Chapter 9 Ashes of Authority

Chapter 9-Ashes of Authority

The stone corridor twisted endlessly beneath Zion's feet. Shadows clung to the walls like cobwebs, the air thick with damp and secrets long buried. His boots echoed with every step, flashlight beam cutting through the mist as he chased the silhouette ahead - the Mayor, slipping deeper into the catacombs like a ghost.

But it wasn't just the present pulling him forward. It was something else. Something older. The Cathedral seemed alive, whispering fragments of memory, dragging Zion into visions that didn't belong to him.

Flashback One: Years Ago

Rain pattered gently against the tall windows of a study lined with old books. A warm fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickers of gold across velvet drapes and polished mahogany. The Mayor-ten years younger, softer in the face, more human-sat with his son curled against his side.

Elijah was maybe six, a wooden knight clasped tightly in his small hand.

"Read it again," Elijah pleaded, eyes wide.

The Mayor smiled and obliged. "And so the knight lifted his sword, not to conquer, but to protect..."

Elijah yawned, eyelids heavy. "When I grow up, I want to protect people too."

The Mayor paused, brushing back the boy's hair. "Then you'll have to learn the difference between peace... and control."

Elijah's brow furrowed. "Aren't they the same?"

The Mayor hesitated, his smile fading just slightly.

"No," he said quietly. "One brings safety. The other... silence."

---

Zion blinked, stumbling slightly as he emerged from the memory. It had felt real. Too real. Like he'd stood in that room. Like he had felt the warmth of that fire and the tension underneath it.

He pressed on.

The catacombs opened into a wider chamber. Rotting pews and shattered stained glass littered the ground. Faint symbols etched into the stone glowed faintly in the wet air. His flashlight caught a flicker of movement - the Mayor disappearing behind a rusted iron door.

Flashback Two: Five Years Ago

Torches burned low in the underground crypt. Their orange light danced over ceremonial masks and crumbling pillars. Elijah was older now-maybe sixteen. His face was leaner, his eyes sharper. But his hands shook as he stood beside his father.

The Mayor wore his ceremonial robes, heavy with embroidery. The other cultists chanted in a low, rhythmic murmur.

Elijah leaned close. "Why are we here?"

The Mayor didn't look at him. "These people believe in balance. In structure. They help me keep the city from falling apart."

Elijah looked around, unsettled. "They're afraid of you."

"They trust me to protect them."

"No. They fear you. And you let them."

The Mayor's jaw tightened.

"You're too young to understand," he said. "One day, you'll thank me."

Elijah stepped back. "I'll never thank you for this."

Back in the present, Zion ran harder. The voices were bleeding together now-Elijah's, the Mayor's, his own. He turned a sharp corner and slid down a slope of wet stone. His flashlight rattled, flickering.

He landed hard, breath ragged.

The tunnel stretched forward into darkness, but he knew he was close.

Flashback Three: The Night of the Fire

The Mayor's estate. Screams in the distance. Smoke curling up through the marble halls. Guards shouting. Windows shattering.

Elijah was running.

A flash drive clutched in one hand. A bundle of letters in the other. Evidence. Truth. Proof of what the cult was planning-of what his father had become.

"ELIJAH!" the Mayor's voice roared behind him. But the boy didn't stop.

A fire had broken out. No one knew where it started. Maybe it was set. Maybe it was chance. But as Elijah reached the back gate, a blast of heat threw him to the ground. Flames rose, devouring the hallway.

And the Mayor could only watch-helpless-as his son vanished into the blaze.

Zion's chest ached. He was breathing too hard, the memories pressing into him like weights. He slowed his steps, not because he wanted to-but because something was unraveling.

The Mayor hadn't always been a monster.

He had lost something. Someone.

And in that loss... maybe he'd broken.

Up ahead, a thin beam of moonlight pierced the tunnel's ceiling. The passage widened. The sewer smell gave way to salt and wind.

Zion stepped through the final arch.

There - silhouetted against the opening - stood the Mayor.

Rain matted his silver hair to his forehead. His coat hung heavy on his shoulders. His eyes, once sharp, were now hollow. Haunted.

Zion raised the flashlight.

"We're done running," he said.

The Mayor didn't move.

"You don't know the whole story, Zion," he said quietly. "I never meant for any of this."

Zion's grip tightened. "Then start talking. Because I'm done chasing shadows."

The Mayor turned slowly.

And as the wind howled through the ruins, Zion saw the truth:

This wasn't a man trying to escape justice. This was a man running from his own sins-and the ghost of a boy he could never bring back.