Elisha tasted copper in his throat—blood or metal, he couldn't say—as the damp cell wall pressed against his spine. The dripping water had been his only company for... how long now? Days blurred together down here.
Drip. One hundred and thirty-seven.
The sound kept him from going completely nuts. That and the rats. At least they were honest about wanting his scraps.
"Still counting drops, heretic?"
Brother Marcus's voice made Elisha's teeth clench. The guard stood outside the iron bars, his white robes somehow still spotless in this shithole. The golden sun on his chest caught the torchlight, all bright and clean while everything else rotted.
"I'm not a heretic." The words came out scratchy. When was the last time they'd given him water? His tongue felt like leather.
Marcus laughed—not a nice sound. "Right. So those forbidden books just walked into your room by themselves?"
"I told you already, I can't even read half that stuff. Someone set me up."
"Sure they did." Marcus pulled out one of those leather-bound books, letting it fall open. Weird symbols covered the pages, all circles and lines that seemed to wiggle when Elisha looked straight at them. Made his head hurt. "Controller Path rituals. Blood magic. Soul binding. Pretty heavy reading for a dock worker."
Elisha's skull throbbed. Those diagrams... they looked familiar somehow. Like something from a half-remembered dream. But that was crazy. He'd never seen anything like them before the church soldiers kicked down his door.
"I don't know what any of that means," he said.
"Liar." The book slammed shut with a sound like breaking bones. "Tomorrow morning, you burn. Cardinal's orders."
Marcus's boots echoed down the stone hall until the silence came back. Elisha closed his eyes and tried to ignore his empty stomach. A week ago he'd been loading cargo and fixing nets. Biggest excitement in his life was the occasional bar fight when some sailor got too drunk.
Now the Weeping Sun wanted to roast him alive.
Must've dozed off because the next thing he knew, there was light behind his eyelids. Not the warm yellow of torches—this was different. Colder. Like it was alive.
_Bind them to your will._
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere at once. Elisha's eyes snapped open but the cell was still empty. Just him and a fat rat in the corner.
_Speak the words. Take control._
"What words?" His whisper sounded too loud in the darkness.
Golden light pulsed brighter. Those same twisted symbols from the book started forming in the air, hanging there like burning letters. They hurt to look at but he couldn't turn away.
_Blood calls to blood. Will calls to will. Bind them._
His mouth moved without asking permission. The words felt strange on his tongue—old, heavy, like they'd been waiting inside him for years.
"By blood spilled and words spoken. By will imposed and souls broken. I bind you to my purpose. I bind you to my word."
The light exploded. Pain shot through every nerve while something fundamental shifted inside his chest. He felt... bigger somehow. Stronger. Like he could reach out and grab the whole damn world.
_+5 Primary Strength gained. Controller Sequence 8 achieved._
The words burned themselves into his mind, then faded.
Footsteps in the corridor. Multiple sets this time.
"Time to die, heretic," Marcus called out, sounding way too cheerful. "The pyre's waiting."
But when the guard reached his cell, he stopped dead. His keys hit the floor with a metallic clatter.
"Open the door."
Elisha said it quiet, almost casual. Like asking for the time.
Marcus's hand moved to the lock without hesitation. The iron door swung open with a rusty screech that made Elisha's teeth ache.
Holy shit. It actually worked.
"Now walk to that wall and bang your head against it till you pass out."
The guard turned and walked to the stone wall like he was heading to breakfast. The first impact made a wet, meaty sound. By the third hit, blood was running down his face. By the fifth, he dropped like a sack of grain.
Elisha stared at the crumpled body, his heart hammering against his ribs. What the hell had just happened? What was he?
More voices echoed from deeper in the dungeon. The other guards were coming.
He grabbed Marcus's sword and ran.
The corridors twisted like a drunk man's path but somehow his feet knew where to go. Left at the room with the screaming—he tried not to think about what went on in there. Right at the staircase that stank of piss and fear. Straight through the guards' quarters where empty beds waited for men who'd never sleep in them again.
He burst into the main cathedral just as the morning bell started ringing. The sound hit him like a physical blow—deep, resonant, designed to make people feel small. Dozens of white-robed figures turned to stare. Some reached for weapons. Others backed away with wide eyes.
The air smelled of incense and old stone, nothing like the rot and rust of the dungeons below.
"The heretic's escaped!" someone shouted.
But Elisha was already moving. The sword felt light in his hands, like it belonged there. A guard came at him swinging a mace.
"Drop your weapon and kneel."
The words came out calm, conversational. The mace clattered to the marble floor. The guard dropped to his knees like his strings had been cut.
"What... what sorcery is this?" A woman in gold-trimmed robes stepped forward. More symbols decorated her vestments—she had to be someone important. Her voice shook despite her attempt at authority.
"Tell your people to stand aside." Elisha pointed the sword at her throat. The blade didn't waver.
"I'm Cardinal Thessa of the Weeping Sun. I don't bow to heretics." But even as she spoke, her hands started trembling.
The power flowed through him again, cold and hungry like winter wind. "You'll bow to me. Order them to let me pass."
Cardinal Thessa's eyes went wide. Her mouth opened against her will, the words dragged out of her. "Let... let him pass."
The crowd of priests and guards parted like water around a stone. Elisha walked through them slowly, drinking in their fear. Some of them were probably decent people just following orders. Right now, he didn't give a damn. The Weeping Sun had thrown him in a cage to rot. They'd planned to burn him for crimes he didn't commit.
Time they got a taste of helplessness.
The great doors stood open, morning sunlight streaming in and making dust motes dance in the air. Real sunlight, not the twisted stuff the church used for their rituals.
"This isn't over, heretic," Cardinal Thessa called behind him. Her voice cracked with rage and something else—fear. "The Weeping Sun will hunt you to the ends of the earth."
Elisha paused in the doorway. The power pulsed inside him like a second heartbeat.
"No," he said quietly. "You won't."
Then he stepped into the street and vanished into the crowd.
Haven Seven sprawled around him in all directions—a maze of crumbling towers and makeshift bridges connecting building to building. Down here in the shadows between the high places, people hurried past without making eye contact. Everyone knew the rules: keep your head down, mind your business, survive another day.
Elisha pulled his hood up and tried to blend in. The stolen sword pressed against his ribs under his coat. His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn't eaten since... when? Time got fuzzy in the dungeons.
A food vendor was selling something that might've been rat meat on sticks. The smell made his mouth water despite everything.
"How much?" he asked.
The vendor looked him up and down like he was measuring him for a coffin. "Two copper."
Elisha patted his empty pockets. Of course the church had taken everything when they arrested him.
"I don't have any money."
"Then move along." The vendor waved him away like shooing a fly.
The power stirred inside him again. It would be so easy. One command and the man would hand over food without a second thought.
But the vendor was just trying to make a living. He wasn't the enemy.
"Never mind," Elisha muttered, turning away.
He needed somewhere safe to think. Somewhere the Weeping Sun wouldn't look. But where could someone like him hide in a place like this?
"Mister? You look lost."
A small hand tugged at his coat. Elisha glanced down to see a kid, maybe ten years old, with dirt-streaked cheeks and bright eyes. His clothes were patched about a dozen times but clean.
"I'm fine," Elisha said.
"No, you're not. You got that look." The boy studied him with the serious expression kids got when they'd seen too much too young. "Like someone who just found out the world ain't what they thought."
That hit uncomfortably close to home. "What's your name, kid?"
"Tommy. I know places where people can disappear if they need to. Safe places." He grinned, showing a gap where a tooth used to be. "Costs money though."
"I don't have any."
"Maybe we can work something else out. You look strong. Got any skills?"
Elisha thought about the guard walking into the wall on command. About the Cardinal's trembling voice as she ordered her own people to let him pass.
"Maybe."
"Come on then. I know someone who might be interested."
Tommy led him through a maze of alleys and side streets that seemed to fold in on themselves. They climbed rusted fire escapes that groaned under their weight and crossed rope bridges that swayed in the wind. The deeper they went, the fewer Weeping Sun symbols Elisha saw carved into the walls.
Finally Tommy stopped at a heavy wooden door marked with a strange symbol—a circle with lines shooting out like spokes on a wheel.
"What is this place?" Elisha asked.
"Null safe house," Tommy said, like that explained everything. "Don't worry, they're good people. Mostly."
The door opened before Tommy could knock. A woman stepped out—tall, pale, dressed in black leather that looked like it could stop a blade. Her eyes were the color of storm clouds.
"Tommy," she said. Her voice was soft but carried weight, like velvet wrapped around steel. "Who's your friend?"
"Found him wandering around looking lost. Says he's got skills."
The woman studied Elisha for a long moment. Her gaze felt like it was peeling back layers, seeing things he'd rather keep hidden.
"What kind of skills?" she asked.
How do you explain something you don't understand yourself?
"I can make people do things," he said finally. "With words."
Her eyebrows rose slightly. "Show me."
"I'd rather not—"
"Tommy," she said without looking away from Elisha. "Go get me a glass of water from inside."
The boy started to move but Elisha spoke first. "Stop."
Tommy froze mid-step like someone had hit a pause button.
"Turn around. Go back where you were."
The boy obeyed instantly, his face blank.
The woman smiled, but it wasn't friendly. More like a wolf showing teeth. "Controller. Sequence 8, if I'm not mistaken. How long have you been awakened?"
"Since this morning," Elisha admitted.
"Interesting." She opened the door wider. "Natural awakening or ritual?"
"I... I'm not sure. There was this dream—"
"Dreams don't grant power." Her smile sharpened. "Come inside. We need to talk."
The safe house was bigger than it looked from outside, all dark wood and shadows that seemed to move on their own. The main room was filled with tables where people sat talking in low voices. Some wore black leather like the woman. Others dressed like ordinary citizens. All of them had that same watchful quality—predators pretending to be prey.
"My name's Vera," the woman said, leading him to a corner table. "I handle recruitment for the Null."
"The Null?"
"We keep things balanced. When the other factions get too powerful, too aggressive, we... adjust the situation." She poured herself something dark from a bottle that didn't have a label. "The Weeping Sun's been getting particularly troublesome lately. Cardinal Thessa especially."
Elisha's grip tightened on his sword. "I might've had words with her this morning."
"Oh, I know. Word travels fast in the Mid Zone." Vera's smile was all edges. "A newly awakened Controller walking out of their most secure facility after making their people dance like puppets? That's the kind of story that spreads like wildfire."
"They'll be looking for me."
"Without question. The Weeping Sun doesn't forgive embarrassment." She leaned forward, her storm-cloud eyes fixed on his. "But the Null protects its own. If you're willing to work with us."
"What kind of work?"
"The kind that uses your particular talents. Controllers are rare, especially ones with natural ability." She gestured to the room around them. "Most of these people studied for years to awaken their paths. You did it in your sleep."
Had he though? The voice in his dreams, those golden symbols hanging in the air like funeral pyres... had that really been natural? Or had something else been pulling the strings?
"I need time to think," he said.
"Of course. Tommy will show you to a room upstairs. Rest, eat, get your strength back." Vera stood up, moving with fluid grace. "But don't take too long deciding. The other factions won't give you the luxury of choice if they find you first."
The room Tommy led him to was small but clean. A narrow bed, a washbasin, a single window that looked out over the twisting maze of Haven Seven. Elisha collapsed onto the mattress and stared at the ceiling.
Everything had changed in a single morning. Yesterday he'd been a dock worker facing execution for a crime he didn't commit. Now he was something else. Something with power.
But power always came with a price. He'd learned that much growing up on the docks. The question was whether he was willing to pay it.
Outside his window, the city sprawled toward the horizon like a wounded animal. Somewhere out there, the Weeping Sun was gathering their forces. Cardinal Thessa would want blood for the humiliation he'd caused her.
Let them come, he thought. The power stirred inside him again, cold and hungry as winter.
Let them all come.