The dungeon beneath Vireloch was colder than the courtyard above. Built into the stone like a wound that never healed, it smelled of rust, old breath, and wet stone.
Zareena stood alone before the iron cell.
The man inside knelt on a straw mat, hands bound, eyes half-lidded in the posture of prayer. He no longer wore the robes of a priest. They had stripped him of them—beneath, he bore no sigils, no scars of faith. Just lean muscle, inked with faint symbols that glowed under mage-light.
The marks of a trained infiltrator. A priest of nothing.
Zareena stepped into the light. "What's your name?"
Silence.
She didn't expect obedience. Instead, she set the folded paper on the table—his false sermon, the one he'd used to lull the garrison.
"I counted nineteen words that don't appear in any Silver Star scripture," she said softly. "Most wouldn't notice. But I've read the original texts. My mother had the first volume burned into memory."
He opened one eye. Smiled faintly.
"You were a disappointment," he said. "Marcerov thought you'd break within the first month."
Zareena sat. Calmly. Her voice never rose.
"Then tell me why he's so interested in a garrison of misfits and a half-starved girl who was thrown away."
The man leaned forward, voice like oil. "Because you're not just surviving. You're uniting. That terrifies them. You're turning this ruin into a banner."
She stared at him. "And so he sends poison instead of armies?"
He laughed. "Armies are expensive. You? You can be undone with fear, mistrust… hunger."
A long pause. Then:
"He's not the only one watching you, you know."
Zareena's eyes sharpened.
He smiled, blood staining his lip. "There are older things than kings and dukes who sleep beneath this continent. They know when a thread changes the tapestry."
She stood, suddenly colder.
The spy whispered one last thing:
"One thread can unravel the whole world, Lady Zareena. You're becoming that thread."
She left the dungeon in silence.
That night, she ordered a sweep of the cellars and food stores. Quietly replaced the guards on the outer walls. Issued a single phrase to her inner circle:
"No more guests. Not without fire and truth."