The Bell of Crows

The bell tolled three times.

Each chime echoed down the mountain, sharp and metallic—nothing like the ceremonial bells of the temple. This was a war bell. A relic from the Old Kingdom, buried for centuries beneath the archives. No one had sounded it in over a hundred years.

Maren stiffened. "They're here," he muttered.

"Who?" Eloryn asked, though her tone said she already knew the answer.

"The Black Crows," he replied. "The Inquisitors. They've come for you."

Eloryn stepped away from the Starwell, the visions fading into soft embers. "They always come. In every life, they find me."

Maren grabbed her arm. "We must go. If they catch you—"

"They'll burn me again," she said simply.

Her calm frightened him more than the bells.

They hurried through the winding tunnels. The deeper echoes of bootsteps and clanking armor chased them through the corridors. Torchlight flickered behind them—too organized to be looters. Too fast to be pilgrims.

When they emerged from the lower sanctum into the temple ruins, the sky had darkened into twilight. Crows circled overhead—real ones this time—drawn by the scent of smoke and prophecy.

A tall figure waited among the broken columns, his armor jet black, the silver crest of the king's seal glowing faintly in the firelight. His face was hidden beneath a hood, but the voice that emerged was cold and unmistakable.

"Eloryn of Tirael," he said. "In the name of the Crown, you are under arrest for treason against the realm, heresy against the divine order, and destruction of sacred property."

Eloryn took a step forward. "Do you know me?"

"I know what you are," the Inquisitor replied. "You speak in tongues, summon flame without prayer, and claim false lifetimes."

"They're not false," she said. "Just forgotten."

The Inquisitor raised a gauntleted hand. "Seize her."

Maren stepped between them. "She is the Oracle."

"She is a blasphemy."

Eloryn lifted her hand—and for a moment, just a moment, the wind around her paused. The crows stopped circling. The stars above pulsed.

And then everything moved.

A burst of starfire erupted from her palm, not to harm, but to blind. Light poured out like liquid, scattering across the stones. The soldiers flinched, screamed, dropped their weapons.

Eloryn grabbed Maren's hand. "Run."

They fled into the night, down an old pilgrim's trail that hadn't seen footprints in a generation. Behind them, the Inquisitor shouted orders, but he did not follow. Not yet.

In the distance, the river glowed faintly under the moon.

"They'll keep coming," Maren said between breaths. "You've started something that cannot be undone."

"No," she replied. "I've come to undo everything ."

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