The map smelled like fire.
Not smoke. Not ash. Fire. That deep-burned scent of something that once held purpose but had nearly been erased.
Kael sat cross-legged on the floor of an abandoned chapel, sharpening a stolen dagger. Leonis stood at the altar, unrolling the courier's scroll across cracked stone covered in bird droppings and old blood.
Sunlight filtered through a shattered window. Dust motes danced in the beams like spirits too lazy to leave.
Leonis traced the inked path with a finger.
"You see it, don't you?" Kael asked.
Leonis didn't answer. His hand hovered over a marked intersection—The Hollow Market. A place long abandoned, riddled with collapsed tunnels, flooded catacombs, and rumors of demon-worshipping rebels.
"This isn't a secret route," Kael continued. "It's bait. You don't draw a map in blood ink, seal it in divine wax, and then hand it to a courier unless you want someone to follow it."
Leonis tapped the map again. "Or unless you want them to earn it."
Kael snorted. "Gods, you're still a prince. Everything has to be a test."
Leonis ignored him.
His focus was on the sigils—the divine glyphs scrawled along the corners of the parchment. They weren't decorative.
They were locators.
"Warning: Trace magic detected. Soul signature lock-in. Estimated exposure window: 00:15:42."
Kael saw his expression shift. "What is it?"
"They've rigged the scroll. It's marking me."
Kael shot to his feet, already moving to the altar. "Can you burn it?"
Leonis nodded slowly. "Too late. It's already touched me."
"System Alert: External divine scan initiated. Host visibility at 32% and rising."
Kael backed away. "We need to mask you. Fast."
Leonis's jaw clenched.
He remembered something—faint, from the tomb. A glyph carved into the walls above the First's resting place. A Revenant sigil older than the Pantheon.
He could feel it now, just under the skin—like a thread he could pull.
"Soul Compression Technique: Available."
"Effect: Temporarily collapse soul-flare to non-detectable baseline."
"Warning: Severe backlash risk. Will limit ability usage for duration."
Leonis didn't hesitate.
"Do it."
Pain tore through him like bone cracking inward.
He didn't scream—but only just.
Kael rushed to steady him as Leonis doubled over, his hand pressed against the altar.
His veins darkened. His breath stopped.
And then—
He disappeared.
Not physically.
But in presence.
The chapel went silent. Even Kael's eyes widened as he took an unconscious step back.
"I can't feel you," Kael said.
"I can't feel myself," Leonis replied, voice hoarse.
"Soul compression successful. Duration: 1 hour. Combat ability: locked. Detection risk: minimized."
Kael tossed a cloak over his shoulder and moved to the window.
Across the street, down the lane, four temple scouts in gold-threaded armor were passing.
One held a soul-flare lens—a twisted glass monocle that shimmered with divine light.
He paused.
Held the lens up toward the chapel.
Leonis didn't breathe.
The scout lingered.
Then moved on.
Kael exhaled. "You really are good at dying."
Leonis slowly pushed off the altar. "And better at coming back."
They left the chapel through a back alley, blending with refugees and beggars in the lower districts.
Everywhere they walked, fear hung thick in the air—not of the gods.
Of him.
Stories were spreading faster than soldiers could erase them.
"He rose from the pit."
"He walked through chains."
"He burned the Inquisitor."
"He can't be killed twice."
Leonis heard them all.
He let them live.
Fear was more powerful than steel.
By sundown, they reached the edge of the Hollow Market.
Old buildings stood like teeth in a broken jaw, each one leaning, half-swallowed by vines and dust. The entrance was marked by a gate long rusted shut.
But someone had reopened it.
Fresh footprints. Scorch marks. Torn cloth hanging from barbs.
Kael crouched, running fingers along a blood smear.
"This wasn't a skirmish," he muttered. "This was a message."
Leonis stepped through the gate.
And for the first time that day, he smiled.
"Good," he said. "They're not hiding."