The moon hung high over Krayon Sol, casting silver streaks across its grand walls and gleaming rooftops. But for Lyrix Gorrim, the city had lost its glow.
He sat in his private chamber inside House Gorrim's manor—a lavish space of gold trimmings, dragonbone pillars, and walls lined with ancestral portraits. But he couldn't see any of it. He sat there, slouched in the velvet armchair by the window, staring at the sky with bloodshot eyes.
Joshua.
That name had carved itself into his skull.
For days now, he'd sent scouts. Informants. Gold had been thrown like candy. Coin to the beggars, threats to the guards, favors owed and called in from black-robed whisperers who worked beneath the streets.
Nothing.
No home. No family name in the registries. No guild affiliation. No record of entry at the city gates. No trace in the Noble Tower's surveillance runes. Not even a shadow in the census logs.
It was like the bastard didn't exist.
