," Wren continued. "And it devoured it."

"Not metaphorically," Koda said. "We saw it. Wrath crushed sloth's skull like fruit in its fist… and drank its blood."

The Head Librarian's face went pale, though she remained composed.

"And it changed him," Deker added. "He grew still. Quiet. Less rage, but more… intention. Like the fury went inward. Like it was thinking now."

"That's when we knew," Thessa whispered. "The fragments are not just rising. They're seeking each other. Vying for dominance."

Koda looked up, eyes locked on the Head Librarian.

"Wrath has evolved," he said. "And it's only the beginning."

The chamber held its breath.

And then the recorders began to write again—slower now, reverently. As if every word might be the last that could be trusted.

The quills had slowed again.

Not because the scribes were distracted, but because every word now required careful attention. This was no longer just a recounting of events. It was the start of doctrine.

The Order branch head was summoned and quietly observing from the side, leaning on the wall. The Head Librarian had taken a seat at the far end of the table, no longer distant, but directly facing Koda and the others.

"What do you believe these… sins are?" she asked, her voice precise, yet softer now.

Koda didn't answer immediately. He looked first to his team.

And one by one, they nodded.

He leaned forward, his fingers laced before him on the black stone table.

"We believe the sins are fragments of the Dead God," he said. "Not merely born of it, but of it. The god's body may be gone—but its instincts… survived. Splintered."

Maia picked up from him, her voice clear and unwavering. "Each fragment has developed a mind of its own. Not just power, but presence. Personality. Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath—each of them has shown clear emotional and psychological influence over their domains."

"Their domain being us," Junen added sharply. "Humanity."

A hush followed.

Terron glanced toward the scribes. "You want patterns? We've seen them. Felt them."

He looked down at his hands.

"Gluttony devoured indiscriminately. It hollowed out everything in its path. Physically, it consumed. Psychologically… it encouraged excess. Hunger without end. Even our thoughts turned to more, more, more—until restraint felt like starvation."

Wren continued, "Greed was more subtle. It didn't take by force. It offered. Promised. Appealed to what we wanted most. Power. Peace. Even love. It buried us in illusions and tried to make us crave them."

Thessa's voice trembled, but she did not falter. "Sloth… it took nothing. It simply made everything seem not worth the effort. The will to move, to act, to even breathe—it faded. It was peaceful. It was cruel. They didn't even realize it was killing them until they had already passed."

"And Wrath…" Derek exhaled. "It was the only one that didn't hide. It announced itself. It didn't whisper or seduce. It tore through walls, through lives—pure destruction. But after it fed on Sloth… it became quiet. Still furious. But intentional. That's worse."

The Head Librarian was no longer writing.

She was watching Koda, closely.

"So each of them has a psychological vector," she said. "A cognitive attack pattern. Not just brute force."

"Yes," Maia said.

"They don't just kill," Koda added. "They infect. The mind. The heart. The will. That's why their scars linger. Even when we win, the poison is still in the soil."

"And yet you resist," the branch head of the Order said quietly.

Koda looked at him.

"We resist," he corrected, gesturing to his team.

"They've been tested by more than blades. They've been tested by desire. By apathy. By rage. Each of us has had our worst moments brought to light. And we're still here."

Junen gave a grim nod. "But not unscathed."

"No," Wren agreed. "Never unscathed."

The Head Librarian leaned back. "So what you're telling us is… these aren't just monsters. They're philosophies. Manifestations."

Koda's expression was hard.

"They are temptations given form."

"And they will not stop."

Maia reached into her pack and slid forward a scroll—sealed and marked in the ink of the Eternal Guide. "This came from the Guide himself," she said. "The Dead God's fragments are not isolated. They are waking. And when they do… they will fight for dominance."

The branch head stepped forward at last, his voice low.

"What happens when one of them wins?"

Koda didn't flinch.

"Then the Dead God returns. Without the will of restraint that was claimed by the Guide."

"A Primal God, holding absolute authority."

The silence following their testimony was not the stillness of confusion.

It was grief. The kind that settles into stone and marrow, the kind that has no sound.

Then the man who had stood behind the scribes for the entire account stepped forward at last. His posture was upright, but not stiff—weathered, not weakened. His cloak bore the emblem of the Order, but his eyes held the weight of something far older than rank.

"I am the branch head of the Order here in Cael'Rhain," he said, voice carrying without effort. "I have waited to speak out of respect—for what you brought here, and for what it cost you to carry it."

He looked at each of them in turn.

"But the time for stillness has passed. There is more."

He moved around the edge of the obsidian table until he stood beside the Head Librarian, then laid a small map scroll before them. No flourish. No symbols. Just a hand-marked region—a circle drawn over the central lowlands between Cael'Rhain and the capital.

"These reports began trickling in over the last week," he said. "Small towns. Isolated homesteads. Farming enclaves."

He tapped one of the marked dots.

"At first, we assumed poor roads, poor weather, maybe a few border skirmishes. But then they stopped responding. Not just messages—trade deliveries. Entire communities… quiet."

Terron leaned forward. "Dead?"

"No." The branch head's voice lowered. "That's the problem. They're not dead. Not empty. We've sent scouts, and the ones who returned said the towns are still intact. The people are alive."

He paused.

"But they don't care."

Maia's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"They welcome outsiders. With smiles. With warmth. With offerings. They offer their food, their homes, their companionship—but it's not generosity." He looked to her. "It's fixation."

Junen narrowed her eyes. "Loyalty?"

"Dependency," the branch head replied. "The people seem fine on the surface, but they don't question. Don't resist. They want you to stay—to join them. And if you leave, they beg. Or they watch. Some follow you to the edge of town, just standing, eyes wide, like they can't fathom why anyone would leave that perfection."

A chill slid down the spines of half the room.

Thessa spoke next. "There's a pull, isn't there?"

The branch head nodded. "Yes. Not from the towns themselves, but something deeper. Our few remaining scouts described a sensation of being understood—as if something knew them, knew what they wanted. Not just physically, but emotionally. Intimately."

Koda's voice came low, but clear. "Lust."

The branch head's gaze sharpened on him. "We believe so."

Wren exhaled slowly. "Not carnal desire alone… but attention. Validation. Craving fulfillment."

"And it's spreading," he continued. "Not quickly—not yet. But we're seeing more signs near the capital. The scar has not yet been located, but the influence is clear. There is something—someone—nesting in those fields. Rooting itself deep into the minds of the people."

He stepped back from the table now, gaze steady.

"Cael'Rhain has held firm. Our walls remain closed. But the capital… they are more open. More trusting. And if the spread reaches them in full…"

He didn't finish the thought.

He didn't have to.

Maia looked to Koda—and he to her.

They had seen what Sloth could do in silence.

What Greed could do in illusion.

What Wrath could do in fury.

And what Lust might do, given time, was worse still: it would make you choose it.

The branch head's voice came once more, steady as the gates above.

"You were already bound for the capital. Now I ask you to make haste. The Order's hands cannot reach deep enough. And the people there may soon not want to be saved."

Koda gave a quiet nod.

"We'll leave at dawn."

And the chamber, once again, exhaled.

Koda had barely risen from his seat when the branch head raised a hand.

"Wait."

The room stilled again.

"You don't need to leave alone."

The branch head stepped closer, his cloak shifting with weight—not ceremonial, but reinforced for function. He addressed the group with the same quiet authority as before, though now there was something else layered in his voice. Relief, maybe. Or gratitude, hidden beneath iron professionalism.

"We have a caravan departing for the capital at first light. Supply wagons. Trade contacts. A few clergy and Order personnel as escorts. Slow, yes—but steady. And more importantly: secure."

Maia tilted her head. "You'd have us travel with them?"

He nodded. "Your tokens give you priority access and authority, but that doesn't mean you need to burn your bodies to ash just to get there. You've done more than enough. Let the caravan shield you for a while. Let your people rest."

Junen folded her arms, thinking. "And the route?"

"The mountain pass is clear this time of year," he answered. "Late autumn doesn't carry the winter bite yet. There may be storms in the higher ridges, but nothing our scouts haven't crossed before. The full journey from Cael'Rhain to the capital should take just under a week."

"A week…" Terron said, rubbing his jaw. "Without night watches. No broken sleep. Actual road time."

The branch head offered the faintest smile. "Exactly."

Wren exchanged a glance with Deker, and for once, neither of them had objections. No suspicions. Just the exhaustion showing in their posture, finally given permission to be acknowledged.

Koda didn't speak for a moment. He looked to each of them—his team. He saw the heavy bags under Maia's eyes, the tightness in Thessa's jaw, the tension riding along Terron's back like he hadn't put down his hammer since the last fight. Even Junen, ever composed, looked worn.

He let out a slow breath.

"Alright," he said. "We'll join them."

The branch head nodded, then gestured to one of the Order staff waiting near the edge of the room.

"I'll have quarters prepared for your group within the Order stronghold tonight. Your wagon will be stocked and waiting by the gate come morning."

He turned back to Koda, gaze firm.

"You've crossed fire, rot, hunger, and silence to get here. Let us carry some of the road this time."