Chapter 50

The three members of the Butcher’s Court moved with authority. The first was a goblin-like creature no taller than Pyre’s chest, his limbs wiry, his grin stretched too wide across a face of sharp angles and pocked green skin. He held a barbed whip twitching with faint pulses of Anima as if eager to taste blood.

Beside him stood a conjoined twin—two women fused at the hip and shoulder, their movements unnervingly fluid despite their shared form. Each held a morning star, the chains wrapped around their wrists, the spiked heads dragging lightly across the stone and leaving sparks in their wake.

Behind them strode the one clearly in charge of the group.

He was broad and muscled, his white clothing speckled with old, dried blood that seemed worked into the fabric rather than splashed across it. Jagged protrusions pressed against the cloth from beneath and red scars traced his bare arms and neck, while yellow eyes burned beneath slick black hair combed neatly back.

His Sigil writhed in his hand, a dagger made of liquid Anima, viscous and black-red, constantly reshaping itself.

Pyre was close enough now to hear every word, still on his belly, still poised to intervene to help his friends.

“She belongs to the Butcher’s Court,” the Court’s leader said, gesturing his living blade toward Marrowsven.

“You are in our claimfield,” one of the women from the Farbound Delegation told him firmly. She stepped forward and manifested her Sigil—a chalice formed of pale light, elegant and restrained. “You will leave at once or face the consequences.”

“You know the border rules,” he told her dismissively. “And you know the rules of sponsorship.”

“Your rules of sponsorship differ from ours.” The woman motioned toward Lyra. “She is sponsored and has yet to pledge, meaning she is free to go. I do not know how the Butcher’s Court has warped their contract, but it certainly is not a sponsorship contract set in the Aevum bylaws. And I am assuming there was not a third party present to witness its signing.”

The man glared at her for a moment, his yellow eyes flaring until a nasty smile formed on his face. “What do you want with this Unclaimed?” he asked, gesturing to Marrowsven.

“We want nothing. The two were passing through our area and recognized one of ours. They are here with the Unmoored.”

“The Unmoored?” The man began to laugh, low and amused. The goblin joined him with a shrill, nasal cackle that grated against the stone. Even the twins smiled faintly, their expressions slightly out of sync.

“You will be coming with me,” a male voice said from directly behind Pyre, startling him.

Pyre rose in the same motion that he summoned his Sigil. Flames spiraled up around him, the broken blade forming in his grasp. The sudden flare of fire drew every gaze and quickly dissipated once he saw a man within a waveform similar to Irix’s manifestation—only darker, thicker, like smoke vibrating through water.

“Ah, Niv,” the Butcher’s Court leader called over to him. “It looks like you found a stray. Bring him here!

The Farbound woman with the chalice stiffened. “By sending a mist-based entity, you have violated—”

“Quiet.” The word came with a sweep of the leader’s hand. His liquid dagger shot forward, stretching unnaturally as it flew. It wrapped around the Farbound woman’s face, sealing over her mouth and eyes in a suffocating sheath of Anima. The chalice in her hand wobbled and vanished.

“And none of you say or do anything,” he told Lyra and the other two Farbound members, “lest you value her life.”

The goblin grinned wider. The twins lifted their morning stars slightly.

“Let’s go,” Niv told Pyre, his voice all around him. “Put your Sigil away, now.”

Pyre stepped forward instead, joining Balefor and Marrowsven. The mirror-like surface of the Delegation’s banner reflected the final flicker of Pyre’s fiery, warped slivers as it faded away.

“Sorry,” Pyre told Marrowsven, who didn’t respond.

Beside him, Balefor kept his focus on Butcher’s leader, his greataxe already drawn. The lion-man’s stance had shifted subtly, weight balanced, shoulders coiled, ready to explode forward the instant an opening appeared.

Marrowsven stood differently now, chin tucked slightly, her eyes carrying something Pyre had not seen there before. Not panic. Calculation. By the look on her face, it was clear that she knew what they were up against.

Yet they were not alone. Pyre let that thought settle.

While three of their Sigils were incomplete, and Lyra’s strength remained an unknown, two members of the Farbound Delegation still stood with them.

One was a scaled woman, her skin patterned like polished stone, a rapier of clean white light resting at her side, its edge humming softly.

The other bore the head of a wolf—close enough to Balefor to hint at shared origin, though his demeanor was somehow harsher. He held a massive club carved with twisted faces, each locked in a different expression.

“And if we let you have her?” the wolven man asked carefully.

“You dog!” Balefor roared, his rage barely contained as he turned to him. “Of course you would offer up something that does not belong to you!”

“Quiet,” the wolven man snapped, his attention never leaving the Butcher’s leader.

“If you were to let us take into custody what is already ours,” the Butcher’s Court leader said smoothly, “we would gladly overlook this little incident and allow you to do whatever you wish with the two Unclaimed.”

The goblin snickered. The twins adjusted their grips.

Lyra did not move as a crown of Anima formed above her head, fully realized now, solid and radiant. It gleamed with authority, signaling that her Sigil had matured.

Balefor’s broad frame shielded her from most angles, and Pyre forced himself not to stare as a second form began pressing outward from her body.

At first it was translucent, like a newborn Sigil struggling into existence. The perfect replica of Lyra stepped free and moved soundlessly behind the four members of the Butcher’s Court, where it solidified.

No one noticed. Not yet.

Pyre lifted his gaze but did not look directly at Lyra.

He looked at the replica as it took a position directly behind the Butcher’s court. Most surprising was the moment Lyra’s replica met his eyes and nodded.

That was all it took.

Flames roared up around Pyre as he summoned his Sigil in full. He did not simply stand there and let the fire form. He moved with it, the broken blade coalescing in his hand as he lunged forward, heat spilling off him in a widening arc.

The air around his shoulders warped as he closed the distance, boots grinding against the stone.

Balefor pushed forward at the same instant, stepping in front of Marrowsven instinctively, broad back shielding her as the wolven Farbound man surged past him with a guttural snarl.

Lyra’s replica struck first.

She drove the heel of her hand into the back of their leader’s skull. The impact snapped his head forward, the liquid dagger wrapped around the Farbound woman’s face vanishing.

She reacted instantly as her Sigil manifested again, and she swung the chalice into the blackened mist, turning toward Balefor, Pyre, and Marrowsven. The blow struck something solid. Niv flashed into visibility, his waveform body destabilizing under the force.

Her chalice Sigil flared as she hammered him again, driving him backward.

To the left, the wolven man met the conjoined twins head-on. Their morning stars came in precise, alternating strikes—left, right, high, low—an unbroken sequence of violence, yet he batted the chains aside with his club, sparks spraying as metal struck metal. One spiked head glanced off his shoulder; he answered by slamming the carved faces of his club into their midsection, forcing them back a step.

In front of them, Lyra’s replica dropped fully onto the Butcher leader’s back, pinning his arms to the stone, her palm pressed against the base of his skull. Anima rippled outward in tight concentric waves, humming with restrained force.

The real Lyra crouched in front of their leader, calm and composed despite the chaos unfolding around them. “Where would you like to go?” she asked the man as Balefor and Marrowsven joined her flank. Pyre took position a few paces back, turning slowly as he tracked the rest of the battlefield.

“This is war,” the Butcher leader said, yellow eyes blazing up at Lyra. “And you protect a few useless souls to make a point? We can summon more of ours, you know.”

“Then why haven’t you?” she asked evenly.

Balefor cleared his throat. “I have a theory. If they can summon reinforcements, so can you. And if you do, it makes something clear. They lost to a small group that includes three Unclaimed.”

“Interesting,” Lyra said, her attention still fixed on the Butchers’ leader.

Balefor jerked his chin toward the wolven man, who had now forced the twins onto the defensive. “Now I’m not stupid enough to join the Butcher’s Court, and certainly not stupid enough to think the Hunger is anything worth worshipping, but I do know what it feels like to come crawling back with your tail between your legs. And that’s what this will look like if they ask for help.”He gave a short, sharp nod. “Nah. They won’t summon anyone. If you don’t send them to the Hollow, they’ll retreat and act like this never happened.”

“Like cowards,” Pyre said.

“Exactly like that,” Balefor replied as he glanced at Marrowsven. Something passed between them, an understanding.

“Lyra,” Marrowsven said, “can we speak to you for a moment?”

The real Lyra rose smoothly and stepped aside with Balefor and Marrowsven. They moved only a few paces away, voices lowered.

Pyre stayed where he was, Sigil at the ready as Lyra’s replica kept the Butchers’ leader pinned.

“And you,” the man asked, turning his head enough to look up at Pyre. “What is your Domain? Our scouts did not say anything about an Unclaimed with a broken sword of fire.”

Pyre didn’t respond.

“Do not be swayed by the Unmoored. The Shepherd is a failed prophet. A being who could have done so much more yet threw it all away. You cannot stop the Hunger,” the man continued, “but you can appreciate it. You can—”

“Quiet,” Lyra’s replica said, pressing her palm harder against his skull. “And keep your hands spread. I am authorized to execute.”

The man’s jaw tightened.

“You will not like the Butcher’s Court as an enemy,” he said, breath rough, fury simmering beneath it.

Behind him, the goblin had already been disarmed, the whip lying slack at his feet as the Farbound reptilian woman stood over him. Niv wavered weakly nearby, contained. The wolven man continued his fight against the conjoined twins, their strikes growing louder and flashier.

Balefor returned, leaning close enough that only Pyre could hear.

“Lyra wants us to move now, while they deal with the Court,” he said quietly. “We go through their claimfield, toward the outskirts. Then we reach the Heavenly Host’s claimfield. After that, we should be near the Unmoored’s gate.” He placed a heavy hand on Pyre’s shoulder. “Pyre? Did you hear me?”

He finally relaxed the grip on his Sigil. “I heard you.”

“Then we should go.”

Pyre hesitated only a fraction of a second longer. He let his flames dim and turned away.