The council fires burned low by the time Azrael, Janis, and Veyna returned to Danigrasse.
The gates had opened without question, but the silence that followed was heavier than celebration. Faces peeked from doorways. Elders whispered. Children were ushered inside like a storm had followed them home.
It had.
Azrael kept his head low, his hand still tingling from the glyph that had vanished days ago. His legs ached, and his cloak smelled of smoke and dried moss. But none of that mattered. The minute their feet crossed the village boundary, a summons had arrived.
---
So here they were.
Inside the stone-walled chamber of the Danigrasse council house, the elders sat in their usual half-circle; Varros at the center, eyes calm, unreadable. Mura and Renn flanked him, and behind them, a younger scribe scribbled with stiff fingers.
Azrael stood between Janis and Veyna, the parchment in Janis' hand passed forward with quiet reverence.
"We recovered this from the ruins," Veyna said, voice steady.
"Show us," Varros said.
Janis unrolled the relic scroll. Faint ink curled in spirals and broken sigils. Not many would understand what it meant; but Varros did.
His face twitched for the first time that night.
"You said the glyph appeared?" he asked Azrael.
"Yes," Azrael said. "On my hand. But only for a moment."
"And then?"
"It vanished."
Mura leaned forward. "Did it speak?"
"No. But I felt… watched. Not just then. Even now."
Renn's knuckles tapped the armrest of his chair. "He's marked. Whether he wants it or not."
"And he's not ready," Mura added.
Varros stared at Azrael. "Step forward."
He did.
Varros leaned in. "Do you know what this means?"
"No."
"It means you've been claimed. By something ancient. Something older than doctrine or belief. And if it comes for you again, we may not be able to protect you."
Silence.
Azrael felt his throat close.
Varros straightened. "You are dismissed. For now."
They exited without a word.
---
That night, the village was unusually quiet. Even the animals kept to their dens. No fires burned in the outer rings. Janis had gone to check on her mother. Veyna walked ahead, humming a low tune again. Azrael trailed behind, eyes on the stars.
He could still feel it. That cold gaze on his back. Like something in the trees had followed them home.
When they reached the Danigrasse household, his father was waiting.
In full elder garb.
"You were summoned?" the old man asked.
"Yes," Azrael replied.
"And they let you leave?"
"For now."
His father nodded slowly. Then, unexpectedly, he stepped aside. "Come. There's something you should see."
Azrael followed him into the back chamber, a room usually sealed.
Lit by a single oil lamp, it was lined with relics. Not the kind the council displayed. Older. Wilder. Symbols scorched into wood, blades carved with names Azrael didn't recognize.
"Your grandfather believed in preparing early," his father said. "He thought the ruin would return in your lifetime."
Azrael stared at him. "You knew about the glyphs?"
"No."
"Then why—"
"I've seen one before." His father touched his left arm, pulled back the sleeve. There, faintly, a long-forgotten scar shimmered in the dim light.
Azrael's heart kicked in his chest.
"I saw it once," the old man said, "and I never spoke of it again. I hoped it would end with me."
The words sank in slowly.
Then: "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because belief is dangerous. And you were already weak. I didn't want you chasing shadows."
Azrael's jaw tightened. "I'm not weak anymore."
"Maybe. But if the gods marked you, then everything changes."
They stood in silence, the fire casting slow shadows.
Then the door creaked open.
It was Varros.
He stepped in without greeting, his eyes sharp.
"You left something out," he said.
Azrael turned. "What?"
Varros held up a second scroll. "This was hidden beneath the glyph stone. Did you not see it?"
Azrael frowned. "No."
Varros unrolled it. It bore a single line, written in blood-red ink.
The silence breaks when the traitor returns.
His father's face went pale.
"What does that mean?" Azrael asked.
Varros didn't answer.
He looked to Azrael's father. "Do you know?"
The old man's silence said everything.
And then Varros said, calm and deadly:
"Your son's not just marked. He's bound."
Azrael stepped back.
His father stepped forward. "You'll keep this between us."
"I can't," Varros said.
"You will."
"No, Elder Danigrasse. Not this time."
Azrael's father moved to block the door.
Varros reached for the hilt at his belt.
Azrael stepped between them.
"Stop."
They froze.
And then Varros said, quietly, "The God of Silence has been waiting."
Azrael blinked. "What did you say?"
But Varros was already leaving.
The door shut behind him like a coffin lid.
And the room went dark.