Lord of the Foresaken

Reed stood at the edge of the alabaster balcony, watching as the scarlet sunrise painted the eastern horizon in hues of blood and fire. The wound across his cheek—a parting gift from Shia’s doppelgänger—had begun to heal, leaving a raised white line that bisected his otherwise perfect features. Four weeks had passed since the attack, yet the memory of those hollow eyes gazing through Shia’s familiar face haunted him still.

"The reports from the Northern Domains arrived, my Lord," said Magnus, his weathered form materializing from the shadows like a specter. The old warrior’s face bore new scars—not physical ones, but the deeper marks of a man who had seen his beliefs shattered.

Reed took the sealed parchment without turning. "How many this time?"

"Seven Heroes showing early signs of corruption. Two already in advanced stages."

Reed’s fingers tightened around the parchment until his knuckles whitened. "And the Lords?"

"Four refuse our intervention. Lord Karsten has even placed a bounty on your men’s heads. He claims you’re violating the sacred covenant between Lords and Heroes."

A bitter laugh escaped Reed’s lips. "Sacred covenant. If only they knew what truly binds us together."

He unfolded the map spread across the stone table behind them. Dozens of small blue markings dotted the territories, each representing a safe house established over the past month. Red markers indicated confirmed corruptions; yellow marked suspected cases. The pattern was unmistakable—the corruption was spreading outward from the capital in concentric waves.

"The king still refuses to acknowledge the threat," Reed muttered. "Even after his own brush with death."

"The royal physicians claim the king’s mind was affected by the attack," Magnus replied. "Lord Chancellor Royce effectively rules now, and he’s convinced the council that isolated incidents of Hero madness are unrelated to any larger threat."

Reed’s expression darkened. "Royce was always a fool. Or worse—a willing puppet."