While Edward was discovering the horrifying truth of his world, a different kind of truth was being forged. In the holy halls of the Inquisition's high command.
The news of Lord Alaric Duke's assassination and the catastrophic destruction of his estate had hit the capital like a thunderclap.
More than just the death of a nobleman. A brazen, audacious assault on the established order. A gauntlet thrown at the feet of the kingdom's ruling class.
And the preliminary reports, a frantic jumble of witness accounts and energy readings, all pointed to one impossible, terrifying source.
The Rankless heretic, Edward Ross.
In the Grand Inquisitor's private sanctum, a chamber of stark white marble and cold, unforgiving light, the mood was grim. The Grand Inquisitor, a man whose face was a mask of ancient, wrinkled piety, listened as his lieutenants presented their findings.
