Then the black *bond* between them pulsed, not with pain, but with an invasive, chilling clarity. It plunged Roshanak into a memory not her own, a vision of rain-slicked cobblestones and the choked cough of a child. Young Iskandar, no older than ten, his face smudged with soot, clutched a small, shivering girl to his chest. Her skin was a sickly grey, her breath shallow and rattling.
“Please, Father,” the boy pleaded, his voice a raw sob. “The healer said the blight is too strong. Only the elder chants... the ones that draw the darkness in...”
An older man, gaunt and weary, knelt beside them. “That path is damnation, son. The whispers will consume you. You’ll be a vessel for the rot.”
Young Iskandar ignored him, his gaze fixed on his sister, Zahra. Her eyes, clouded with fever, fluttered open. “Brother… my throat… it burns.”
“No!” Iskandar’s voice cracked. He squeezed his eyes shut, hands pressed to his temples. Roshanak felt it then, a wrenching, stubborn heave of will. A deadening iron drag settled over the boy as he began to chant, the forbidden words a rasp against the rain. Dark tendrils, visible only through the *bond*, began to peel from Zahra’s small body, writhing like dying eels, and plunged into young Iskandar. He gasped, a guttural sound of pure agony, but he didn’t stop. The blight receded from Zahra, leaving her pale but breathing evenly, while her brother’s eyes, when they opened, held an ink-slick shadow.
The vision dissolved, dumping Roshanak back into the stone chamber on scraped knees. Iskandar stood before Kaveh, his blade locked in a vicious parry, but his face was contorted, a familiar grimace of internalized pain. The parasite pulsed again, a violent surge of malevolence. He wasn’t a villain. He was a sacrifice, a broken promise, a shield for a dying sister. His entire life, a frantic bargain with damnation.
Fury, hot and immediate, surged through Roshanak. She saw Kaveh's sneering face, his condemnation a hollow lie against the backdrop of Iskandar’s brutal childhood. The Inquisitor, so righteous in his pronouncements, knew nothing of the scarred boy behind the reputation. Nothing of the boy who chose damnation so his sister might live.
“You arrogant, sanctimonious fool!” Roshanak shrieked, her voice echoing off the Loom’s vast walls. Kaveh faltered, his head whipping towards her, confusion momentarily eclipsing his malice. “You call him a pestilence? He’s a martyr! And you… you’re just a coward hiding behind an office and a blade!”
Before Kaveh could react, Roshanak snatched up the putrid, kelp-laden gown she had shed earlier, its magically enhanced stench still clinging to its fabric. She launched herself forward, a blur of tattered silk and righteous rage, and flung the reeking garment over Kaveh’s head.
“Agh! What in the Loom’s name?!” Kaveh roared, clawing at the thick, seaweed-choked fabric that enveloped him, blinding him completely. The heavy enchantments woven into its decay-warding fibers, designed to repel pests, now clung to his face, stinging his eyes and filling his nostrils with the stench of the ocean floor.
Iskandar, momentarily stunned by Roshanak’s sudden, feral defense, used Kaveh’s distraction to shove him back, sending the Inquisitor stumbling blindly. Kaveh thrashed, cursing, his Fate-shear flailing wildly in the air, a random arc of danger.
Roshanak spun back to Iskandar, her chest heaving. “We need to untangle the *bond* now! Before he gets free!”
But Iskandar wasn’t looking at Kaveh. His gaze was fixed on Roshanak, dark irises wide and completely unshielded. “Roshanak,” he said, his voice raw, “You truly… you truly believe me?”
“I saw it!” she snapped, impatient. “I saw what you did! You didn’t ask for this, you chose it for Zahra!”
His taut shoulders dropped, the tight set of his jaw slackening. He reached into his belt pouch and pulled out something heavy, made of dark, unpolished iron. It was an iron torc, thick and solid, engraved with faint, arcane runes. A single, small key was looped through one of its links.
“I cannot let this darkness… harm you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Not anymore. Not when you’ve seen… *that*.”
Before Roshanak could question, Iskandar brought the metal band to his neck. A sharp click echoed in the chamber as he snapped it shut, the cold iron clamping around his throat. It was a perfect, chilling fit. He swallowed, a visible effort, his face already paler.
[SUPPRESSION PROTOCOL ACTIVATED: SHADOW MAGESY DORMANT]
[CURSE-ABSORPTION ABILITIES TEMPORARILY NULLIFIED]
[COMBAT ENHANCEMENTS INACTIVE]
The air around Iskandar visibly shimmered, then went flat. The subtle, menacing aura that usually clung to him, the faint scent of ozone and shadowed power, vanished. He felt… smaller. Dangerously, utterly human. He pressed the small, intricate key into Roshanak’s palm, his calloused skin icy against hers.
“Keep it,” he rasped, his voice sounding strained through the collar. “It’s yours. Until this is done.” His face, stripped of its arcane power, was utterly exposed, vulnerable. He stood before her, the fearsome warrior, now completely defenseless. He had willingly caged himself, offered her the means to release him, or to keep him bound.
At that exact moment, Kaveh finally tore the kelp gown from his head, his face a mask of purple rage and snot. His eyes, watering from the pungent fumes, instantly fixed on Iskandar, seeing the collar, seeing the sudden absence of his formidable shadows. A cruel, triumphant grin split Kaveh's face.
“Ah, the Butcher collars himself,” Kaveh snarled, raising his Fate-shear. “How poetic. A beast submitting to its rightful master.”
Before Kaveh could take another step, a deafening CRASH echoed through the chamber. The stained-glass ceiling directly above them exploded inwards, showering the flagstones with glittering shards of colored light. Through the gaping hole, a figure descended, riding a makeshift loom-glider woven from stolen festival banners, her teeth bared in an unhinged grin. It was Parisa, her dark braids flying, a large, glowing spool of raw, forbidden sun-thread clutched in one hand.