World //top\\ | Executioners

Behind them, the sky did not clear.

Hence the Guild. Hence the hoods. Hence the blade. executioners world

“Run,” she mouthed.

On the morning of her first solo beheading, Solenne knelt before the Altar of Last Scales. The altar was a slab of polished obsidian, cool against her bare knees. Behind her, the Masters of the Guild watched from their iron galleries. Each wore a black hood, featureless save for the single silver thread stitched over the heart—the Thread of Mercy, it was called. A lie, of course. There was no mercy in Final Equity. Only balance. Behind them, the sky did not clear