Failure always had a sound.
Tonight, it was screaming.
Maelis’ handler was dragged across the obsidian floor by unseen force, nails tearing uselessly at stone etched with infernal sigils. His mouth was open wide, jaw stretched past what should have been possible, but no sound escaped him now.
That mercy had already been stripped away.
Above him, the Conclave watched.
They did not sit.
They loomed.
Seven figures encircled the chamber—some corporeal, some only half-bound to flesh. Shadows clung to them like living things, curling and recoiling in response to moods that could fracture worlds.
At the center stood Vareth-Kael, the Architect of Chains.
His form was vaguely humanoid, though that was more a suggestion than truth. Skin like cooled magma veined with ember-light. Eyes burnin
