The Court of Velmire sat like a rotting heart in the center of the city—once noble, now bloated with old names, dying bloodlines, and desperate piety. Tahlon's sudden recovery had shaken them. Some saw it as a miracle. Others whispered of dark sorcery. But none dared speak against him—not yet.
And behind Tahlon, always three steps behind and one breath out of sight, stood Ashen.
A slave. A shadow.
A god-killer in chains.
The boy-prince played his part well.
Ashen had trained him. Not in swordplay, but in presence.
Tahlon now stood tall despite his lingering pallor. He spoke with conviction, delivered blessings in his own name, and dared to question the city's failing rituals.
He'd even declared a new festival: The Day of Ash, to honor his rebirth. The clergy fumed.
Ashen watched from the crowd, expression blank.
Each cheer for the prince fed the false faith. Each whispered doubt in the priests chipped at the divine order.
And through it all, the Echoes deepened.
That evening, Ashen met Lira in the servant quarters. She had not spoken once since Velmire, but her eyes glittered with understanding.
She handed him a scroll.
On it were scribbled names—nobles, priests, merchants.
Ashen smiled.
"She listens when no one thinks she hears," he murmured. "Good."
He marked six of the names with an X.
"Tonight, a fire begins in the chapel. Just a small one. Enough to burn a few old relics."
Lira tilted her head. Ashen added, "And we'll let the priests blame the prince."
Her eyes widened.
Ashen's voice was calm.
"Trust me. We need outrage. And doubt. And fear. Only then will he stand above the gods in their eyes."
That night, fire danced through the lower chapel.
No one died.
But three priceless relics—sun-blessed icons of Serathiel—were destroyed.
The prince was accused.
Then defended.
Then worshipped.
By week's end, Tahlon's popularity had tripled.
The commoners called him the Ash-Blessed.
A term Ashen had seeded in rumor, days earlier.
The priests fumed. Two of them left the city to summon an Inquisitor.
Ashen welcomed it.
Let holy wrath come.
It would only prove how threatened they were.
🔸 You have orchestrated a divine scandal.
🔹 + Echo Rank: C (Ascended to Apostate)
🔹 + Corruption: 14.9%
🔹 + Divine Infamy: 7 (Minor Cults Aware)
🔹 + Followers: 12 (Tahlon, Lira, 3 staff, 6 lowborn citizens, 1 noble spy)
🔹 Relic Obtained: "Sunshard Dust" – Used in Serathiel's icons. Now defiled.
🔹 Divine Awareness Risk: Moderate (Inquisitor En Route)
Meanwhile, Corren watched it all unfold from the shadows of the ruined chapel.
He drank less now. Spoke more.
"You've turned a boy into a false prophet," he said bitterly.
"No," Ashen replied. "I've made him the seed of a world without thrones in the sky."
Corren laughed. "That's what you said last time."
Ashen's gaze did not waver.
"This time, I'll start from the roots."
From the towers above, the temple bells rang.
Not for prayer.
For judgment.
The Inquisitor had arrived.
And she carried a blade blessed in heaven's flame.