Seth Virell woke to the muted gray of Aetheros' perpetual twilight. The dim light leaking through the curtains felt more like dusk than dawn — but in this city, the two were twins.
His head felt strangely clear, as though the heavy dreams of the night before had been rinsed away.
He sat up. That was when he noticed them.
On the small table by the window, resting on the wood in neat alignment, were several coins — thick, silver-gilt pounds, stamped with the crown-and-spiral sigil of Aetheros' Royal Mint. They gleamed faintly in the wan light, as though they had been polished only moments ago.
He frowned. "I definitely didn't have these yesterday…"
The coins were cool to the touch, heavier than they looked. He picked one up and studied the face — one side bore the profile of the current monarch, though the features were stylized into something almost inhuman: eyes too deep, crown studded with unreadable runes. The other side carried a seven-pointed star, each point etched with a different symbol — waves, chains, flame, a mask, a sunburst, a lotus, a crescent moon.
Seth's breath caught. The same symbols he'd seen in the dream.
"Did the… figure leave these?" he murmured, recalling the hazy silhouette from last night.
He swept the coins into his pocket, dressed, and stepped out into the streets.
The city was alive in its own peculiar way — cobblestone avenues wet from a night's mist, gaslamps still burning with pale fire, and carriages rattling past under the gaze of black-feathered gargoyles clinging to rooftops.
The scent of coffee and baked rye pulled him toward a narrow corner shop. A single bell jingled as he entered.
The interior was small, paneled with dark wood, crowded with bookshelves and brass-framed mirrors. The coffee here smelled rich enough to stir the dead.
Seth ordered a black coffee, took a seat near the window, and unfolded a copy of The Aetheros Gazette. Headlines murmured of maritime unrest, political intrigue, and a theater scandal involving a cursed opera mask.
It was the conversation from a nearby table that caught his attention.
"…I'm telling you, the Chained Arbiter's influence has been growing again. There's talk of binding oaths in the Senate," said a man in a navy overcoat, voice low but urgent.
Across from him, a woman with a lapel pin shaped like a crescent moon stirred her coffee. "And Evernight's dreams have been darker. My sister's child hasn't slept a peaceful night in weeks."
The words made Seth's ears sharpen. He set down his cup, folded his paper, and approached.
"Sorry to intrude," he said politely, "but you mentioned the Chained Arbiter… and Evernight? Could you tell me more about them?"
The man's eyes flicked over him, weighing. "Depends. Why should I tell you for free?"
Seth took a slow breath, then reached into his coat and placed one of the pounds onto their table. The coin hit the wood with a solid, ringing weight.
The man's eyes widened slightly at the coin's gleam. "Well… that's a persuasive argument." He pocketed it with a motion too smooth to be anything but practiced.
"You really don't know?" the woman asked, voice tinged with surprise. "The Seven Thrones of Aetheros are the pillars of our age. They're… everything."
"I'm not from here," Seth admitted. "So… start from the beginning."
The man leaned back, sipping his drink before speaking. "Seven Thrones. Seven divine dominions. Seven rulers — if you can call them rulers — each sitting on a seat older than this city, older than history. They're not kings, not quite gods, but something in between… and above."
The woman's eyes glimmered in the lamplight. "They each hold sway over one facet of existence. Their influence seeps into dreams, law, the sea, even the gold in your pocket. They are—"
The man interrupted, voice dropping lower. "Evernight Matron — Mistress of Shadows, Keeper of Dreams. The moon is her sigil, and she walks through every sleeper's mind. She knows your fears before you do."
Seth felt a chill.
"Radiant Hierophant," the woman continued. "Bearer of the First Light. Bringer of dawns that can burn away lies or sear the guilty to ash. The sun answers to him."
"Chained Arbiter," the man said. "Judge of All Oaths. Break your sworn word and you'll feel his hand close around your soul. Doesn't matter if you believe — an oath in his domain binds you whether you know it or not."
The woman leaned in. "Whispering Tide. Voice Beneath the Waves. Her words ride the current, carrying secrets between ports, between continents. She can drown an empire in silence or in flood."
"Gilded Monarch," the man said, his mouth curling faintly. "Lord of Fortune and Rot. Gold blooms and rots under his gaze. He grants luck — or strips it until nothing remains."
"Hollow Choir," the woman whispered, almost reverently. "Song of Silence. The sound between all sounds, the hush that follows every ending. When you hear no birds, no wind, no breath… that's them listening."
"And the Ashen Warden," the man finished. "Flame of the Last Vigil. Guardian of what remains when all else is gone. They tend the embers of the final fire, the one that'll burn at the world's end."
Seth felt as if the room had darkened around them.
"How do people… serve them?" he asked quietly.
The man smiled thinly. "Through the Ranks. Nine of them. Rank 9 is nothing more than an initiate, barely able to touch a fragment of their Throne's power. Rank 1… well. You don't speak to Rank 1s. You kneel, if you live long enough to see one."
The woman nodded. "Advancement isn't given. It's earned — or taken. Each Rank demands proof. A trial of loyalty, of strength, of sacrifice. The higher you climb, the less human you remain."
"What happens at Rank 1?" Seth asked.
Both of them fell silent. It was the man who finally answered, voice little more than a rasp.
"They stop being people. They become… living extensions of their Throne. Saints, if you're faithful. Monsters, if you're not."
Outside, the fog pressed against the glass. Inside, Seth's coffee had gone cold.
The man finished his drink, stood, and slid his chair back with a scrape. "That's all you're getting for one coin, stranger. If you want more… bring more."
They left him sitting there, heart thudding, the echoes of the Seven Thrones lingering like the aftertaste of bitter coffee.
Seth looked down at the remaining coins in his pocket. The seven-pointed star seemed sharper now, the symbols deeper.
As if they were waiting.