Lord of the Foresaken
Chapter 37: RETURN AND BETRAYAL

Chapter 37: RETURN AND BETRAYAL

Three days had passed since the incident in the containment chamber. Three days since Reed had witnessed the impossible—Lord Thorn, transformed and alive, hovering in void-touched splendor opposite Shia.

The memory of what followed still burned through Reed’s consciousness, fragmented but vivid: Lysithea’s banishment sigil flaring like a miniature sun; the howling of void energies as they tore through the chamber’s defenses; Reed’s own power erupting in desperate, instinctual protection. Then darkness—not unconsciousness, but something deeper. He had fallen through reality itself, dragging Shia with him through corridors of nothingness until they emerged, gasping and disoriented, in the shadow of their own domain’s border markers.

Now, Reed stood atop the highest tower of Blackspire Keep, his gaze sweeping across the rolling hills and dense forests that made up his modest holdings. The midday sun cast harsh shadows across the land, highlighting the unnatural stillness that had settled over the domain in their absence. No smoke rose from the village chimneys. No peasants worked the fields.

"Something is wrong," Shia’s voice came from behind him, her words carrying an ethereal echo that hadn’t been present before her transformation.

Reed didn’t turn. He couldn’t bear to see the writhing darkness that had once been her arms, the void-black eyes that now swirled with distant stars. Not yet. "I know."

"The void paths we traveled... they distorted time." Shia moved beside him, her form casting no shadow despite the brilliant sunlight. "We’ve been gone longer than three days."

Reed nodded grimly. "Much longer, judging by the overgrowth on the southern approach." He pointed to where the main road disappeared beneath a tangle of vegetation too thick to have formed in just weeks. "Months, perhaps."

"The governor you appointed—"

"Should have maintained order," Reed finished, his jaw tightening. "Farren was competent, if nothing else."

Shia’s void tendrils coiled restlessly, sensing the tension in his voice. "We should find him first."

Without another word, Reed descended the tower stairs, Shia floating—not walking, but drifting—behind him like a specter. The keep’s interior was eerily quiet, dust coating the surfaces in a fine layer that spoke of abandonment. The handful of guards who had remained when Reed departed for the Tournament were nowhere to be seen.

They reached the main hall to find it in disarray. Tables overturned, tapestries torn, old bloodstains darkening the stone floor in rust-colored patterns that told a story of violence and desperation.

"An attack?" Shia’s voice held no fear, only cold calculation. The void had stripped away certain emotions, leaving others heightened to unnerving intensity.

Reed knelt beside one of the bloodstains, pressing his fingers into the dried crust. "No. A last stand." He traced the pattern outward, reading the splatter like text on a page. "Farren died here, defending the hall. But from what?"

Shia’s void tendrils extended, probing the chamber before withdrawing with a hiss. "Death lingers here. Recent... but not fresh."

Reed moved methodically through the hall, examining overturned furniture and scattered weapons. The story became clearer with each piece of evidence. "They were betrayed," he said finally, holding up a dagger. "This bears Lord Krell’s insignia—the same man who fled the Tournament before the final challenge."

"Why would Krell attack your domain?" Shia’s voice remained unnervingly detached. "He holds no grievance against you."

"Perhaps not against me personally." Reed tucked the dagger into his belt. "But after what happened at the Tournament... after what we did to the Throne of Ash..." He grimaced. "We made powerful enemies. Krell must have allied with them."

They continued their investigation, moving through the keep’s deserted corridors until they reached Reed’s private chambers. Unlike the rest of the keep, this room showed no signs of violence—only deliberate, methodical searching. Books had been removed from shelves, their contents apparently examined, then replaced at slight angles. The bed remained untouched, but the floorboards beneath it had been pried up, revealing Reed’s hidden compartment—now empty.

"They took your research," Shia observed, her void tendrils brushing against the empty space. "The void fragments you collected."

Reed’s expression hardened. "Not just the fragments. My journals. My correspondence." His fists clenched. "They weren’t just raiding. They were looking for something specific."

A sound from the corridor—so faint that human ears might have missed it—made them both freeze. Reed moved silently to the doorway, void energy gathering at his fingertips, while Shia dissolved into shadow, seeping into the corners of the room.

The figure that appeared in the doorway was gaunt, hollow-eyed, clothes hanging in tatters from a once-robust frame. It took Reed a moment to recognize his own steward, Lanis.

"My lord?" The man’s voice cracked with disbelief. "You... you live?"

Reed lowered his hand, the void energy dissipating. "Barely. What happened here, Lanis?"

The steward’s knees gave way, and he collapsed to the floor, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. "Betrayal, my lord. Such betrayal as I’ve never witnessed."

Reed hauled the man to his feet and guided him to a chair. "Start from the beginning. When did this happen?"

"Two months after your departure," Lanis said, wiping at his eyes. "We received word of the Tournament’s... unusual conclusion. That you and your Hero had vanished after some great cataclysm."

"And then?"

"Governor Farren maintained order, as you instructed. But there were... rumors. Whispers that you had perished, or worse—that you had been corrupted by some foul power." Lanis’s eyes flickered nervously to the shadows where Shia lurked. "Farren dismissed them as fabrications."

"Until?" Reed prompted, his patience thinning.

"Until Lord Krell arrived with his retinue, bearing royal documents claiming your domain had been reassigned to his stewardship due to your presumed death." Lanis swallowed hard. "Farren demanded verification. Krell seemed amenable—invited Farren and the council to dinner to discuss the transfer of power."

"And poisoned them," Reed guessed, the pieces falling into place.

Lanis shuddered. "Not poison. Something worse. They... they changed during the meal. Began to attack each other, tearing at their own flesh, screaming about shadows and void. Only Councillor Vamir was spared—he alone didn’t succumb to the madness."

Reed went very still. "Vamir was spared?"

"Yes, my lord. He helped Krell’s men restrain the others. Said it was some contagion that had infected them." Lanis looked up, confusion evident in his sunken eyes. "Vamir became Krell’s advisor after that. Helped him search the keep for... something. I hid in the servants’ tunnels, so I don’t know what they sought."

"I do," Reed said coldly. "Where is Vamir now?"

"Gone, my lord. He and Krell departed three weeks ago, taking a contingent of soldiers eastward. They left only a skeleton garrison behind."

Shia re-materialized from the shadows, causing Lanis to cry out and scramble backward.

"Peace, Lanis," Reed said, though he made no move to comfort the terrified man. "This is still Shia. Changed, but loyal."

"The garrison remains in the village," Shia stated, her void-sense extending beyond the keep walls. "Twelve men. Poorly disciplined. Drinking, most of them."

Reed nodded, a plan already forming. "Lanis, gather any survivors who remain loyal. Meet us at the old hunter’s lodge at dusk."

The steward nodded frantically and backed out of the room, unable to tear his gaze from Shia’s writhing void tendrils.

When they were alone, Reed turned to Shia. "Vamir was my father’s apprentice before the Tournament. If he’s involved in this, it’s no coincidence."

"He knew about your void affinity," Shia concluded. "He’s been working with Krell and Thorn."

"And now they have my research." Reed moved to the window, watching as Lanis scurried across the courtyard below. "Everything I discovered about the void fragments, the ancient text translations, the location of the other shards."

"What will you do?"

Reed’s expression was cold, calculating. "I’m going to reclaim what’s mine. Then I’m going to learn exactly how deep this conspiracy runs." He turned to face her, his eyes hardening. "And then I’m going to kill everyone involved."

By nightfall, Reed had assembled a ragtag group of seventeen survivors, all that remained of his once-prosperous domain’s population. Farmers, mostly, with a handful of household guards who had been away when the attack occurred. Their faces bore the haunted look of people who had witnessed horrors beyond comprehension.

"Krell’s men patrol the village nightly," reported Dorn, once the keep’s master-at-arms, now a haggard shadow of his former self. "They’re careless. Arrogant."

"Good." Reed laid out a crude map on the lodge’s table. "Shia will disable the sentries silently. Dorn, your men will secure the armory. I’ll deal with their commander personally."

"And after?" asked a weathered farmer, his calloused hands gripping a makeshift spear.

"After," Reed said grimly, "we march east. Krell took everything when he fled—including the village’s children."

A murmur of rage rippled through the gathered survivors.

"He what?" Dorn growled.

"Conscription," clarified a woman with hollow eyes. "Said they were being taken to serve the realm. But they took even the youngest ones. Babes not yet walking."

Reed exchanged a glance with Shia, whose void-black eyes swirled with understanding. Not conscription—sacrifices. The void fragments required blood to activate, preferably innocent blood. His own research had hinted at this, though he’d never pursued that particular avenue.

"We leave at dawn," Reed announced, "once the village is secure."

The raid went exactly as planned—almost suspiciously so. Krell’s men fell without raising alarm, their throats opened by Shia’s void tendrils before they could draw breath to scream. The commander, a brutish man with a Krell family crest tattooed on his neck, died gasping as Reed systematically dismembered him, extracting information with each severed appendage.

"Heading... to Crimson Peak," the man finally revealed, blood bubbling from his lips. "Lord Vamir said... the circle must be completed..."

Reed drove his dagger through the man’s eye, silencing him permanently. "Crimson Peak. The dormant volcano at the eastern border."

Shia hovered beside him, absorbing the blood from the commander’s body into her void form. Each drop seemed to strengthen her, the darkness of her transformed flesh growing deeper, more absolute.

"We should move quickly," she said, tendrils writhing with renewed vigor. "If they’re performing the ritual at Crimson Peak—"

"They’re creating another Throne of Ash," Reed finished. "Or trying to. They need my research to complete it—and children’s blood to power it."

By dawn, the village was secure, the surviving populace emerging from hiding to find their oppressors’ bodies displayed in the square—a message to any who might consider loyalty to Krell. Reed assembled thirty able fighters, armed them from the reclaimed armory, and prepared to march east.

As they were about to depart, Lanis approached, wringing his hands nervously. "My lord, there’s something you should know. About Vamir."

Reed paused, one foot already in the stirrup of his mount. "Speak."

"He visited your chambers every night while you were away at the Tournament. I thought he was simply attending to your affairs, but..." Lanis swallowed hard. "Once, I saw him emerge with blood on his hands. He was smiling."

A cold realization washed over Reed. "My private altar. The one hidden behind the bookcase."

"Yes, my lord. He would bring small animals. Sometimes... larger things."

Reed’s jaw tightened. The altar had been his father’s—a relic he had kept but never used, uncomfortable with its obvious connection to void worship. For Vamir to have known of it, used it...

"The betrayal began long before I left for the Tournament," Reed said quietly. "Vamir has been plotting this for years."

As they rode east, the magnitude of the betrayal festered in Reed’s mind. Vamir had been more than a councillor—he had been Reed’s mentor after his father’s execution, the one who had guided his education, shaped his understanding of the void. Every lesson, every piece of knowledge, had been carefully curated to lead Reed toward this moment.

They made camp that night on a ridge overlooking the eastern road. In the far distance, Crimson Peak loomed against the night sky, a jagged silhouette occasionally illuminated by flashes of unnatural light.

"They’ve already begun," Shia observed, her voice carrying that otherworldly echo that sent chills down the spines of the mortal fighters.

Reed nodded grimly. "We’ll reach them by midday tomorrow. Too late to stop the preliminary ritual, but perhaps in time to prevent the final sacrifice."

"And if we’re too late?" asked Dorn, cleaning his blade by the firelight.

"Then we’ll destroy whatever abomination they create," Reed replied. "And ensure their deaths are remembered as cautionary tales for generations to come."

He retreated to his tent, spreading out the maps they had salvaged from the keep. Crimson Peak had been a site of void worship centuries ago, before the founding of the Nine Circles. If Vamir and Krell were attempting to create a new Throne of Ash there, they would need to—

The tent flap opened, and Shia drifted in silently. "Someone approaches from the north," she whispered. "Alone. Moving quickly."

Reed reached for his sword, but Shia’s void tendrils wrapped around his wrist, stopping him. "Not an enemy," she said. "Something... different."

Moments later, a figure stumbled into their camp, immediately surrounded by Reed’s makeshift militia. A young woman, her clothes torn and bloodied, her eyes wild with terror and exhaustion.

"Please," she gasped, collapsing to her knees before Reed as he emerged from his tent. "You must help us. The children—they’re going to sacrifice all of them at dawn."

Reed knelt before her, lifting her face to meet his gaze. "Who are you?"

"My name is Lyra," she said, trembling. "I was Lord Vamir’s apprentice. Until I discovered what he truly serves."

"And what is that?" Reed asked, though he already suspected the answer.

The woman’s eyes filled with tears. "Not the void itself, but what lies beyond it. The Monarch of Emptiness. The thing that your father died trying to keep from our world."

Reed went perfectly still, the pieces clicking into place with horrifying clarity. "My father was executed for treason."

"No," Lyra shook her head frantically. "Your father was executed because he discovered the truth. The royal family isn’t protecting the realm from the void—they’re preparing it for the Monarch’s arrival."

A silence fell over the camp, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the soft, unsettling sound of Shia’s void tendrils coiling and uncoiling in agitation.

"And Vamir?" Reed asked, his voice dangerously calm.

"He serves the king," Lyra whispered. "But the king serves the Monarch. They’ve been working toward this for generations. The Tournament, the void fragments, the Heroes—all of it designed to identify those with void affinity and either eliminate them or convert them."

"Like they converted Thorn," Shia said.

Lyra nodded miserably. "And now they plan to convert your domain’s children. Transform them into vessels, conduits for the Monarch’s influence."

Reed rose to his feet, his decision made. "We move now. Tonight. We can reach Crimson Peak before dawn if we ride hard."

"My lord," Dorn protested, "the men need rest. We can’t fight effectively without—"

"This isn’t about fighting effectively," Reed cut him off. "This is about saving those children before they become something no longer human." He turned to Lyra. "Can you lead us through the mountain paths? The shorter route?"

She hesitated. "Yes, but... there are guardians on that path. Ancient things bound to the void."

"Good," Reed said, his eyes hardening. "They can join us, or they can die like everything else that stands in my way."

As the camp erupted into hurried preparation, Shia drew Reed aside, her void-black eyes swirling with concern. "The Monarch of Emptiness... if such an entity truly exists beyond the void..."

"Then we face something far worse than Thorn or the king," Reed acknowledged. "Something that has been manipulating events for centuries."

"Can we defeat such a being?"

Reed’s hand went to the void fragment embedded in his chest—the shard that had found its way there during their escape from the royal palace, merging with his flesh as seamlessly as the relics had merged with Shia. It pulsed with dark energy, responding to his anger.

"We’re about to find out," he said grimly. "But first, we’re going to make Vamir suffer for every drop of innocent blood he’s spilled in my domain."

As they mounted their horses and prepared to ride into the night, a strange wind began to blow from the east—hot and dry, carrying the scent of ash and something more primal, more terrifying. The clouds above Crimson Peak parted, revealing a sky no longer black with night, but shimmering with impossible colors that hurt the eyes to behold.

And at the mountain’s peak, a vertical tear began to form in reality itself—a gaping wound in the fabric of the world, bleeding void energy into the night.

Reed spurred his horse forward, the fragment in his chest burning cold with purpose. Whatever waited at Crimson Peak—whether Vamir, Krell, the king’s forces, or the Monarch itself—would learn a harsh lesson about betraying the son of Corvus, heir to the void’s true power.

But as they rode, none of them noticed the shadowy figure watching from the ridgeline above—a figure with void-black eyes and a familiar, cruel smile, who whispered into a communication crystal:

"He’s coming, just as you predicted, Your Majesty. And he’s bringing exactly what we need to complete the ritual."

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