The silver net creaked as Sera hauled the four armored behemoths into place.
They rested less than ten paces from the edge of Kaelen’s hammock, their massive red limbs still locked in rigid tension.
Even gagged with quicklime and bound with void-silk, their physical frames radiated suffocating heat. The caustic residue on their cleavers ate steadily into the floor, filling the corridor with the sharp smell of boiling vinegar. Each construct was a masterpiece of cruel, relentless engineering.
Barnaby Holt tossed a handful of dried orange peels onto the small charcoal brazier. The fragrant citrus oils sizzled softly, driving back the bitter stench of sulfur and corpse-wax.
Deacon Vane stood three paces back, adjusting his silver spectacles as he unrolled an ancient personnel scroll.
“These four were once legendary figures in the western continents,” Vane said, scanning the yellowed ink. “Master Red-Cloud, Grandmaster Iron-Mirror, Venerable Stone-Heart, and Old Daoist Pine. They entered Sovereign Solon’s court three thousand years ago to seek the final secrets of eternal life.”
Elder Sterling leaned on his sword hilt, shaking his head with quiet sorrow. “Instead of eternal life, Solon carved obedience runes into their skulls. He poured molten bronze into their spinal channels and burned away their mortal memories.”
