The silver platters were tarnished. Purposefully.
Solar sat at the head of the long, scarred oak table. He didn't eat. He never ate in front of debtors. It was a power move, a way to show them that his hunger wasn't biological—it was financial. The room smelled of cold fat, stale wine, and the metallic tang of fear. This was the "Banquet of Scraps," a tradition Solar kept for those who thought they could outrun the interest.
Across from him sat Baron Valerius and two other minor creditors. They looked like skeletons wrapped in silk. Their hands were shaking so hard the cutlery rattled against the china. CLINK. CLINK. CLINK. "Eat," Solar whispered. His voice was a dry, hollow rasp, like a wind blowing through a graveyard. "The interest on your grace period was expensive. This meal is the only dividend you'll be receiving this quarter. Don't let it go to waste."
Valerius picked up a piece of grey, gristly meat. He looked like he was going to vomit. GULP. He swallowed it, his eyes watering. "Solar... please. The Shadow Architect. He's offering us a way out. He says the debt can be... forgiven."
Solar leaned forward. The candlelight caught the grey stones of his eyes, making them look like cold ash. He picked up a steak knife—sharper than it needed to be—and started cleaning his fingernails.
"Forgiven?" Solar laughed. It was a jagged, ugly sound. "Forgiveness is for the weak, Baron. In Aethelgard, we don't forgive; we amortize. This 'Shadow' is selling you a dream, and you're buying it with my collateral. That's not a way out. That's a suicide note written in silver ink."
He slammed the knife into the table. THUD. The wood groaned. The Baron flinched, dropping his fork.
"The interest doesn't stop because you found a new friend," Solar continued, his voice dropping to a terrifying hiss. "It compounds. Every breath you take in this room is adding another 5% to your principal. Every bite of that rotten meat? That's a surcharge for my hospitality. You aren't guests, Valerius. You're line items. And right now? You're in the red."
The other two creditors looked at the door. It was locked. Iron bolts. No exit.
"What do you want?" one of them squeaked. He was sweating—fat, greasy drops that ruined his lace collar.
"I want the names," Solar said. He stood up, his leather coat creaking like a dying beast. "Everyone the Shadow has talked to. Every account he's touched. Every secret he's whispered in the dark. Give me the names, and I might let you finish your meal. Refuse... and I'll liquidate your families before the dessert arrives."
Solar walked behind Valerius. He placed a cold, heavy hand on the Baron's shoulder. He could feel the man trembling. It felt like a heartbeat. A fast, pathetic heartbeat.
"Revenge is a slow-burning asset, Baron," Solar whispered into his ear. "And I've been collecting the compound interest on your betrayal for a long time. Did you think I didn't know about the offshore vaults? Did you think I didn't see the silver marks in your ledger?"
Valerius broke. He started sobbing, a wet, disgusting sound that filled the room. "He... he promised us the mines! He said you were over-extended!"
"I am never over-extended," Solar said, pulling a damp sheet of parchment from his pocket. "I am the extension. Sign the confession. All of you. Give me the Shadow's locations, and I'll restructure your debt. You'll still be poor, but you'll be alive. For now."
The pens came out. SCRATCH. SCRATCH. SCRATCH. The sound was like rats gnawing at the foundations of a palace. They signed. They gave up their 'Saviour' to save their own pathetic skins. Solar took the papers, blowing on the wet ink with a terrifying gentleness.
"The banquet is over," Solar said, walking toward the door. "Elias! Clean this mess up. And send the leftovers to the slums. They like the taste of failure down there."
As Solar stepped out into the cold, black rain of the city, he felt a sudden, sharp thrill. The hunt was getting close. The Shadow was moving, but Solar was already there, waiting in the dark with a ledger and a knife.
CLINK. CLINK.
He flipped his gold sovereign. The metal felt warm. Human. He poured a glass of clear, filtered water and drank it in one go. He didn't feel the cold. He didn't feel the guilt. He just felt the math.
The interest never sleeps. And tonight? The interest was hungry for blood.