Chapter 22 A Throne Born From Ash

• Tears streaked his face with a precision that seemed almost artistic, each drop accentuating the anguish as he gently caressed Argent’s cold, pale face. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if savoring every fleeting moment of connection with her lifeless form. At a distance, the seers whispered among themselves, their eyes flitting between him and the others, their murmurs laced with doubt and suspicion about his loyalty. Despite the weight of their judgment, Hound lay there, unmoving, consumed by his grief for the remainder of the day.
• “A streaking silver flame, burning through the streets, destroying property and reducing citizens to ash without discernible cause... there’s only one person who fits the description,” Blanc stated as he entered the room, stepping through the shattered remnants of the door with his cane tapping rhythmically against the floor. Emily trailed closely behind him, her steps cautious, while Bleak staggered in after them, his face battered and bruised from his clash with the seers.
• “Leave us,” Blanc commanded, his voice calm yet carrying the weight of authority. The others obeyed without hesitation, disappearing like ghosts from the room. Only Hound remained by Argent’s side, his body a monument of silent sorrow. Bleak, battered and bound by chains, slumped against the wall. Emily stood with a syringe filled with liquified ether in her grasp, her expression unreadable. A seer lingered nearby, his tools of torture gleaming ominously, and Blanc himself stood at the center, a picture of restrained grief and unshaken composure.