Lokey shoved the Guildhall doors open, rain trailing from his boots onto the warped floorboards. The common room smelled of smoke, ale, and wet wool, and though a dozen eyes turned his way, only one voice cut across the noise.

  The Guildmaster sat slouched at the bar, a tankard in his hand, his shoulders shaking with amusement. He raised the mug in mock salute.

  “You had to wake the whole city, did you?”

  Lokey’s jaw tightened, but his tone stayed flat. “I didn’t kill anyone. They should be grateful for that.”

  The Guildmaster coughed into his drink, then broke into a wheezing laugh.

  “You got that right—no corpses, no blood. Just a building smashed to rubble, one that stood for centuries. I reckon they’d rather you killed a man than tear down their pride.”

  Lokey said nothing, and the silence stretched until the Guildmaster jerked his chin toward a shadowed corner of the hall.

  “You’ve got a visitor. She doesn’t look happy.”

  Lokey followed the gesture.

  Asra sat alone at a back table, her hands curled around a half-finished drink, her hair falling in dark strands across her face. She didn’t rise, didn’t call him over, but the sharpness in her eyes was warning enough. Trouble waited there.

  Lokey crossed the room, boots echoing against the wood. Whispers followed him, low and sharp, until he slid into the chair across from her.

  “If you’re here to lecture me, save it. I did what I had to do.”

  Her gaze hardened. “I can’t protect you—or your family—if you keep destroying everything.”

  “They attacked us!” Lokey snapped, the words spilling hot. “They tried to kill my little sister. Had her bound to an altar for their god. Don’t you dare tell me I’m the one who started this!”

  “They started it, not you—fine!” Asra’s voice rose, sharp enough to draw a glance from a nearby table. “But do you even understand what comes next? The whole kingdom will be at war soon. And you won’t survive it if you make them the enemy.”

  Lokey leaned forward, fury in his eyes. “They already made us the enemy.”

  “We need them intact,” Asra shot back, slamming her palm against the table. “The temples, the priests, the healers—they keep our soldiers alive. Without them, the front lines will break, and when that happens, there won’t be a city left to hide in.”

  Lokey let out a bitter laugh. “If that fucked-up church is the only thing keeping your kingdom from crumbling, then you’ve got a lot more problems than me and my family. What gave them the right, Asra? My sister’s power isn’t unique in this world. Others are born different—gifted, cursed, call it what you want. What gives them the right to do what they did?”

  For once, Asra faltered. Her grip on her mug tightened until the wood groaned.

  “They don’t have the right,” she admitted, her voice low. “But power doesn’t care about right. Power keeps the walls standing. Power feeds the armies. And until something stronger rises to replace it, that church is the spine of this kingdom. Tear it out, and everything breaks.”

  “Maybe it deserves to break.”

  The words hit harder than any shout. Silence rippled outward, a hush settling across the Guildhall as mercenaries pretended not to listen.

  Asra leaned closer, her eyes burning. “You think this is about temples? About revenge? You still don’t see the storm on the horizon. The Eastern Kingdom is coming, Lokey. They will destroy everything in their path. And they are worse than any monster you’ve faced.”

  “Not my problem,” he answered. “I can only face the enemy at my door.”

  “Not anymore.” Her voice cracked like a whip. “Their king is moving. Do you know who he is? He’s the last Riftborn before you and your kin appeared. He clawed his way to a throne, and now he drives his armies west. He isn’t a man of honor—he is a heartless beast from a world where lizards rule. Much like the one you came from, Lokey. But instead of humans, it was the lizard-folk who rose. He was born of them—humanoid, but colder than the scales he shed. Truly evil. And our city is in his path to the capital.”

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  Lokey’s chest tightened. “You’re saying… he’s like us.”

  “No,” Asra said firmly. “He’s nothing like you. He chose power over kindness. He burned his own kingdom to claim a crown. And when he reaches these walls, he won’t stop to ask whether you’re friend or foe. He’ll grind you beneath his heel.”

  The fire in her voice broke into something else—fear. “If you keep tearing down the temples, if you keep playing your little war, you’ll leave this city too weak to stand against him.”

  The silence that followed was suffocating. Lokey’s anger burned hot, but doubt gnawed underneath it.

  And then another voice broke in.

  “He won’t take my new home.”

  Both turned sharply.

  Hela stood wrapped in a blanket, her small frame trembling, but her eyes shone with clarity and defiance. The loud voices had woken her, but she stood tall behind her brother, two Hellhounds flanking her like shadows made flesh, their ember eyes glowing in the dim hall.

  “I love this city,” she said, her voice steady though her hands shook. “I love its people. Even if your church has something against me.”

  The hall seemed to still around her. The crackle of the fire, the clatter of mugs, even the whispers—all faded beneath her words.

  Lokey half-rose, torn between shielding her and letting her stand in her own fire.

  Asra, for once, had no answer. Her expression shifted—anger softening into something more fragile, unspoken.

  The Guildmaster at the bar leaned forward, eyes narrowing, as though he’d just witnessed the spark of something that could either save the kingdom… or burn it down.

  A heavy rumble shook the beams above, and all heads turned as Artemis stumbled down the stairs. He half-rolled, half-dragged himself forward, his body covered in bruises and scars. Blood streaked his arms and temple, but his hand never left the hilt of his blade.

  “What’s going on?” he muttered, voice thick with exhaustion, eyes unfocused but sharp enough to fight.

  The last Hellhound followed close behind, growling low, its golden eyes sweeping the room as though daring anyone to move against its master.

  Hela darted forward and caught her brother before he could fall, slipping beneath his arm and steadying him. “Don’t worry,” she said quickly, her voice trembling but firm. “I only came to talk with Lokey about some things that happened while we slept. You’re not in trouble—nothing to worry about right now.” She brushed the dirt from his shoulder, meeting his eyes. “You should be upstairs resting.”

  Gasps filled the chamber as the Guildhall finally saw the toll his actions had taken. Artemis’s body bore the proof of every sacrifice he had made to protect his family. He had saved them—and nearly broken himself doing it.

  “Please,” Hela whispered, her grip tightening around him, “go rest. You’ve done enough. We are safe now.”

  For a long moment, Artemis said nothing. His grip on the blade loosened, his shoulders sagging as though her words cut deeper than any wound. At last, he gave the faintest nod, allowing Hela to guide him back. The Hellhound padded close at their heels, its glow dimming with him.

  The silence lingered until Asra rose from her chair. She looked at Lokey, her expression calm but unwavering.

  “Look, Lokey,” she began, her voice steady. “I know you’re angry. But think about what I’ve said—I am not your enemy. One day, the Eastern Kingdom will come. The front lines are already being pushed back. My father has already sent men to fight.” She paused, her gaze moving across the chamber, letting each word sink in.

  “That is why I’m asking you to leave the church alone. I understand your anger—but there is a bigger problem coming. It is not an if, it is a when. Please… just think about it.”

  The chamber was quiet, the weight of her words pressing on every soul. For the first time, talk of grudges and old feuds seemed small against the shadow of what was coming. It wasn’t peace—not yet. But it was a beginning.

  Back in their room, the fire burned low, shadows dancing across the walls. Artemis lay in bed, his back pressed against the wall, a half-faded bandage tugging at his ribs. His blade rested beside him, always within reach, though his hand no longer gripped it with the same desperate strength.

  He looked to his older brother, eyes sharp despite the exhaustion that weighed on him. “What happened while I was asleep?” he asked.

  Hela sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers nervously worrying the blanket wrapped around her. “Yeah,” she pressed, her gaze fixed on Lokey. “What did you do that has everyone on edge? And why was that noblewoman talking about leaving the church alone?”

  For a long while, Lokey avoided their eyes. He busied himself by stoking the fire, adjusting his cloak—anything to delay the weight of their questions. But his siblings knew him too well.

  Finally, with a heavy sigh, he spoke. He told them.

  Artemis’s eyes widened as the truth settled over him. “You… you took down a building in one blow?” His lips curled into a half-smile, awe breaking through the pain in his voice. “That’s amazing, brother!”

  Lokey tried to meet his gaze, but Hela’s words cut in sharper than any blade.

  “Brother,” she said quietly, her voice trembling with both fear and disappointment. “You destroyed a place of prayer. A place that has stood longer than anyone alive in this city. I understand your anger—I do. But what about the innocent people? The ones who had nothing to do with us? You didn’t just strike the church… you hurt them too.”

  Her words hung in the air like smoke, bitter and choking.

  Lokey’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists. For a moment, he looked ready to argue—but the firelight showed something else in his eyes: a flicker of doubt, of guilt he had no words for.

  The three of them sat in silence, the crackling of the fire filling the void their words had left behind. Artemis leaned agents the wall "well i met a god she was hot maybe the town can worship her instead of the god that is attached to that pile if rubble in the center of town."Outside, the bells of the city had gone quiet.