I stepped out of the carriage, my eyes instantly caught by the massive crowd gathered before us.
"All this is necessary?" I muttered under my breath.
They were robed in long garments of gold, pointy hoods drawn low over their faces. At the peak of each hood was an upside-down cross, and encircling the cross were numbers like those etched on a clock. The crowd had divided itself into two great walls of cloth and silence, leaving between them a single tiled path.
My eyes followed that path. It stretched straight ahead until it landed on a sight that stole my breath.
The temple. Fresh chapters posted on novel⁂fire.net
It was the largest structure I had seen since awakening in this cursed world. Its walls gleamed white and gold, streaked with lines of delicate blue that swirled like veins. At its highest pinnacle rested the same symbol sewn into the hoods — the inverted cross within the clock face. Before the temple’s doors towered a statue, the figure of a child masked and silent, clutching a pocket watch in its tiny stone hand.
And at the sight of it, unease crawled down my spine like ice.
I tore my eyes away, forcing my thoughts back to Miranda. My head whipped to the left — and there she was.
Descending from a carriage.
But not with grace. Not with pride.
She was dragged in chains.
The clothes she had chosen so carefully for the date she had been waiting for her entire life — now shredded rags hanging from her frame. Her face was bruised and swollen, her eye darkened, her lip bleeding fresh red. The guards yanked her forward like she was livestock.
Then her gaze lifted.
Across the distance, through the weight of the crowd, her eyes locked with mine.
Even from so far away, I could see the bright sun catch her tears, turning them into glistening diamonds as they fell.
Something inside me snapped.
The fury that had built since the moment of her arrest now overflowed, spilling into every vein. My chest pounded, my vision tunneled. Veins throbbed against my temples, against my arms, against my fists clenched so tight they trembled.
The words burst from my throat before I could think, the chant clawing its way out like fire, the ancient syllables of the God of Weapons:
"O magne magne armorum parens—"
But the words choked midway, strangled out of me. My mouth froze, my tongue stiff. I could not move an inch.
The grip was cold. Familiar.
"Don’t make a fool of the family now, young master." His voice slithered behind me, his hand clamped to my shoulder like iron.
"It’s always about the family’s image," I seethed in my head, the words screaming though my lips could not move. Because of reputation, they have no problem dragging someone innocent into their twisted games. These self-absorbed parasites... And then they would call me selfish? Arrogant? How dare they.
Miranda stumbled as the guards dragged her past, her chains scraping loud against the stone tiles.
And then he appeared.
Descending from the larger carriage, his towering form armored and immaculate. His gaze was already fixed on me, sharp as blades, cold as winter.
My heart stumbled, beating out of rhythm, pounding harder and harder until it felt like my ribs would crack. Every step Miranda took toward us twisted the knot in my chest tighter. Her hair tangled, her face destroyed, her body broken — it was unbearable.
The guards hauled her onto the tiled path, leading her toward the looming temple doors. Ashborn walked close behind, his every step deliberate, heavy.
When he reached me, he slowed. He placed a heavy hand on my shoulder, leaned close until his lips were a whisper from my ear.
"Make any unnecessary distractions," he murmured, voice low and lethal, "and I swear—"
The grip Leo had over my body vanished in an instant. My chest heaved, air rushing back into my lungs as Ashborn pulled away. He turned without another glance, following the guards as they dragged Miranda up the path.
"Let’s go then, young master."
Leo’s voice again, smug, satisfied.
The guard from our carriage stepped in front of me, leading the way. I followed, Leo’s presence a shadow close behind.
As we walked the tiled path, the murmurs of the robed crowd pressed in from both sides. Whispers too sharp to ignore, slicing straight into my ears no matter how I tried to shut them out.
"/Isn’t he the Duke’s last son? The useless one?/"
"/I heard he has some kind of affair with that thing... disgusting./"
"/They say he’s a spy, planted by another family. It makes sense, being so close to those creatures./"
"/Look at him — weak, pathetic. Nothing like his brother./"
Their words swirled in my skull, repeating, echoing, multiplying until my head throbbed.
But then one voice rose above them all.
Deeper. Louder. Towering.
My blood turned to ice.
Again and again, the name rang out. My name. My real name.
The further I walked, the clearer it became. And after each repetition, there was more. Words I could not catch. A message just out of reach.
"What is this voice?" I thought wildly. "Why does it know my name? What are these things that keep calling me? Do they have something to do with why I came here at all?"
The whispers, the voice, my own frantic thoughts — they tangled into chaos, a storm that brewed into a sharp ache at the base of my skull.
"Watch your step, young master."
The guard’s voice cut through everything.
I blinked, looking down. At the temple’s threshold was a small bump carved into the stone. I lifted my foot, stepped carefully over it.
"Ah. Yes. Thank you."
I forced the words out, then lifted my gaze.
The guard marched right, disappearing into formation.
And I stood inside the temple.
Light spilled from the massive chandelier that hung on invisible chains from the soaring ceiling. The walls were lined with statues — of saints, of warriors, of forgotten heroes, each one glaring down in eternal judgment. At the base of each statue stood guards clad in the familiar armor of the Chrono estate.
Among them were others — figures robed in white and gold, hoods shadowing their faces. Their heads bowed, their silence heavier than stone.
And beyond them, at the temple’s heart, stood giants.
Seven men, armored head to toe in thick plates of gold, the temple’s mark carved into their breastplates. Three stood on each side of the hall, one at the center before the raised stage. He dwarfed the rest, his armor darker, heavier, his presence suffocating. At his side rested a massive greatsword, its blade almost entirely golden, the hilt big enough to require both hands. Even through his helmet, his eyes seared into mine.
Behind him sat the council. Twelve elders robed in heavenly gold, perched in high wooden stalls. One sat higher than the rest, his hair white, his face ancient and serene — but his gaze, when it met mine, burned with hatred.
And there, before them all, chained in the center like a criminal, stood Miranda.
Her tears fell silent in the court of gods.