The figure’s blazing eyes locked on Avin, and in that instant his heart plummeted.
Her gaze pierced him with all the weight of betrayal, and fear drenched him to the marrow. His throat tightened, his breath caught. The blood drained from his face as a single thought tore through his mind: She will do to me what she did to him.
At his feet lay the crumpled ball of metal and bone that had once been a knight. If she could reduce a titan of steel and muscle into that twisted husk, what would she do to the one who had damned her with a single word?
Avin braced himself. He could already imagine her rage tearing him apart.
A hooded guard moved.
The man raised his hand and cast a ball of fire at the purple figure. The flames whirled across the air, striking her full in the chest.
The fire sputtered, cracked... and vanished. The smoke evaporated. The attack did nothing. Nothing but enrage her further.
She tilted her head slowly toward the source, her eyes burning with greater fury. The air itself shifted.
A heaviness pressed down on the temple. The atmosphere thickened until every breath felt like swallowing molten lead. A pale purple tint bled into the world, creeping along the walls, seeping into the floor, bathing the entire temple in its light.
The guards straightened, tense and terrified. Their blades shook in their hands, armor rattling from the weight of invisible pressure.
Avin stood from his seat. Panic drove him — his one chance, his only chance, was to run. Run for his life before her wrath devoured him.
"So that is what it is."
Avin whipped his head around and froze.
Ashborn sat there, his massive frame unmoving, his posture relaxed, his expression carved from stone. While chaos spread like wildfire through the temple, while Avin’s heart pounded with terror, Ashborn sat watching, calm as though he were observing a passing storm.
How is he so calm? Avin’s mind reeled. His eyes darted to the council.
They too sat still. No panic, no scrambling, only watchful silence. They observed as if this were not an abomination but a performance.
Avin’s gaze snapped back to her.
The figure lifted her hand. Without gesture, without strain, a sphere of raw violet energy bloomed before her. It swelled larger and larger, humming with power, the air around it bending. In her eyes, the guards who dared strike at her were already dead.
She was about to unleash it.
But the Elder Priest’s voice roared, rolling through the chamber like thunder.
The word itself was power.
The purple fog dissolved instantly, the suffocating weight lifted. The energy sphere froze midair, locked in suspension just before it would have consumed the nearest guard.
And she — the figure herself — jerked, her body straining, struggling as if invisible chains bound her.
The Elder rose from his seat, his robes swaying, his eyes locked firmly on her. For the briefest moment, his composure cracked — a stumble, a shift of his foot backward. But quickly he steadied himself, straightening before the others could notice.
With a surge of force, she shattered the priest’s hold, snapping through his restraint like thin glass. She turned her blazing eyes upon him, and then her form began to change again.
Her body swelled, expanding, stretching toward the ceiling. In seconds, she towered above all, her head nearly brushing the chandelier that hung from the temple’s vast dome.
Her voice followed, a roar that pierced every ear, every soul:
"YOU DARE TRY TO HARM MY CHILD?!" The most update n0vels are published on novelFɪre.net
The sound was unbearable.
Men clutched their ears, screaming as blood seeped from them. Guards collapsed to their knees, their swords clattering onto the marble. The crowd outside cried out in unison, their voices trembling with terror.
For Avin, it was worse. Her words pressed on him like mountains. With every syllable, the weight doubled, pressing his chest, crushing his ribs, smothering his lungs. He staggered, his vision darkening.
And beneath the noise, beneath the force of her wrath, another sound whispered.
"Clive... Clive... Clive..."
Over and over again, clear as a bell. His name. His real name.
Avin’s heart lurched. Again... something else knows. Knows who I am. Knows what I am. Why? Why does every shadow in this world know my true name?
Her voice rose again, shaking the pillars.
"Cease your judgment at once, or face the consequences. I hold no fear of Chronos."
The Elder Priest did not waver. Slowly, with deliberate grace, he bowed his head.
"I am sorry for our impertinence, goddess," he intoned, his voice low and controlled. He lifted his head once more, meeting her towering glare. "But we cannot allow this child to go unpunished. Not for our god. Not for our pride."
Her answer came instantly, like lightning splitting the sky.
"Then she shall leave your lands. She will not return. And if she does... it will not be for peace."
The chamber trembled with her words.
The Elder Priest inhaled, long and heavy, then exhaled. "We shall allow it."
The inquisitor-priest leapt to his feet, his eyes bulging, his voice shrill with outrage.
"What? That is not the judgment! Surely our god Chronos will not be plea—"
His words choked off as her blazing eyes turned upon him.
Her stare was enough.
His legs shook. His mouth sealed shut. He sank back into his seat, trembling, cowed into silence.
She began to shrink, her massive form condensing, folding back into itself. Her glow dimmed, her towering shadow collapsed into the shape of a girl.
"Since we have come to an agreement," she said, her voice quieter now, though still vibrating with authority.
She drifted down, her feet touching the marble floor. The purple glow around her body faded, her aura of power dimming until only bruises and tears remained. Her hair, once wild with energy, returned to its normal length and shade.
The hall fell into stunned silence as she began to walk. Slowly, painfully, step by step, she moved toward the entrance. Guards who only moments ago had raised their blades parted instantly, opening the path like water before a stone.
Her face turned toward him. Her eyes — swollen, bruised, soaked with tears — burned not with love, but with hatred. Absolute, searing hatred.
Avin rose, his hand twitching forward, desperate to call out, to beg forgiveness, to reach her before she was gone. But his body seized.
That familiar grip — suffocating, cold, snake-like — coiled around him again. His muscles locked, his limbs bound in invisible chains.
His smirk lingered at Avin’s side, unseen by most, but Avin felt it. Felt the restraint digging into him like fangs.
Miranda’s eyes stayed on him as she passed. Her gaze was not sorrowful, not pleading. It was a promise. A threat. A vow carved into stone.
Avin’s blood ran cold. In that moment, he knew. He had gained an enemy. Not just an enemy — but one thirsting for revenge.
Past the guards. Past the council. Out of the temple.
And Avin saw her no more.
The invisible coils released him. He staggered, free, but did not move forward. His legs felt leaden. His chest hollow. His decision hung over him like an executioner’s blade.
He slumped back into his seat. Ashborn rose, crossing the hall to confer quietly with the Elder Priest. Their voices did not carry, but their nods and grave expressions said enough.
Soon after, they left the temple.
Avin followed, numb, shuffling like a ghost. Ashborn and Leo flanked him as they entered the large carriage that had once carried Miranda in chains.
The ride back to the mansion was a blur.
Avin sat in silence, staring at nothing, his mind fractured. Again and again, memories replayed — Miranda’s tears, her voice, her gaze filled with hate. The sound of her chains dragging. The smell of blood. The word he had spoken.
Each replay stabbed deeper.
He pressed his palms against his face, but the visions would not fade. The weight of betrayal gnawed at him, clawing at the very core of who he was. He had chosen. He had damned her.
"The fate of the family and all its territory depended on you at that time," Ashborn’s voice rumbled suddenly. "And you made the right decision. Do not beat yourself up over a commoner."
The words struck Avin like ice.
This is what I am becoming, he thought. A noble. Cold. Detached. Willing to trade blood for reputation.
The horror grew heavier, pressing him further into silence.
The carriage rolled to a halt.
The gates of the mansion loomed.
Avin stepped down, his legs moving without thought, carrying him through gilded halls back to his chambers.
There, at last, he collapsed onto his bed. His body curled, trembling. His eyes shut. Sleep claimed him quickly, but it was not gentle.