Chapter 510: Shackles III
The ruins gave them shelter for a single night.
They camped in what had once been a cathedral, its roof half-collapsed, its stained glass shattered into a mosaic of shards on the floor. Through the broken ceiling, the stars watched like patient witnesses.
Leon sat apart from the fire, gauntlet resting on his knee, the cracks along his arm faintly glowing with residue from the Sixth Pulse. He turned his hand slowly, flexing his fingers as if they weren’t his own. Every motion hurt—not the sharp pain of wounds, but the deep, echoing ache of a body forced beyond its law.
Roselia approached quietly, carrying a small bowl of herbal mixture. She set it beside him, her voice gentle. "You won’t let me heal the fractures directly. At least drink this. It’ll keep your blood from burning itself out."
Leon gave a faint smile, took the bowl, and sipped. The bitterness was grounding. "...Thanks."
Roselia lingered, studying him. "Leon... when you spoke the Null Vow, it felt like the world itself went silent. Even I—just standing there—felt... unmade, for a heartbeat."
Leon’s gaze stayed on the fire. "...It wasn’t aimed at you. But it doesn’t distinguish. Null Vow doesn’t destroy—it denies. If the world says you must kneel, it denies that truth. If the world says you must burn, it denies the fire."
"And if the world says you must live?" she asked softly.
Leon’s fingers clenched around the bowl. "...Then it would deny that, too."
The silence between them was heavier than the ruins.
Across the camp, Liliana sat on a broken column, bow across her lap, eyes sharp even in exhaustion. Naval was sharpening his trident by the firelight, every stroke slow, methodical, as though it kept his thoughts from wandering too far. Roman lay on his back, one arm over his eyes, pretending to sleep while his other hand rested near his gauntlet.
And Milim—Milim was sitting cross-legged near Leon, watching him openly. No smile, no giggle, just quiet curiosity. After a while, she leaned forward, tilting her head. "You said it hurts. But you didn’t scream. Why?"
Leon looked at her, caught off-guard.
Milim blinked. "When I fight, and it hurts, I scream, or laugh, or roar. But you don’t. You swallow it. Why?"
He met her gaze, then looked back at his hand. "...Because if I let it out, it means I’m losing to it. And if I lose, we all fall."
Milim considered that, then sat back, wings twitching faintly. "...You’re stubborn."
Leon huffed a faint laugh. "...That I am."
The fire crackled. For a brief moment, there was peace.
But beyond the ruins, the Tower was not still. Threads of law twisted, Thrones stirred, and the path forward was already shifting, reshaping in response to the Null Vow’s birth.
Tomorrow, they would move again.
Toward the next boundary.
Toward the next Throne.
Toward war.
Morning came quietly.
Mist hung over the ruins like a veil, softening the jagged silhouettes of broken towers and shattered walls. The air was cool, almost kind, though it carried the faint hum of resonance—a reminder that this place wasn’t just dead stone. It was still touched by what had been fought here.
The group packed their things in silence. Naval was the first to break it, sliding his trident into place on his back. "The boundary’s pull hasn’t faded. It’s still calling forward."
Liliana adjusted the quiver on her hip, eyes sharp. "If yesterday’s fight was only the threshold... the next city won’t just resist. It’ll consume the unprepared."
Roman gave a low grunt, rolling his shoulders. "Then we stay ready."
Leon led them out, his steps slow but steady. His gauntlet still throbbed faintly with cracks of light, but he didn’t falter. Every pulse in the air tugged at him, the fragment inside resonating, dragging him toward the next trial.
The road was long and broken. Carriages lay half-sunken into the earth, stone bridges leaned at impossible angles, moss crawling over everything like time had sped forward too quickly here. Birds circled above, but none dared land too close.
Roselia touched the wall of a collapsed house as they passed, her expression pained. "It’s worse here. The lifepulse is thin, stretched. Like something drains it as soon as it grows."
Leon slowed. "...A Throne’s presence."
The mist thickened as they pressed deeper. Shadows of structures loomed, their edges blurred, as if reality itself was struggling to decide what shape to hold. The silence grew heavier—not the stillness of abandonment, but something deliberate. Suppressive.
Milim fluttered her wings uneasily. "Feels like the air’s watching us."
Naval’s grip tightened on his trident. "Not watching. Weighing."
Then, at the end of the fractured road, the mist parted.
They saw it.
A city of black spires, each one leaning inward, tangled together at their tips like claws closing around the sky. Bridges of pale stone linked them, some broken, some whole, all hovering impossibly above chasms of shadow. And above it all, suspended in the air, was a throne of obsidian glass, its occupant hidden by distance and haze.
Even from here, the law pressed against them. Cold. Measured. Final.
Liliana whispered, almost against her will. "...The next Sovereign."
Leon’s chest tightened. The fragment inside him pulsed, burning.
And in the silence, a voice—not sound, but decree—echoed across the broken plain:
"All debts are paid. All balances closed. Enter, and be weighed."
The Throne’s law had reached them.
Leon’s jaw tightened, but he kept walking. The others followed, though the heaviness in the air made every step feel like they were wading through deep water.
The road ahead shifted as they approached the city gates. Stone cracked, bridges groaned, and the mist seemed to draw away just enough to reveal a narrow entrance—two colossal statues kneeling, their hands outstretched as if begging. Their faces were broken away, only hollow gaps left where eyes and mouths should have been.
Roman muttered, "This place doesn’t welcome guests."
Naval shook his head. "No. It judges them."
When they crossed beneath the statues, the pull inside Leon’s chest grew violent, almost painful. He staggered once, catching himself, his gauntlet blazing faintly through the wrappings.
"Leon?" Roselia’s voice was soft, worried.
"...It’s fine." His words were steady, but his eyes stayed fixed on the black spires.
Inside the city, silence reigned. Not a single bird, no insects, not even the sound of wind. Streets stretched wide, lined with toppled pillars and cracked murals showing faceless figures exchanging scales, coins, and scrolls. Everywhere, the same motif: judgment, balance, and finality.
Milim frowned, glancing at a mural where a faceless judge cut threads from kneeling shadows. "...Creepy."
As they pressed further in, the world seemed to twist. The streets rearranged, doors vanished, towers shifted in height. One moment, they were moving toward the throne. The next, they found themselves standing before the same collapsed arch they had passed minutes ago.
"A labyrinth." Liliana hissed, gripping her bow. "It’s warping itself."
Leon closed his eyes briefly. The fragment inside him pulsed again, aligning with the rhythm of the city. His gauntlet thrummed once, faintly echoing the weight pressing down on them.
"This isn’t just a city," he said slowly. "It’s a scale. Every path is a measure. Every step is weighed."
And then, without warning, the sound came—metal grinding against stone, deep and hollow.
Ahead of them, one of the faceless statues detached itself from the wall. Chains broke free from its arms as it rose, towering above them, a hammer in one hand and a broken scale in the other.
Its head tilted, and though it had no eyes, the weight of its gaze fell squarely on Leon.
"The first weighing begins."
The ground trembled.