Agony did not walk.

  It did not travel as mortals did.

  It existed.

  And where it was needed, it would be.

  Selene had given an order.

  A nearby Lord—one who had refused to bend, refused to kneel, refused to see the truth—was causing issues.

  His name was Lord Kestrel.

  His forces were strong, but not invincible.

  His tactics were calculated, but not flawless.

  And he had made the same mistake that all lesser rulers made.

  He had assumed that war was only a contest of blades.

  That victory could only come from swords and walls.

  He had not considered the other battlefields.

  The battlefields of faith.

  Of fear.

  Of suffering.

  And now, he would learn.

  ---

  Agony arrived at the edges of Kestrel’s territory.

  The air twisted.

  The land groaned.

  The soldiers at the outer watchposts shuddered, their hands tightening on their weapons, though they did not know why.

  They could not see it.

  Not yet.

  But they could feel it.

  The presence.

  The truth.

  And then, the first among them fell to his knees.

  ---

  “Do you know fear?”

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  The whisper crawled beneath their skin.

  It was not spoken.

  It was felt.

  One of the guards—a younger man, fresh from conscription—gasped as his breath hitched.

  He did not understand why.

  But his body did.

  His body knew that something was wrong.

  Something was watching.

  Something was waiting.

  The others laughed, a nervous, brittle sound.

  “Just the wind,” one muttered.

  Another spat to the side. “Ghost stories. Nothing more.”

  But the young soldier knew.

  The wind did not whisper back.

  ---

  The first of them broke that night.

  Not in battle.

  Not in pain.

  But in understanding.

  A revelation that came in the silence between screams.

  He dreamed of fire.

  He dreamed of flesh unraveling, of veins turning black, of his breath coming sharper, stronger.

  And when he woke, he understood.

  Pain was not a curse.

  Pain was a teacher.

  And he was its student.

  The others would see, in time.

  They would learn.

  But he would be the first.

  And Agony welcomed him.

  ---

  The rot had begun to spread.

  By the third night, whispers moved through the camp.

  Men spoke of the dreams.

  Of the figures in the dark.

  Of the sensation of something unseen watching.

  Some clutched their blades tighter.

  Some prayed to gods who no longer listened.

  But others…

  Others began to wonder.

  If the nightmares weren’t nightmares at all.

  If they were invitations.

  ---

  By the fifth night, three more had fallen.

  Not dead.

  Not wounded.

  Changed.

  They no longer feared the whispers.

  They embraced them.

  And when the other soldiers asked them why they were calm, why they were no longer afraid—

  They only smiled.

  “Because we understand.”

  ---

  Lord Kestrel noticed.

  He did not understand what was happening.

  Only that his men were different.

  Some had become hesitant, glancing over their shoulders as if expecting something to crawl from the shadows.

  Others had become fanatic, their eyes burning with something he could not name.

  And the worst of them?

  The ones who had changed the most?

  They no longer seemed to recognize him as their ruler.

  They no longer feared him.

  They no longer belonged to him.

  They belonged to something else.

  ---

  By the seventh day, the first of them walked into Kestrel’s hall.

  Unarmed.

  Unshaken.

  And when the guards moved to strike him down—

  He did not falter.

  He did not flinch.

  The blow landed, flesh split—

  And he laughed.

  A deep, resonant, unnatural sound.

  And when he rose again, unbroken—

  The first screams began.

  ---

  Kestrel ordered purges.

  Executions.

  Those who spoke the whispers were dragged to the gallows, to the pyres, to the sword—

  And yet, their numbers grew.

  Because fear breeds pain.

  And pain feeds the flame.

  By the tenth day, Kestrel’s stronghold was fracturing.

  Soldiers deserted.

  Citizens whispered.

  The very land seemed to breathe in time with something unseen.

  And in the heart of it all, Agony waited.

  It did not rush.

  It did not need to.

  Because suffering always finds its way home.

  And when Kestrel was finally dragged from his halls, screaming as he demanded to know who was responsible for this plague—

  The answer came from his own men.

  ---

  “You did this.”

  “You made us suffer.”

  “Now we see.”

  “Now we are free.”

  And as they tore him apart—

  Not in rage.

  Not in vengeance.

  But in worship.

  Agony welcomed him too.

  And when the last of Kestrel’s dominion crumbled, when the last screams faded into quiet, when the last soul bowed not in submission but in understanding—

  Agony turned.

  And returned to Selene.

  Because the task was done.

  Not through war.

  Not through swords.

  But through truth.

  And now, Kestrel’s lands belonged to her.

  Not by conquest.

  But because they had already surrendered.