Chapter 20: Echoes of the Abyss and Dinner with the Demon

The days in the Royal Palace melted into a strange routine for Kaelen. The opulence, once a jarring contrast, now felt like a golden prison. The missions Valerius assigned them were subtle, surgical: eliminate informants without a trace, manipulate evidence, sow discord between rival factions with an invisible touch. Kaelen was the Ghost of the Alleys on a different stage, his brutality refined into a tool of intrigue.

His Touch of Putrefaction and Malignant Bloodflow were invaluable to Valerius, allowing him to send messages without the clumsiness of open violence. But it was the Echo of Torment that Valerius watched with greatest interest—the ability Kaelen had to break minds without spilling a single drop of blood. The Royal Counselor never asked for it directly, but his looks, his veiled words, always guided Kaelen toward mental torment.

He seeks your darkness. He feeds on it, whispered the voices in Kaelen's mind—a truth that no longer frightened him, but intrigued him.

Seraphina flourished in this environment. Her ice-blue eyes sparkled with a mad joy in every intrigue. She acted as the perfect counterpoint to Kaelen, her sadistic smile and biting remarks the perfect mirror of the court's depravity. Zoltan wove networks of information throughout the palace, his onyx eyes sharper than ever. Darian, however, was wasting away. The light in his sky-blue eyes faded with each day spent away from the hammer and direct battle. The Nest was rotting, and so was he.

One night, a personal invitation arrived for Kaelen. Not from the court, but from Lord Valerius himself. A private dinner in his personal chambers. An honor—if the word "honor" still held any meaning in Kaelen's new world.

Danger. Test. Do not eat from his table. It is a trap for your soul, the chorus of shadows warned, their tone more urgent than usual.

Kaelen did not hesitate. Dressed in simple but clean clothes provided by the palace, he made his way to Valerius's chambers. The hallway was silent, devoid of guards. An ebony-carved door opened at his approach.

Lord Valerius's study was a sanctuary of shadows and knowledge. Shelves filled with ancient tomes rose to the ceiling, arcane scrolls covered a central table, and the air smelled of incense and something old—almost like ancient stone. There was no ostentatious luxury, but a sense of ancestral power.

Valerius stood beside an arched window, observing the city under the moon. He wore no court silks, but a simple, dark linen robe. When he turned, his deep purple eyes locked onto Kaelen with an intensity that almost disarmed him.

"Ghost. Welcome," Valerius's voice was a soft murmur, devoid of any artifice. "Please, take a seat. I know court banquets are noisy. I preferred a more... intimate setting."

On a small table of dark wood sat a steaming bowl of soup, fresh bread, and a glass of wine. A simple, monastic meal that contrasted with the complexity of its host.

Kaelen sat down, his hand instinctively close to the axe hidden beneath his tunic. Valerius smiled—a smile that didn't reach his eyes—and sat across from him.

"Don't worry," Valerius said, his voice soft. "The food is pure. It's not poisoned. At least... not in the conventional sense.

I wanted to speak with you. Not as the King, or the Counselor. But as... a colleague."

Kaelen looked at him without emotion.

Colleague. Lie. He seeks the threads of your soul, the voices cried.

"I've observed your abilities, Ghost," Valerius continued, his voice filling the study's silence. "They are rare. Unique. And very ancient. Your ability to break minds, to touch the essence of despair... that's not something you learn in the slums. That's born of an abyss. Am I wrong?"

Kaelen did not respond, but a jolt of recognition ran through him. Valerius understood him in a way no one else had—not even Seraphina.

"Your true power is not the axe, Ghost," Valerius said, leaning in slightly. "It is madness. A catalyst for reality. The ability to see the threads others ignore, to manipulate them, to corrupt them. It's a gift. A gift from the Shadows themselves."

The mention of the Shadows resonated with the chorus of voices in Kaelen's head.

"You are not the first," Valerius continued, his voice dropping to an almost inaudible whisper. "There have been others. Bearers of madness. Some broke. Others became mindless monsters. But a few... a few learned to channel it. To use it. Like I did."

Kaelen felt his heart skip a beat. Valerius? Him too?

Was the puppeteer also a puppet—or a master of madness like him?

Valerius smiled—a smile almost compassionate, but with an undertone of cruelty.

"Your origins. The Valley of the Serene. A blessing turned curse. The blood spilled was the price of your awakening.

But true power doesn't lie in what you lost, but in what you gained. A vision. A connection to the Abyss that allows you to see the truth of this world. A world that is not as alive as it seems."

Kaelen took a sip of soup, his amethyst eyes fixed on Valerius. The taste was salty, neutral. But the Counselor's words were a storm in his mind.

"What I propose, Ghost," Valerius went on, his voice becoming deeper, more resonant, as if the words themselves were weaving a spell. "Is a true partnership. King Theron is a puppet. Grisel, a dying city. The factions fight over crumbs of power. But I see beyond."

Valerius stood, his figure casting an imposing shadow over Kaelen.

"This world is dying, Ghost. Infected by weakness. By ignorance. By blind faith in gods that no longer exist—or have already abandoned this reality. But there is a cure.

A new order. Forged in the truth of the void, in necessary cruelty."

Kaelen felt a deep resonance.

The void. The new order.

Those were the words the voices had whispered to him since the fall of the Valley of the Serene.

"And you, Ghost," Valerius continued, his silky voice and purple gaze piercing Kaelen's soul. "You can be a key piece in this dawn.

An architect of pain, an artist of fear.

I offer you not just protection or wealth—but the opportunity to unleash your true potential.

To shape reality with your own darkness."

Valerius extended a hand, his fingers pale and long—not offering a handshake, but an invitation to a shared abyss.

"Join me, Ghost. Not as a pawn, but as an heir of the Void. Together, we can purify Grisel. And perhaps... much more beyond."

Kaelen slowly rose. His amethyst eyes met Valerius's purple ones. The offer was so vast, so seductive, that the song of the shadows in his mind became a triumphant roar.

Yes. This is power. This is truth. Accept.

The figure of Ligia flickered in his mind—a painful, but distant memory. Master Elias, his wisdom now a weakness. They were echoes of a past that no longer belonged to him.

"I accept," Kaelen's voice was barely a whisper, but firm—charged with a dark resolve.

There was no love, no trust—only the cold logic of power and the promise of a purpose that resonated with the madness that consumed him.

A smile Kaelen had never seen before appeared on Lord Valerius's lips. Not kind, but of pure and ancient satisfaction.

"Excellent," Valerius whispered. "The dance begins, Ghost. And you... you will be my finest dancer."

The night in Grisel seemed darker, more alive. The heart of the city beat with a sinister rhythm, and in its marble halls, a new pact had been forged—a pact that promised to drag Grisel, and Kaelen, into an abyss of unimaginable power and depravity.

The silence of faith was fading.

The Void of Power awaited.

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