Chapter Thirteen: Fox in the Flock

Deep beneath the capital, in a vault carved into the roots of the mountains, the Eclipse Cult gathered.

Their sanctuary was a cathedral of shadows, with walls etched in prophecy and blood. At its heart was the Altar of Becoming, where the High Shadow sat cloaked in silence, face hidden behind a bone mask shaped like a crescent moon.

Torches burned with black flame. Dozens of masked acolytes knelt in rows, murmuring mantras in the old tongue.

And into this sacred darkness walked Sora.

She wore a different face now eyes dulled, robes blood-red, her foxfire buried beneath layers of disguise. She bowed low before the High Shadow.

“I bring news from the Trials,” she said.

The High Shadow’s voice was as dry as dust. “Speak, Sora of Yurei. Your presence is… unexpected.”

She smiled slightly beneath her veil. “Two embers have awakened. The prophecy is no longer singular. The Seers are confused. The Empire stirs.”

There was a rustle among the cultists.

“Then the time of rupture is near,” murmured a priest.

But the High Shadow was silent.

“Tell me,” he said finally. “Do you believe the twins can be controlled?”

Sora hesitated. A calculated pause.

“They can be split,” she answered. “And if one falls, the other will burn.”

Another voice whispered from behind the altar an ancient crone draped in robes of midnight moss.

“But which will fall, clever fox?”

Sora’s gaze flicked to her. “Whichever loves more.”

The cult laughed. A low, animal sound. But the High Shadow did not.

He rose from the altar and walked down the steps, circling Sora like a vulture.

“You have seen too much. Learned too quickly. You speak prophecy like wine.”

Then he leaned close.

“You smell like truth. And that makes you dangerous.”

Sora didn’t flinch. “So does fire.”

The High Shadow grinned beneath his mask.

Then raised his hand.

 A test.

From the floor, a chained figure was dragged forward a prisoner.

To Sora’s horror, it was Masaru.

Bloodied. Half-conscious. But alive.

One of the acolytes sneered, “We caught him trailing our scouts. He begged for your name before we broke him.”

Sora’s heart twisted.

The High Shadow handed her a dagger. “Prove your loyalty. End the ghost who taught the twins to hope.”

She stepped forward slowly. Took the blade.

The cult fell into silence.

Masaru lifted his head. One eye swollen shut. But he saw her. And smiled bloody, fearless.

“Sora,” he rasped. “You’re better than this.”

And just for a second just one her foxfire flickered.

She pressed the blade to his throat.

The room held its breath.

Then she whispered something into Masaru’s ear:

 “Forgive me.”

And with a single motion, she slashed his bindings, not his throat.

 Chaos erupted.

Masaru kicked upward, knocking a cultist into the fire. Sora hurled a foxfire charm into the altar, which exploded in a burst of blinding light. Screams followed. Blades drawn. Spells cast.

But Sora and Masaru were already running.

Through tunnels. Through flame.

Through the edge of death.

On the surface

The two burst from a hidden tunnel beneath the eastern ridge, bloodied and gasping.

Masaru collapsed beside her.

“You burned your cover,” he said between coughs.

Sora fell beside him. “No. I ignited it.”

He looked at her. “You’re not one of them, then.”

“I never was,” she said. “But I had to be their fox. To learn what they’re truly after.”

Masaru’s voice turned cold. “And what is it?”

Sora’s eyes turned silver.

 “They want to forge a new god. From the ashes of one of the twins.”