Chapter 220: Born Wrong
He lingered a moment longer beneath the Rudy column. The etched name glowed faintly in the low light, the edge of the statue’s blade catching a final streak of sunlight as it disappeared behind the ridgeline. With it went the tension in Tarn’s shoulders. He let the silence settle.
Kenosha Shibuya would already be stirring for the Banquet of the Twin Moons. The festival came once a year—when Kaelith and Voryn crossed paths in the sky above, silver and amber layered together in a way that washed the capital in strange, protective light. It was said the moons drove back things that had no names. That no beast of the dark could stand in the radiance of the crossing.
Whether that was true, Tarn didn’t know.
But it made the people feel safer. That alone was worth something.
He stooped, slow and stiff, reaching for the scattered tools beside the base of the column. A cracked brush, a rusted shovel, a satchel whose seams had long since faded into the leather. They bore the marks of four decades of labor—stains from the clay-rich soil, dried blood from a time he didn’t talk about, cuts from thorns no one else ever saw growing near the graves.
As he stood, a sharp pop traced the length of his spine.
The gem in his arm flared again, its warmth rippling through his shoulder, dampening the ache enough to draw a breath without wincing. He flexed his fingers once and turned toward the tree line. He had a long walk ahead.
Then the sky darkened.
Not gradually—but all at once.