Lord of the Foresaken
Chapter 28: JOURNEY TO THE CAPITAL

Chapter 28: JOURNEY TO THE CAPITAL

The border between Reed’s domain and the neighboring territory of Lord Vexus manifested as a physical wound in the landscape—a jagged crack where soil turned from the rich, blood-infused black earth of the Hollow to the sickly yellow clay of Vexus’s realm. Reed paused at this boundary, feeling the elemental energies within him recoil at the transition. Behind him, the skies bore the perpetual amber hue of his domain. Ahead, clouds of noxious green vapor swirled beneath a sky the color of old bruises.

"You feel it, don’t you?" Shia asked, her shadow-form congealing beside him. "The rejection. Your elements sense the incompatibility."

Reed nodded, watching as the flesh of his forearm rippled with discomfort, the four elements churning visibly beneath his translucent skin. "Each Lord’s domain is an extension of their essence. My presence here is... an intrusion."

He took a deliberate step forward, crossing the boundary. Pain lanced through his body—not debilitating, but certainly unpleasant. The land beneath his feet seemed to shudder in revulsion. Behind them, a goblin scout from his vanguard shrieked in agony as it crossed, its body convulsing before collapsing into a heap of withered flesh.

"Lesser beings cannot survive transition between incompatible domains," Reed observed dispassionately. "Remember this when we return. Only those bound directly to us will endure."

They had traveled light—only Reed and Shia making the journey to the Capital, with no retinue or display of power. Reed wore simple leather armor beneath a hooded cloak that concealed his transformed appearance, though nothing could hide the faint glow that emanated from his skin or the occasional flicker of elemental energy that escaped his control.

Three days into their journey through Vexus’s territory, they encountered the first settlement—a village if one could call it that. The structures were asymmetrical and unnaturally angled, composed of materials that resembled bone and cartilage more than wood or stone. The inhabitants moved with jerking, puppet-like motions, their bodies augmented with crude mechanical appendages.

"Lord Vexus styles himself an innovator," Shia observed as they passed through the village center, drawing fearful glances and whispers. "These people are his experiments."

Reed studied a child—or what had once been a child—whose right arm had been replaced with a spindly metal apparatus ending in a pickaxe. Its eyes were dull, the spark of self-awareness long extinguished.

"Innovation without purpose is merely cruelty masquerading as progress," Reed replied, the elements beneath his skin reacting to his disgust. Tiny flames flickered between his fingers before he suppressed them.

A village elder approached them, his body more machine than man, clicking and whirring with each labored step. "Travelers," he said, voice emanating from a brass speaker embedded in his throat, "you must pay tribute to pass through Lord Vexus’s domain."

Reed’s eyes narrowed beneath his hood. "We are not subject to Vexus’s taxation. We journey to the Tournament."

The elder’s mechanical eyes focused, then widened in recognition—or perhaps fear. "You... you’re one of the Lords."

Reed nodded once.

"Forgive me," the elder said quickly, bowing so low that gears creaked in protest within his spine. "Please, allow us to offer hospitality—"

"No," Reed cut him off. "We require nothing from you."

As they left the village behind, Shia glanced at Reed. "You pity them."

"I recognize waste," Reed replied. "Vexus wastes human potential on vanity projects. These people could be stronger, more useful, with proper guidance."

"Like your Hollowspawn?"

Reed’s mouth twitched into something almost resembling a smile. "My subjects choose their transformations. They serve of their own will."

"Most do," Shia corrected quietly.

Reed did not respond.

The domains they traversed over the next several days each bore the distinct signature of their ruler. Lord Mephia’s territory was a landscape of stunning, toxic beauty—gardens of crystalline flowers that shattered at the slightest touch, releasing clouds of hallucinogenic spores. Lord Krell’s realm was a perpetual battlefield, where villages existed as military encampments and children trained with weapons before they could walk. Lord Zephyra’s domain floated partially above the ground, islands of earth suspended by powerful air magic, connected by bridges of pure light.

Each crossing brought pain, each domain rejecting Reed’s composite nature with increasing ferocity. By the time they reached the fourth border—the territory of Lord Astor—Reed’s cloak had begun to smolder from the elemental energies he struggled to contain.

"Your control weakens," Shia observed as they rested beside a pristine lake that reflected the starlight with unnatural clarity. "Perhaps we should have brought the Soul Forge’s portable conduit."

Reed shook his head, dipping his hands into the water. Steam rose where his skin touched the surface. "I must adapt. The Tournament will not allow for such crutches."

A twig snapped in the forest behind them.

Reed didn’t turn. "You can reveal yourself. Your concealment magic is... adequate, but my senses have evolved beyond such deceptions."

Silence, then a soft laugh. "Fascinating. The rumors hardly do you justice, Hollow-Lord."

A figure emerged from the treeline—a woman of impossible beauty, her skin shimmering with an opalescent gleam, her hair a cascade of living silver that moved like liquid metal. She wore armor that appeared to be grown rather than forged, flowing around her form in organic curves.

"Lady Isolde," Reed acknowledged, finally turning to face her. "Water Domain. Western Territories."

She smiled, revealing teeth too perfect to be human. "And you are the infamous Reed, the lord who dared to claim all four elements. You look... unwell."

Reed’s eyes narrowed. "The journey takes its toll."

"Indeed." Isolde moved closer, her movements fluid as a stream. "I wonder if you’ll survive long enough to reach the Colosseum. Crossing seven domains with your... unstable condition seems ambitious."

Reed felt Shia tensing beside him, shadows gathering at her fingertips. He placed a hand on her wrist—a warning.

"You’re also bound for the Tournament," Reed observed. "A challenger or merely a spectator?"

Isolde’s smile didn’t waver. "I compete, of course. Though I wonder why the Council bothers with the pretense. We all know what the Tournament truly is."

"Enlighten me."

"A culling," she replied, her beautiful face hardening. "The old Lords have grown tired of upstarts and anomalies. Particularly those who violate the natural order." Her gaze pointedly moved to Reed’s chest, where the glyph pulsed visibly beneath his cloak. "One element to one Lord. That is the way it has always been."

"The old ways are failing," Reed countered. "The Archon stirs."

At the mention of the Archon, Isolde’s composure fractured. The liquid silver of her hair solidified momentarily, forming jagged spikes before melting back to flowing strands.

"You speak of myths to justify abomination," she hissed. "The Council was right to fear you."

Reed stood, towering over her despite her own considerable height. "Fear is appropriate. But not for the reasons they believe."

For a moment, he let his control slip—just enough for his true nature to manifest. His hood fell back, revealing skin that rippled with the four elements in chaotic harmony. His eyes burned with power, and the air around him distorted with heat and cold simultaneously.

Isolde stepped back involuntarily, her hand moving to the ornate trident strapped to her back.

"You would attack a fellow Lord en route to the Tournament?" Reed asked, his voice resonating with multiple tones. "The ancient laws—"

"Apply to Lords," she snapped. "Not to monsters playing at lordship."

Reed smiled, and even Shia seemed disturbed by the expression. "Then by all means, Lady of Water, test your conviction."

For one tense moment, it seemed Isolde would strike. Her fingers wrapped around her trident’s shaft, knuckles whitening. Then, with visible effort, she released her weapon.

"Save your strength, Hollow-Lord," she said through clenched teeth. "You’ll need it in the Colosseum." She turned to leave, then paused. "You’ve never seen the Capital, have you? The seat of the High Council?"

"I have not," Reed admitted.

Isolde’s smile returned, cruel and knowing. "Then you’re in for quite a revelation."

She melted away—literally—her body dissolving into a stream that flowed back into the lake, leaving only ripples in her wake.

Shia moved to Reed’s side. "She fears you."

"Fear and hatred are close companions," Reed replied, pulling his hood back up. "She won’t be the last to feel both toward me."

The Capital revealed itself gradually, first as a glow on the horizon, then as a silhouette against the midnight sky, and finally, as they crested the final hill, in all its impossible grandeur.

Even Reed, who had seen the ruins of civilizations beyond mortal comprehension, found himself momentarily stupefied. The city defied physical law—its spires twisted into shapes that the eye couldn’t follow, its walls simultaneously opaque and transparent. Streets floated at various elevations, connected by bridges that seemed to be made of solid light. At its center, a massive structure of obsidian and crystal rose like a mountain, catching and refracting the light of nine artificial suns that orbited above the city.

"The Spire of Nine," Shia whispered, her normally composed voice tinged with awe. "Seat of the High Council."

Reed studied the city, the elements beneath his skin responding to the immense magical energies emanating from it. Water condensed around his fingers, earth particles crystallized along his arms, flames flickered in his eyes, and air currents formed miniature cyclones around his feet.

"A display of power," he observed. "Meant to remind lesser beings of their place."

"And to intimidate rural Lords," Shia added.

They joined the stream of travelers heading toward the main gates—diplomats, merchants, nobles, and other Lords, all converging for the Tournament. Reed felt the weight of stares, heard the whispers that followed in their wake. His reputation had preceded him.

At the gates, armored guards in ceremonial plate bore the crest of all nine High Lords—a reminder of the unified power that governed this neutral territory. They eyed Reed with undisguised suspicion but did not challenge him.

Inside the city, the true nature of the Capital became apparent. Beyond the awe-inspiring architecture and magical displays lay a rigid social hierarchy more severe than anything Reed had witnessed. The upper tiers of the floating streets were reserved for nobility and higher beings, while the ground level teemed with commoners and servants. Guards stationed at every intersection enforced these boundaries with merciless efficiency.

"Notice the elemental segregation," Shia murmured as they moved through the crowded lower streets. "Fire domain nobility to the east, water to the west..."

Reed nodded, observing how even in this "neutral" territory, the rigid separation of elements pervaded every aspect of society. His composite nature made him an aberration in this carefully ordered world.

They were directed to a district reserved for visiting Lords—a collection of opulent mansions surrounded by gardens that changed appearance based on the elemental affiliation of their occupants. The mansion assigned to Reed remained unaltered stone and wood, as if the city itself couldn’t reconcile his multiple elemental signatures.

A servant—human but with the blank eyes of one whose will had been magically suppressed—greeted them with a bow so deep it seemed his spine might snap.

"Lord Reed of the Hollow," the servant intoned. "The Council welcomes you to the Capital. You are commanded to present yourself at the Spire of Nine tomorrow at daybreak for Tournament registration and... classification."

The servant’s eyes briefly flickered with something—fear or perhaps pity—before returning to their vacant state.

"You will be escorted," he continued. "It is... advised that you do not wander the Capital unaccompanied. For your safety."

After the servant departed, Shia moved to the windows, looking out at the impossible city. "A beautiful prison."

Reed stood in the center of the main chamber, feeling the weight of ancient magic pressing down upon him. The elements within him churned with increasing agitation, responding to the oppressive atmosphere.

"The entire city is a construct," he realized aloud. "Not built by mortal hands, but manifested by the collective will of the Nine."

He placed his palm against a wall, sending his consciousness into the structure. What he found made his blood run cold.

The building—indeed, the entire city—was alive. Not in the sense of ordinary living things, but as a vast, interconnected organism. Millions of souls, bound and transmuted into the very fabric of the buildings, the streets, the bridges. Countless sacrifices, their consciousness preserved in eternal agony, forced to maintain the grandeur of the Capital.

Reed withdrew his senses, physically recoiling from the wall.

"What is it?" Shia asked, alarmed by his reaction.

"The city," Reed whispered, the elements beneath his skin roiling in sympathetic horror. "It’s made of souls."

Before Shia could respond, a chime sounded—beautiful but dissonant, echoing across the entire city. The artificial suns above began to align in a specific configuration.

Through the window, they watched as the massive obsidian structure at the city’s center began to transform. The Spire of Nine split open like a blooming flower, revealing a vast arena within—the Obsidian Colosseum, suspended impossibly in the heart of the spire.

As they watched, a pillar of light erupted from the Colosseum’s center, piercing the heavens. Within the light, a massive projected image appeared in the sky: Reed’s face, transformed by the four elements, displayed for all the Capital to see.

A voice boomed across the city, enhanced by magic to reach every corner:

"CITIZENS OF THE NINE REALMS! BEHOLD THE ABOMINATION THAT CHALLENGES OUR ANCIENT ORDER! THE TOURNAMENT OF SUBJUGATION BEGINS AT DAWN!"

Reed’s eyes narrowed as he watched thousands of faces turn upward, expressions of horror and disgust clear even from this distance.

The message continued, the voice dripping with ceremonial venom:

"LET ALL WITNESS THE RESTORATION OF BALANCE! LET THE ELEMENTS RETURN TO THEIR RIGHTFUL SEPARATION!"

The glyph on Reed’s chest burned suddenly, the embedded eye opening fully for the first time. His vision split—part of him remained in the mansion, while another part seemed to view the city from above. No, not from above—from within. From the perspective of the countless souls trapped in the city’s fabric.

And through their collective agony, he heard a whisper that only he could perceive:

"They built their order upon endless suffering. They are no different from the Archon they claim to imprison. Free us, Vessel. Break the cycle."

Reed clutched his chest, falling to one knee as the eye within his glyph pulsed with ancient power. The voice in his mind—was it the Archon, or something else? Were they truly different entities, or two manifestations of the same primal force?

As Shia rushed to his side, Reed’s certainty wavered for the first time since his transformation. He had come to the Capital to secure his place in the hierarchy of Lords. Now he questioned whether the entire hierarchy deserved to exist at all.