"They do not call him a king. They call him the light."
The border crossing into Elarith was quieter than expected. No horns. No banners. Just rows of stone-eyed guards in sun-etched bronze, and a long silence that pressed against the lungs.
Zee, Sevi, and Torren traveled as merchants-new robes, new names, false papers stamped by Vestule's finest forgers. Even so, every heartbeat at the gates felt like a coin toss.
The guards barely glanced at the seal. One waved them through. Another muttered something in prayer.
Zee didn't look back.
---
The capital of Solmire shimmered in gold and bone. White sandstone towers pierced the skyline like spears aimed at heaven. Every plaza bore murals of the sun. Every home had a prayer cloth hanging from the windows. And in the shadow of the citadel, a bell tower loomed-silent but watchful.
They found shelter in the Outer Ring, where travelers blended easier. A converted tea-house served as their base-just cracked wood, filtered light, and thin walls.
For the first few days, they listened.
---
The kingdom, they soon learned, was not held by faith alone. It was a tripod-three pillars that bore the Sun King's will.
The Marshal commanded the sword. His legions patrolled like wolves, armored in goldsteel. Whispers said they answered only to the King-and answered with fire.
The Church kept the soul. Their preachers spoke not of hope, but of order. Disobedience was sin. Magic was sin. And sins burned well in public.
And Mira ruled the word. The Lady of Dispatch. Every rider, seal, code, and letter flowed through her gates. Some said she heard confessions before they were spoken.
---
On the fourth day, they witnessed the execution.
It was just after noon. A hush settled across the plaza like dust after thunder. A man knelt on a blackened dais, arms bound in red twine. His head hung low.
Above him, a robed priest raised a disc of gold. "For the sanctity of the Crown. For silence betrayed."
The axe fell.
Blood darkened the sun-carved stone.
Sevi recoiled. "What did he do?"
A child near them whispered, "He spoke during the King's sermon."
Zee didn't speak. He only watched the blood curve through the grooves of the carved sun until it pooled in the cracks.
---
That night, they gathered in the tea-house cellar. Candles flickered. Maps sprawled across crates.
Torren jabbed a finger at the citadel sketch. "How the hell are we getting near him? That's more fort than palace."
"We don't," Zee said. "Not yet."
Sevi crossed her arms. "So what's the play?"
Zee pointed to each mark on the map. "We break the legs. One at a time. The Marshal. The Church. And Mira."
Torren raised an eyebrow. "And who do we start with?"
Zee stared at the bell tower through the window.
"We strike the bell."