Chapter 42 The Inquisitor’s Chains
Seraphine stood in the center of the Grand Inquisitor’s chamber, the heavy oak doors sealed behind her. The room was dimly lit by blood-red candles, their flames casting long, menacing shadows across stone walls lined with ancient relics and instruments of purification. Chains hung from the ceiling in neat rows, some still stained with old blood.
Grand Inquisitor Malrec sat behind a massive desk carved from dark wood, his tall, gaunt frame draped in black and crimson robes. His face was sharp and pale, with deep-set eyes that seemed to pierce through flesh and bone. He was known throughout the Order as the executioner’s hand, the one who burned villages, broke souls, and silenced doubts without hesitation.
“You requested my presence, Grand Inquisitor,” Seraphine said, keeping her voice steady.
Malrec leaned forward, fingers steepled beneath his chin. His gaze lingered on her a moment too long, studying her face with uncomfortable intensity.
“Reports from the frontier disturb me, High Priestess,” he began, his voice smooth but cold. “You hesitated during the encounter with the Hollow King. You allowed him and his forces to withdraw. Some even claim you protected him. Explain yourself.”
Seraphine felt the weight of his stare like chains wrapping around her throat. “The situation was… complicated. The resonance between his power and mine disrupted the battlefield. I needed time to understand what was happening.”
“Understand?” Malrec’s lips curled into a thin smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “The Hollow Commander is evolving beyond any ordinary undead we have faced. He thinks. He commands. He feels. And now he has an army. We cannot afford hesitation, Seraphine. Not from you.”
He rose slowly and circled the desk, stopping directly in front of her. He was taller than she expected, and the way he looked at her made her skin crawl.
“You are our greatest weapon,” Malrec continued, reaching out to brush a strand of silver-white hair from her face. His touch lingered. “The Radiant Veil flows through you more strongly than any other. Yet I hear whispers of doubt. Of weakness. Tell me, child… are you still loyal to the Order?”
Seraphine forced herself not to flinch. “I am loyal to the Light.”
Malrec’s smile widened slightly. “Good. Because the Crown demands results. We will increase the purges. Burn more villages if necessary. Draw the Hollow King into the open and destroy him completely. Harsher measures will be taken. Soul-binding experiments will be accelerated. We need stronger vessels.”
Seraphine’s stomach turned. “More experiments? More stolen souls?”
Malrec’s eyes gleamed with something dark. “Necessary sacrifices for the greater good. You, of all people, should understand that.”
The way he said it sent a chill down her spine. He knew. He knew about Elyra. About the resonance. About what she was.
Malrec stepped even closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “You are special, Seraphine. More than you realize. The fragments inside you… they make you powerful. But they can also make you dangerous. To yourself. To the Order.”
Seraphine met his gaze, refusing to look away. “Then tell me the truth. Who was Elyra Voss? Why was her soul placed inside me?”
For a moment, something cold and calculating flickered across Malrec’s face. He reached out and gripped her chin gently but firmly, tilting her face up toward his.
“If Elyra’s echoes are resurfacing…” he murmured, his breath brushing her skin, “we may need to start over.”
Seraphine’s blood ran cold. She pulled away from his touch, heart hammering.
Malrec smiled again, cold and satisfied. “Return to your duties, High Priestess. Pray. Purify. And remember where your true loyalty lies. The next time you face the Hollow King, there will be no hesitation. Or I will personally ensure your faith is… corrected.”
He waved a hand toward the door.
Seraphine turned and left the chamber on unsteady legs. The moment the heavy doors closed behind her, she leaned against the cold stone wall, breathing hard.
The Order wasn’t just hiding the truth.
They were prepared to erase her if she became inconvenient.
And Malrec, the man who burned heretics and purified souls, looked at her like she was nothing more than another vessel to be used or discarded.
Seraphine pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the faint silver light pulsing beneath her skin. Elyra’s presence stirred stronger than ever.
She whispered into the empty corridor, voice barely audible:
“I won’t let them start over.”
But even as she said the words, fear coiled tight in her stomach. The Grand Inquisitor’s warning wasn’t just a threat.
It was a promise.