Caelum, the Holy Capital — Present Day
The ash still clings to the stone.
Even after eight years, after all the prayers and polish and rain, the blackened stain at the center of the Execution Square refuses to vanish. Noah Caelan stares down at it, his breath fogging in the winter air. His mask—a smooth, pale porcelain—reflects the moonlight like bone.
This is where they died.
His mother, with her gentle hands and storm-colored eyes.
His father, who always smelled of steel and wine.
His sister, no older than ten, clutching a ribbon as the flames took her.
The Empire called it a purge. The priest had called it mercy. The crowd called it justice.
Noah remembered it as what it was: the end of his world.
He kneels. Quiet. Careful.
From the folds of his dark cloak, he pulls out a small pouch. Inside: ash. Real ash, from the ruined tapestries of House Caelan, hidden and preserved in a rusted tin. He sprinkles it over the stain on the ground, smearing it in with one gloved hand.
A silent message, to anyone watching.
"I remember."
Bootsteps echo down the marble path. A pair of nightwatch guards, laughing too loud to be sober, wander into the square. One stops mid-sentence when he sees the figure kneeling by the old scaffold.
"Hey! You there!" the taller one barks. "This square's restricted at night!"
Noah doesn't move.
The guard reaches for his sword. "I said—"
A flick of shadow, a whisper of silk. By the time the first guard draws his blade, Noah is already gone — vanished into the narrow alleys like smoke.
They search for hours.
They find nothing but a smear of black ash, still warm to the touch.
Eight Years Earlier — Caelan Estate, Morning of the Purge
Laughter rang through the orchard as Noah ducked under a branch, grinning wildly. His sister chased him with a half-eaten apple, threatening to throw it at his head. It was his name-day — he had just turned ten.
"Get back here, brat!" she shouted, cheeks red with joy.
"No throwing fruit before lunch!" their mother called from the balcony, exasperated but smiling. Her hair was bound in a silver braid, and her gown shimmered like rain-soaked leaves.
In the courtyard, Lord Aldric Caelan—Noah's father—trained with his captain, swords clashing rhythmically. He turned and waved when he saw Noah peeking.
"Come on, boy. Let's see if you remember your footwork."
Noah dropped the apple and ran to him. He grabbed the wooden training sword and took his stance.
Aldric laughed. "Stiff as always. You're a lord's son, not a statue!"
He adjusted Noah's grip, warm and firm. "Remember, swordplay is rhythm. Breath. Anger slows the blade. Control makes it deadly."
Noah nodded. "Yes, Father."
But the joy shattered like glass when the horns blew.
The gates of the estate burst open. Dozens of armored figures in white and gold surged in — Inquisitors of the Holy Flame.
"By decree of the Church of Solarii, House Caelan is to be purged for heresy against the Light."
Noah didn't understand. His mother didn't speak. His father stood still, sheathing his sword.
There was no resistance.
The family was shackled. Noah was thrown into a caged cart. He screamed and kicked, reaching through the bars for his mother's hand.
They were taken to the center of Caelum.
To the scaffold.
Execution Square — Later That Day
Thousands gathered. The priest, in his gilded robes, held the Book of Light aloft.
"Let no heretic pass into death unpurified," he declared, as pyres were lit beneath the feet of House Caelan.
Noah's screams were drowned by the choir. He slammed his fists against the iron cage, voice raw, face soaked in tears.
His mother met his gaze — one last time. She smiled.
And then the flames rose.
He remembers the sound of flesh cracking. His sister's scream. His father refusing to look away, even as the fire consumed him.
He remembers the stench of burning silk and skin.
He remembers... then nothing.
The Descent — Nightfall
After the fire died down and the square began to clear, Noah sat in his cage, hollow-eyed. The inquisitors ignored him. They assumed he'd be executed quietly the next morning.
But fire does more than kill.
It breaks walls.
A section of the square, weakened by the blaze, collapsed with a rumble. The ground buckled near the eastern corner, near the cage.
With a scream and a crash, stone gave way.
Noah's cage tumbled into the abyss.
He fell.
Down. Down.
Into blackness.
Beneath Caelum — The Forgotten
When he woke, everything hurt. His right arm was twisted. Blood soaked his sleeve. His throat was cracked from screaming.
But he was alive.
Light filtered through cracks in the stone. He crawled. Inch by inch. Rats fled from him. Moss and bone marked the floor.
He came to a wall — not of brick or marble, but obsidian. Carved into it were glyphs that shimmered faintly. Old language. Forbidden.
Something watched him.
Not a beast. Not a man.
A presence. Cold, ancient, patient.
He pressed his palm to the stone. Blood smeared across the runes.
And the wall opened.
Inside: a stairway into deeper darkness, lined with ash.
He did not hesitate.
He stepped forward.
And a voice, soft and inhuman, whispered:
"You remember. So you may yet become."
Noah's final thought before the light vanished behind him:
"I'll never forget. I'll never forgive."