Lord of the Foresaken

Three days had passed since the incident in the containment chamber. Three days since Reed had witnessed the impossible—Lord Thorn, transformed and alive, hovering in void-touched splendor opposite Shia.

The memory of what followed still burned through Reed’s consciousness, fragmented but vivid: Lysithea’s banishment sigil flaring like a miniature sun; the howling of void energies as they tore through the chamber’s defenses; Reed’s own power erupting in desperate, instinctual protection. Then darkness—not unconsciousness, but something deeper. He had fallen through reality itself, dragging Shia with him through corridors of nothingness until they emerged, gasping and disoriented, in the shadow of their own domain’s border markers.

Now, Reed stood atop the highest tower of Blackspire Keep, his gaze sweeping across the rolling hills and dense forests that made up his modest holdings. The midday sun cast harsh shadows across the land, highlighting the unnatural stillness that had settled over the domain in their absence. No smoke rose from the village chimneys. No peasants worked the fields.

"Something is wrong," Shia’s voice came from behind him, her words carrying an ethereal echo that hadn’t been present before her transformation.

Reed didn’t turn. He couldn’t bear to see the writhing darkness that had once been her arms, the void-black eyes that now swirled with distant stars. Not yet. "I know."

"The void paths we traveled... they distorted time." Shia moved beside him, her form casting no shadow despite the brilliant sunlight. "We’ve been gone longer than three days."

Reed nodded grimly. "Much longer, judging by the overgrowth on the southern approach." He pointed to where the main road disappeared beneath a tangle of vegetation too thick to have formed in just weeks. "Months, perhaps."

"The governor you appointed—"

"Should have maintained order," Reed finished, his jaw tightening. "Farren was competent, if nothing else."

Shia’s void tendrils coiled restlessly, sensing the tension in his voice. "We should find him first."

Without another word, Reed descended the tower stairs, Shia floating—not walking, but drifting—behind him like a specter. The keep’s interior was eerily quiet, dust coating the surfaces in a fine layer that spoke of abandonment. The handful of guards who had remained when Reed departed for the Tournament were nowhere to be seen.