Lady Seraphina Vayne did not sleep that night. She returned to her dilapidated manor, her movements quiet and precise, but her mind was a tempest. The memory of Ravi's gaze piercing the darkness, the crushing weight of his awareness, was seared into her consciousness. Fear was a cold knot in her stomach, but it was being steadily consumed by the fire of a new, audacious strategy.
She spent hours in her study, a room now stripped of its former luxuries, leaving only books, maps of Veridia, and charts detailing the lineages and holdings of the city's noble houses. By the dim light of a single candle, she stared at one name in particular: Duke Nicodemus Valerius.
Not related to the City Watch Captain, Duke Valerius was a man of immense wealth and influence, known publicly for his philanthropy and patronage of the arts. But Seraphina knew the truth. He was a rapacious predator, a key architect in the conspiracy that had ruined her family, seizing their most profitable mines through forged documents and political assassination. He was a monster hidden behind a veneer of civility, his hands stained with blood that the rest of the city willfully ignored. He was, she realized with a chilling certainty, the very definition of a sinner worthy of the Slum God's judgment.
"Marcus," she said as her loyal servant brought her a cup of tea in the early hours of the morning, his face etched with concern. "I need you to arrange something for me."
"My Lady?"
"There is a particular kind of root, found only in the deepest, most shadowed parts of the Whisperwood. They call it 'Gravebloom'. It is not overtly poisonous, but when prepared correctly and ingested, it mimics the symptoms of a fatal, wasting sickness that leaves no trace. Find me a purveyor of such things. Discreetly."
Marcus's eyes widened in alarm. "My Lady! You cannot mean to—"
"I do not intend to poison anyone, Marcus," Seraphina cut him off, her voice calm and sharp as glass. "I merely require a tool for a… performance." Her gaze fell back upon the Duke's name on her charts. "I will not challenge the hurricane. I will not try to steer it. I will simply show it where the most rotted trees stand, and let the storm do its work."
Two days later, Mira brought news to Ravi.
"Slum God," she said, her expression a mixture of confusion and suspicion. "A woman has appeared in our territory. She is asking for you. By name."
Ravi, who was in the process of telekinetically mending a crack in one of the slaughterhouse's great stone walls, a feat that left Mira perpetually in awe, paused. He turned his head, his luminous eyes fixing on her. "A woman? Not one of Vylia's vipers?"
"No. She is… different," Mira explained. "She doesn't look like she belongs here, even in disguise. There's a bearing to her, a confidence. But she is also clearly unwell. She is pale, her breathing is shallow, and she claims to be dying of a sickness that no physician can cure. She says her last wish is to seek an audience with the new 'God of Justice' in The Pit."
Ravi's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. A dying noblewoman seeking an audience? It was… unusual. His senses, which had cataloged the hidden watcher at the Broken Pillar, immediately recognized the description. It was her. The one with the core of ambition and pain.
"Where is this woman?" he asked.
"She awaits you in the square where Grish was… judged," Mira replied, a hint of protectiveness in her tone. "I have my people watching her. She has not made a hostile move."
"Bring her to me," Ravi commanded. "Let us hear the last words of this dying bird."
Seraphina was led into the vast, grim chamber of the slaughterhouse. The stench of old blood, though faded, still clung to the air, a testament to the place's history. The sight of Ravi, seated on the crude throne, was even more imposing up close. His presence filled the room, a quiet, thrumming power that was both terrifying and magnetic. His eyes, cold and ancient, locked onto her, and she felt that familiar, soul-baring pressure once more.
She had prepared for this. The Gravebloom root, ground into a fine powder and ingested hours earlier, was working as intended. A deathly pallor clung to her skin, her breathing was deliberately shallow, and a fine sheen of cold sweat graced her brow. She appeared, for all intents and purposes, like a woman on the verge of collapse. She leaned heavily on a walking stick, her every movement projecting weakness and fragility.
She stopped before him and, with a pained effort, sank into a low, graceful curtsy. A gesture of noble breeding that was starkly out of place in the blood-soaked den.
"Slum God," she said, her voice a carefully modulated, weak-sounding whisper. "I thank you for granting an audience to one who is already walking in death's shadow."
Ravi observed her, his gaze missing nothing. He noted the fine stitching of her supposedly drab clothes, the subtle grace of her movements despite her 'illness', the flicker of sharp intelligence behind her pain-filled eyes. He could sense the lie. The 'sickness' was an artifice, a chemical illusion. But he could also sense the truth beneath it: the burning core of hatred, the thirst for vengeance, the unwavering resolve. This was not a plea for healing. This was a gambit. He decided to let her play her hand.
"You are far from your gilded cage, little bird," Ravi said, his voice a low rumble. "Why do you seek death in a place so full of it?"
"Because the justice of the living has failed me," Seraphina replied, her voice filled with a genuine, sorrowful bitterness that required no acting. "The 'gilded cage' you speak of was stolen from me, my family murdered and disgraced by a man the world hails as a pillar of society. I have exhausted every legitimate avenue for justice. The magistrates are bought. The city guard is blind. And now, this sickness consumes me before I can see vengeance done."
She looked up, her jade eyes locking with his, projecting a desperate, final plea. "I have heard the whispers, Slum God. They say you are a true and terrible justice. That you judge the sinner, no matter their station. My life is forfeit. I ask for nothing for myself. But as my dying wish, I ask you to turn your divine gaze upon the man who has wronged me, who has wronged countless others hidden behind his wall of gold and lies. I offer you… a worthy sin to judge."
"A name," Ravi said, his voice flat, cutting straight to the point.
"Duke Nicodemus Valerius," Seraphina breathed, the name dripping with venom. "He resides in a grand manor in the Onyx District, a fortress of stolen wealth. He is hosting a grand gala in three nights' time, celebrating his latest 'charitable' acquisition – the very mines he stole from my father after having him killed."
Ravi remained silent for a long moment, his ancient gaze seeming to pierce through her, weighing her words, her motives, the truth of her accusation. Mira, watching from the side, looked on with suspicion. A noblewoman bringing slum justice upon another noble? It smelled of a trick.
Finally, Ravi spoke. "You offer me a target. You seek to use my judgment as your personal weapon of vengeance."
Seraphina's heart stuttered, but she held his gaze. There was no point in denying it. "Yes," she admitted, her voice still a whisper. "But is his sin not real? Is his corruption not a blight upon the world you seek to cleanse? I cannot prove his crimes in a court of men. But I suspect your court does not require the same… mundane evidence."
She coughed, a wracking, painful sound she had practiced to perfection. "My life is spent. I have nothing left to lose. But the thought of him celebrating on my family's grave while I fade into nothing… it is an injustice my soul cannot bear."
"And what do you gain from this, little bird? If you are truly dying?" Ravi asked, the question a sharp probe.
"Peace," Seraphina whispered, a single, genuine tear tracing a path down her pale cheek. "The peace of knowing that a true monster will face a true reckoning. That is all that is left for me."
Ravi leaned forward slightly, the pressure in the room intensifying. "The sins of the powerful in this city are a legion. I would have found them in my own time."
"But time is what I do not have," Seraphina countered softly. "I offer you a shortcut. A name, a place, a time. A chance to strike at the heart of the city's decay, to make a statement that will echo from the deepest slum to the highest spire. Judge him, Slum God. Let the decadent elite of Veridia see what true justice looks like. Let them fear you, as they should."
Her plea hung in the air, a masterfully woven tapestry of lies and truth, of personal vengeance and grander purpose. She was offering him exactly what he wanted: a high-profile sinner, a symbol of the world's corruption, delivered on a silver platter.
Ravi leaned back into his throne, his gaze never leaving her. He could sense the intricate web of her scheme, the cold, calculating mind behind her performance. And yet… the core of it was true. Her hatred for this Duke was pure, a burning star of focused animosity. And a quick scan of the world's aether, the psychic residue of powerful emotions and actions, confirmed her accusation. The Duke's soul was stained, tarnished with the dark energies of murder, theft, and deceit. He was, indeed, a worthy target.
This mortal woman was attempting to manipulate a god. The sheer audacity was… interesting. He would allow it. For now. Her gambit aligned with his purpose.
"Duke Nicodemus Valerius," Ravi said, the name rolling off his tongue like a death sentence. "His gala, three nights from now." He looked at Mira, then back at Seraphina. "Your offering is… accepted."
Seraphina's shoulders slumped in a wave of carefully feigned, overwhelming relief. Inside, her heart hammered with triumphant terror. Her gambit had worked.
"Go now, little bird," Ravi commanded, his voice once again a low rumble. "Find a place to 'die' in peace. Your wish will be granted."
Seraphina bowed her head one last time. "Thank you… Slum God." With Marcus's aid, who had been waiting nervously outside, she made her slow, painful exit from the slaughterhouse.
Once she was gone, Mira approached Ravi, her brow furrowed. "Slum God… do you trust her? A noble's feud brought to our doorstep? It feels like a trap."
"It is a trap," Ravi confirmed, a cold, almost imperceptible smile gracing his features. "But not for me."
He stood, his gaze directed north, towards the distant, glittering spires of Veridia's Onyx District. "She has pointed the way to a particularly vile nest of corruption. For that, her audacity is rewarded."
His eyes began to glow with a faint, chilling light. The slumbering power within him stirred with renewed purpose. Judging the filth of The Pit was one thing. But marching into the heart of the city's power, to deliver his brutal judgment before the eyes of the decadent elite…
That would be a performance of its own. A true Decree, written in the blood of a Duke, that would shake the foundations of the entire city.