The Citadel of Chains never slept; it hummed.
A low tone ran through its stone ribs, the unbroken breath of the chanters. Their voices didn't rise or fall—they simply held one note until even the banners trembled with it. Each banner bore the sealed Direwolf, black on crimson, its jaws stitched shut in runes. Fire burned blue in chained bowls, the Soulsteel flames refusing to flicker.
At the far end of the hall the High Council waited, thirteen figures framed in cold light. Their staves pulsed faintly with the same rhythm that throbbed through the floor. Between them stood a single kneeling handler, his sleeve blackened where a rod had burst in his hand. His voice came small against the hum.
"Fort Gairn has fallen. The rods failed when the lightning came. It wasn't a storm—it moved with him. The beast they call Zor carried it. The sky split, the chains burned away. The beasts didn't go mad; they fought with purpose. Commander Dorn is gone."
The Magister of Order, Luric Dornath, struck his staff once against the dais. Sparks jumped and died.
"No rod fails," he said. "No chain turns on its master."
The handler bowed lower. "It happened, Magister. They fought beside the humans. Willingly."
The hum faltered. One chanter somewhere in the gallery lost the pitch. A white flash followed—a body dropped without sound—and the tone settled again, perfect as before.
Luric's eyes rose from the corpse to the tall man standing motionless in the center of the hall. "Kaelith Veynar," he said. "You hear this?"
"I hear," Kaelith answered.
"Then speak."
"Order breaks only where it was weak," Kaelith said. "Permission is given?"
"Granted." Luric turned his hand, and servants rolled forward a case of Soulsteel. Inside lay a crystal core veined with living metal, light pulsing slow and white. "The Stable Shackler," the Magister said. "Soulsteel bound with Ruin Crystal. It will not fail. The beasts will bow. The Chainbreaker will fall."
Kaelith studied the glow a moment. "Order will hold."
He dropped to one knee. The council raised the Direwolf standard, crimson folds catching the blue light. "Rise, Warden of Chains," Luric said. "March for the Heartlands."
Kaelith rose. "I will."
The Sigil Chamber waited beneath the hall, a vault where molten Soulsteel ran like veins through the floor. He stripped one gauntlet and pressed his palm to the altar. The heat bit deep, the scent of seared skin rising with the light. A voice filled the room—not sound but pressure, the weight of the Throne itself.
The border is unclean. Purify it. Bring the Chainbreaker alive.
"I hear," Kaelith said.
Do you doubt?
"I measure."
And what do you see?
"Disorder," he answered. "I'll fix it."
The mark climbed his arm, links closing one by one until it sealed around his wrist. When the light dimmed, the chain remained, silver-black against his skin.
Below the Citadel the Beast Vault breathed heat. Chains hung from the ceiling, each humming with restrained power. In the deepest cage lay Varyn the Emberfang, Direwolf King, fur like burning coal, breath a molten hiss. Two handlers kept their chant steady, eyes locked on the resonance rods.
Kaelith's boots echoed through the vault. Heat rolled low off the floor.
He stopped by the first handler. "Resonance stable?"
The man's hands shook where they touched the control rod. "Stable, my lord. The wolf's still pushing back, but we've got him steady."
"Let him push," Kaelith said. "It keeps him breathing."
He walked closer. Varyn's eyes opened, amber light behind the bars, each breath dragging smoke through its teeth.
"You'll walk soon," Kaelith said. "Not wild. Not free. Just steady."
The Direwolf growled, metal rings scraping.
Kaelith didn't move. His voice stayed low. "The leash isn't cruelty. It's the line that keeps the world from falling apart."
He turned and left. The growl followed him up the hall until it faded into the hum of the chanters.
Dawn rolled over the Heartlands. The Citadel gates opened, and the army waited—rows straight, faces blank, armor dull gray in the light. The air vibrated with the chanters' tone, one endless note holding every step in place.
Kaelith walked through the front ranks without a word. Commander Vaen fell in beside him.
"Lines are set," Vaen said. "Chanters synced. Rods tuned."
"Keep them tight," Kaelith said. "If one pitch slips, the field goes with it."
Vaen nodded once. "And the Chainbreaker?"
"Alive," Kaelith said. "Until I see what he really is."
They reached the ridge where the Direwolf banner waited. Kaelith pulled the cloth free. The sealed jaws of the wolf glinted in the light.
"No speeches," he said. "Just movement."
Vaen watched him a moment. "And if the world pushes back?"
Kaelith swung into the saddle. "Then we hold rhythm until it stops fighting."
The signal drum hit once, dull and hard. The chanters shifted pitch. The whole line started forward—men, beasts, and steel breathing as one.
No shouts, no music. Just rhythm.
The sound spread down the plain, clean and cold, the Dominion's will turned into motion.
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