The chipped gargoyle warmed beneath Zeush’s feet, the stone radiating the day’s faint heat. Below, the city of Veridium pulsed—a network of shadowed alleys and glittering towers, all choking on ambition. He adjusted his grip, talons scoring the weathered stone. Messengers, quick as startled mice, scrambled across the slate roofs, their leather pouches bulging with coded missives. Each one a ripple in the stagnant pond of the Shadow Throne’s schemes.
“Another one for Lord Valerius,” a voice rasped, startling Zeush. Old Man Tiber, a hunchbacked rat catcher, paused, squinting up at the owl. “The man collects secrets like a magpie hoards trinkets.”
“Valerius buys influence,” Zeush hooted, the sound swallowed by the city’s din. He focused, extending his awareness—a prickling sensation at the base of his skull. It wasn’t sight, not exactly. More…resonance. He felt the currents of deception flowing through Veridium, thick and cloying.
“And spends it just as freely,” Tiber spat, tossing a handful of grain to his scuttling charges. “He’ll bleed this city dry, mark my words.”
“He’s not alone,” Zeush stated, watching a cloaked figure disappear into the labyrinthine Undermarket. “The whispers shift. Something’s brewing beyond the usual power plays.”
“You hear things, don’t you, little owl?” Tiber chuckled. “Folks underestimate a bird’s ears. They think we just hunt mice.”
“Mice are simple,” Zeush retorted, tilting his head. “Betrayal…that’s a far more complex prey.”
A messenger landed heavily on the adjacent roof, the impact jarring Zeush. He lowered his head, focusing on the small scrap of parchment the man clutched. The seal: the Obsidian Serpent, Valerius’s sigil.
“Lord Harrow’s been compromised,” the messenger muttered to himself, unfolding the missive. “Accusations of treason. Valerius is moving to secure the Citadel.”
Zeush shifted, a feather drifting down onto the cobblestones. Harrow—a good man, a cautious man. And now, a target. He’d observed Harrow for cycles—the man’s genuine concern for the lower districts, his resistance to Valerius’s relentless expansion.
“Harrow?” Tiber called, noticing the messenger’s distress. “Trouble with the Lord Protector?”
The messenger didn’t respond, instead disappearing into a shadowy doorway.
“It’s not just politics, old man,” Zeush observed, extending his awareness further. He touched the edges of the deception, the carefully constructed lies, the subtle manipulations. It felt…wrong. A jagged discordance resonating deep within him. “Something is profoundly broken in Veridium.”
“Broken’s been the city’s default setting for decades,” Tiber grumbled, gathering his tools. “Just different folks breakin’ it.”
Zeush ignored him, his gaze fixed on the Obsidian Tower, Valerius’s fortress, piercing the gloom. A single raven wheeled above it, a dark omen against the bruised sky.
“Valerius didn’t orchestrate this,” Zeush murmured, more to himself than Tiber. “He’s reacting to it. There’s another hand at play. One hidden in the shadows.”
A tremor ran through the city—not of stone or steel, but of fear. The whispers intensified, coalescing into a suffocating silence. Zeush spread his wings, the feathers rustling like dry leaves.
“This isn’t about power, old man. It’s about control.”
“And who’s doin’ the controllin’?” Tiber asked, eyes narrowed.
Zeush launched himself into the night, the wind rushing beneath his wings.
“That’s what I intend to find out.”
