Sure enough, Gunlaug did not take the discovery lightly.
Seishan and Gemma had done everything they could to contain the fallout. Seishan kept her Handmaidens from asking questions, quietly intercepting curiosity before it could reach the Bright Lord's ears. Gemma, ever methodical, had forged an assignment for Sasrir—one that appeared perfectly legitimate. It instructed him to take a handful of his Hunters and track down a specific Memory. The assignment itself was real enough to withstand scrutiny, but Sasrir had never been part of it.
When Gunlaug inevitably discovered Sasrir's absence, the story would be simple: Sasrir had split off on his own, claiming he needed to check something, and simply never returned. Pleading ignorance—or even implying that Sasrir had died—was the fallback. The plan was fragile, yet calculated.
It took six full days for Gunlaug to realize Sasrir was truly missing. A courtesy scan revealed Kai was gone as well. Even as the Host's senses pricked with unease, Gunlaug's response was slow, almost lazy. Adam remained in his grasp—obedient, quiet, compliant—and nothing he had done so far had aroused suspicion.
The Bright Lord's perception was limited; the thought that two of his lieutenants—not counting Kido, who had chosen neutrality—might have betrayed him never seemed to cross his mind. He remained confident, comfortably seated in his hubris, failing to notice that he was already surrounded by teeth and daggers.
Yet as Sasrir's absence dragged on, even Gunlaug had to take matters more seriously. His patience, long but not infinite, began to wear thin. Orders went out. Gemma was instructed to scour the City for any trace of Sasrir. Seishan and the Handmaidens were tasked with listening for rumors, observing known associates, and intercepting whispers before they could turn into patterns. The Guards closest to him were summoned for questioning, interrogated for hours on end.
When every investigation came up blank, Gunlaug grew impatient and reckless. He resorted to guesswork, issuing an order to locate Athena.
The result was catastrophic for the messenger.
When Gunlaug learned she had disappeared on the same day, he did not simply berate the Guard who delivered the news. He decapitated him outright, a clean, brutal message to anyone who dared fail him.
The shockwave of Gunlaug's wrath spread immediately, and even the most loyal of his retainers flinched at his presence. Arrogant though he was, he remained the mad genius who had wrestled a Transcendent Echo from the clutches of the Dark Sea and fought his way to the Bright Throne. He understood, with terrifying clarity, what the dual disappearances meant, and he began to prepare accordingly.
Adam had been the first target. Interrogation began quietly, almost politely, in part because Seishan had spoken up for him. Questions were asked, carefully measured, and Adam responded with the same calm repetition each time: "I don't know."
Sun rose, fell, and rose again. Gunlaug's patience, long as it was, began to erode. Each repeated answer chipped at the bright surface of his control. Eventually, he snapped. His golden gauntleted hand lashed out, striking Adam across the jaw with a force that sent him sprawling. Blood and dust mixed as he hit the ground. Gunlaug did not look back, leaving him there. Harus spared Adam a single glance, a warning or perhaps a reminder, but said nothing. Adam simply rose, pressed his hand against the swelling bruise, and followed. The first blow had been delivered—but it would not be the last.
Within days, Gunlaug's demeanor shifted from controlled authority to taut, unpredictable menace. He disbanded Adam's Helpers without warning, stripping them of assignments and privileges, claiming minor infractions—lateness, misfiled papers, even a whispered joke—as evidence of incompetence. Several were publicly whipped, each lash a demonstration of his growing volatility.
The beatings of Adam escalated in parallel. What had begun as a single strike became repeated bursts of cruelty—punishments designed as both interrogation and warning. Each time, Adam bore them without complaint, his calm precision only serving to infuriate Gunlaug further.
Meanwhile, the Bright Lord's trust in his inner circle frayed. Liutenants who had once been considered reliable found themselves under scrutiny. Simple mistakes were magnified; loyalty was questioned at every turn. Gemma, Seishan, even those who had served him for years were not exempt. Only Harus retained his confidence. His steadfastness, silent and unwavering, made him the anchor in the storm of paranoia.
Gunlaug began to surround himself with the strongest Guards whose loyalty he could verify through endless tests—verbal loyalty checks, duels to the edge of exhaustion, and deliberate exposure to danger. Only those who passed repeatedly were allowed near his person. The rest were relegated to shadows, menial tasks, or punishment. The air of tension in the Castle thickened; every whispered rumor or diverted glance became suspect.
In the midst of it all, Adam moved carefully. He watched the escalation, noting every crack in Gunlaug's composure, every subtle shift in the hierarchy of fear. Others struggled beneath the weight of the tyrant's paranoia, desperate to avoid his attention, tiptoe through the halls, and hope to survive each day without drawing his ire.
Seishan maintained a delicate balance, shielding what she could from his scrutiny while keeping herself unassailable. Gemma adjusted to the rising chaos, using cunning and subtle misdirection to survive. Harus alone moved freely, a silent shadow to Gunlaug's brilliance, serving as both anchor and buffer for the rest of the Court.
And Adam? He bore each blow, physical and political, cataloging every action, every lapse in judgment. He knew the pattern well. Gunlaug's descent was inevitable, each moment of rage and paranoia a step toward a tipping point. The Bright Lord's mind, brilliant but brittle, was being slowly consumed by the very fear he had inflictedon countless others.
It was almost poetic, and Adam found it fitting to call "justice".
Adam understood this perfectly. It was not his strength that would see him through. It was his patience, his observation, and the knowledge that, sooner or later, Gunlaug's arrogance and paranoia would create the opening he needed.
He just hoped he still had teeth left by the time it was over.