The night they brought the artifact to Blackhaven, three people died in ways no one could explain.
High Overseer Solomon stood at his chamber window, watching the imperial ship glide into the harbor like a predator among prey. No running lights. No announcement. Just the silent displacement of dark water and the gleam of royal insignia visible only when lightning split the sky.
He pressed his withered hand against the cold glass, breath fogging the view of the rain-slicked docks below. The hour was ungodly, but then, so was the cargo.
"Your Eminence," a voice murmured from the doorway. "The escort is ready."
Solomon didn't turn. Behind him, Brother Eldin's breathing remained steady, unrushed. Three years of service had taught the young priest to wait in silence—a quality Solomon valued almost as much as fear.
"Tell me, Brother," Solomon said, eyes fixed on the distant ship, "do you believe a man can know evil by its scent?"
A hesitation. "The scriptures teach that corruption carries the stench of the Abyss, Your Eminence."
"Scriptures." Solomon's mouth twisted. "Words on paper. I'm asking what you believe."
Another pause, longer this time. Good. The boy was thinking, not reciting.
"I believe... some things leave marks that can be sensed, if not seen."
Solomon nodded, satisfaction warming his ancient bones. "Tonight, you will learn to recognize that scent."
He turned finally, the ember glow of whale oil lamps catching on the golden symbol hanging from his neck—an unblinking eye enveloped in flame. The mark of the Abbey, of vigilance against the darkness beyond the world.
"Come," he said. "We shouldn't keep the Lord Regent waiting."
Prince Aldric's chambers occupied the highest tower of Blackhaven Palace, a deliberate distance from the grand apartments where his father had once kept court and where his half-sister now slept, oblivious to the night's significance.
The winding stair left Solomon clutching the cold stone wall, each labored breath a sharp reminder of mortality's approaching grip.
Brother Eldin reached forward, but Solomon's glare froze him mid-gesture. Weakness was heresy in Solomon's personal doctrine—one he'd followed for seventy-three years and wouldn't abandon now, with the Abyss so close at hand.
Guards in black and silver stood at Aldric's door, faces impassive beneath ceremonial helmets. They parted silently, revealing a door of whale bone and cold iron.
Inside, Prince Aldric stood before a blazing fire, silhouette razor-sharp against the flames. He didn't immediately turn as they entered, too absorbed in contemplation of the item in his hands—a dagger of curious design, its blade seemingly composed of frozen smoke.
"Your Royal Highness. The ship has arrived."
Aldric slid the dagger into its sheath before turning. The Lord Regent's imposing figure—tall and broad-shouldered—was silhouetted against the flames. His harsh features, inherited from his commoner mother, were softened just enough by royal blood to appear handsome rather than merely savage.
"Any complications?" The words carried precise diction that couldn't quite mask the faint Harbor Quarter accent beneath.
"None visible from my vantage, Your Highness."
Aldric's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Then your vantage was inadequate, Overseer. The harbormaster found one of his inspectors floating face-down among the pylons. Throat opened ear to ear."
Solomon kept his expression neutral. "Unfortunate."
"Unnecessary," Aldric corrected. "Our foreign friends lack subtlety."
"Foreigners rarely understand Blackhaven's... delicate balances."
The Lord Regent moved to a side table where a bottle of amber liquid caught the firelight. He poured three measures, offering them to his guests with a courtesy that felt more threatening than welcoming.
"Do your brothers at the Abbey understand these balances, Solomon? Will they accept what we do tonight?"
The High Overseer accepted the drink but did not taste it. "The Abbey exists to contain the Abyss, Your Highness. What the faithful aren't told is that containment requires understanding."
"And your understanding extends to this artifact?"
"I understand its potential."
Aldric's gaze sharpened. "But not its nature."
"No man truly can." Solomon set down his untouched glass. "That's what makes it valuable."
A knock at the door prevented further discussion. One of the black-uniformed guards entered, water dripping from his oiled cloak.
"The package is secured in the ritual chamber, my lord. The emissaries request your presence."
"Emissaries," Aldric repeated, the words sounding far too unfitting for the lot it described. "Very well. Inform them we will attend shortly."
When the guard departed, the Lord Regent drained his glass in a single swallow. "I abhor relying on their kind."
"Necessary evils, Your Highness." Solomon gestured toward the door. "Shall we?"
The ritual chamber lay beneath the palace, accessible only through passages known to few. Water trickled down stone walls, forming brackish puddles that reflected the torchlight. The air rasped in Solomon's throat—thick with mold and something older, a mineral scent from stone that had known darkness longer than it had known light.
Solomon had overseen its preparation personally. The ancient symbols carved into the floor predated the Abbey, predated Blackhaven itself. Some whispered they predated humanity, though Solomon discouraged such speculation among his priests.
Eight hooded figures awaited them, standing equidistant around a central podium where a cloth-wrapped bundle rested. The representatives wore masks carved from whale bone, eyeless and serene.
"You're late," one said, voice muffled behind the mask. Female, Solomon noted. Their leader, by the deference of the others' postures.
"A sovereign is never late on his own soil," Aldric replied coldly.
"Sovereign?" Another mask tilted. "Your coronation remains unscheduled, Lord Regent. Your sister—"
"Is a child with no understanding of power." Aldric's hand drifted to the dagger at his belt. "Proceed with the unveiling."
The leader gestured, and two of her companions moved to the podium. They unwrapped the bundle with ritualistic precision, revealing an object that seemed to swallow the torchlight around it.
At first glance, it resembled a sphere of black glass, perhaps the size of a man's head. But as Solomon stared, he realized the surface moved, rippling like water in a breeze that didn't exist.