The silver coin felt heavy in Kiron's palm—not because of its weight, but because of what it represented. It was a countdown.
"He knew," Kiron whispered as he sat in the corner of their cramped, corrugated shack. "He saw the veins, Nyra. He called me 'Your Highness.'"
Nyra stopped sharpening her blade, the rhythmic shing-shing of the whetstone falling silent. "Then we leave tonight. If a hunter like that found us, the God-Guard won't be far behind."
"We can't," Taz wheezed from his cot, clutching the wrapped form of Lament. "The Scra-Valkun is locked down. The foreman said the 'Vulture-Drones' are scanning every exit. If we move now, we're just targets in an open field."
Before Nyra could respond, the metal door of the shack groaned. It didn't burst open; it was shoved aside with a slow, deliberate pressure.
Nel-Eak stepped into the dim light. The serpent-scale coat he wore shimmered with a dull, oily luster, and his mask was gone, revealing a face marked by jagged white scars that looked like lightning strikes.
"Leaving so soon?" Nel-Eak asked, his voice a cool, dangerous silk. "And here I thought the King of the Underworld would have more stomach for a fight."
Nyra was on her feet in a blur, her knife leveled at his throat. "One more step and I'll see if those scales can stop a lung-piercing."
Nel-Eak didn't even flinch. He looked past her at Kiron. "The 'Waste-Raiders' are coming, boy. A war-party of three hundred, led by a Taint-Eater. They're ten miles out, tracking the residual heat of the miracle you performed at the Cathedral."
"Why are you telling us this?" Kiron asked, struggling to stand. His legs felt like lead, but the cold "Authority" was beginning to stir in the base of his skull again.
"Because the Scra-Valkun is filled with thousands of people who can't fight back," Nel-Eak said, tossing a second coin—this one black—at Kiron's feet. "And because I want to see if you're a savior or just a curse. If you hide, the Raiders will butcher this Conclave looking for you. If you stand... well, then we see if that sword of yours is truly awake."
"He's in no condition to fight!" Nyra snapped. "Look at his hands!"
"Then he should start praying," Nel-Eak replied, turning toward the door. "I'll be at the North Gate. If you aren't there when the first torch hits the perimeter, I'll assume the Underworld is as dead as the stories say."
As the hunter vanished back into the oil-mist, Kiron looked at his scarred palms. The black veins were pulsing, synchronized with the distant, low thrum of the Raiders' war-engines.
He's forcing my hand, Kiron thought. He doesn't want the bounty. He wants a spectacle.
Kiron reached out and took the wrapped sword from Taz. The moment his fingers touched the cloth, a chill raced up his spine. Lament wasn't vibrating, but it felt... expectant. Like a predator waiting for the cage to open.
"Nyra, help me into my gear," Kiron said, his voice dropping into that cold, hollow register.
"Kiron, you'll die," she whispered, her eyes pleading.
"Maybe," Kiron said, his eyes flashing with a sudden, sharp spike of gold. "But if I don't go, everyone in this Pit dies for my silence. I'm done hiding in the grease."