The city smelled wrong.
Not just of smoke or decay — it was something deeper. Something older. A rot that came not from bodies or buildings, but from the inside out.
Glaivenreach had once been proud. A city of banners, order, and light. The Crimson Warden had protected it once — long ago.
Now, it looked abandoned by sanity itself.
He stood just outside the shattered gates. His crimson coat fluttered in the wind. The cane in his hand hummed gently — not from fear, but warning.
"I failed this place," he said quietly.
He stepped through the gates.
The streets were empty, but not silent. Somewhere far off, a bell rang slowly, without rhythm. The buildings leaned unnaturally. Posters covered the walls — pages sewn together with strange writing and symbols of eyes and mouths.
He passed stalls filled with rotting goods. People stood in doorways, unmoving, eyes empty. They stared at him but didn't speak.
"Hollowed," he muttered. "The Court has reached here."
The cane glowed red. It sensed the same thing.
At the heart of the city stood the Sanctum of Accord, once the Warden's base. Now it was covered in vines and strange red paper charms. He pushed the doors open.
Inside, sitting on the Warden's old throne, was a woman wrapped in parchment-colored robes. Her hair was blood-red. She sipped from a bone-shaped teacup as if nothing was wrong.
She smiled.
"The Crimson Warden finally returns."
"You're from the Hollowed Court."
"I am a Judge," she said calmly.
She stood and walked slowly toward him. Her robes were covered in red wax seals and ink. She looked around the hall.
"They used to worship you here. Now they chant your name like a curse."
"I protected them," the Warden said.
"You made them afraid. And now they've given that fear to us."
She raised her hand. The floor cracked.
From the cracks, a large creature rose — ten feet tall, made of shadow and torn paper. It was shaped from his past oaths — promises he made long ago.
"This thing is built from your lies," the Judge said. "Let's see how well you can face them."
The creature attacked.
The Warden's cane shifted into a polearm. He dodged and swung — slicing through the magic that held the creature together. Scrolls fell apart as his blade passed through it. Then he stabbed into the creature's chest and used the cane to cut a rift in space.
The creature was dragged through the rift and disappeared.
The Judge clapped softly.
"Still strong. But you haven't changed."
"That was mercy," he growled.
"No. That was you avoiding the truth."
She raised her hand again.
More creatures rose — each built from moments he failed someone. Each muttered words he'd once sworn and broken.
"You want to face the Court? Then survive what you've become."
She vanished in a blink.
Outside, the people of the city began moving toward the Sanctum. Slowly. Silently.
His past was coming to confront him.
He stood alone.
Then, he raised his cane.
"Let them see the truth. Let them remember why I was called the Crimson Warden."
He summoned his birds — dozens of glowing razorbill spirits, screeching through the air.
And then he charged.
End of Chapter Seven
Next: Chapter Eight – The Judge of Paper and Flesh