The accusation began as a whisper.
It always did.
By the time Aiden heard his name spoken aloud, it had already been repeated enough times to feel true to the people saying it.
They were halfway back to their shelter when the first shout cut through the street.
"That's him."
Aiden stopped.
Seris felt it immediately—the way the air shifted, the way nearby conversations stalled and then resumed at a lower, more focused pitch. She turned slowly, eyes scanning faces, hands already calculating distance, exits, cover.
A small crowd had formed near the square's edge. Not a mob. Not yet. Just people who had decided to stop moving.
Pointing.
A man stepped forward, confidence bolstered by numbers. "You were there," he said, voice shaking with righteous certainty. "At the protest. Right before it went wrong."
Aiden opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again. "I didn't do anything."
"That's what they all say," someone muttered.
Another voice—louder now. "He's the miracle one. The one they keep talking about."
Seris stepped in front of Aiden without hesitation. "You're mistaken," she said calmly. "Move along."
The man scoffed. "Why should we?"
Because fear had already made the decision for them.
A guard appeared at the edge of the crowd—then two more. Their armor bore the city's insignia, but their posture was wrong. Too eager. Too ready.
"Stand aside," the lead guard said to Seris. "We have questions."
"Then ask them properly," Seris replied. "With cause."
The guard's gaze flicked past her to Aiden. "We have cause."
A scroll was produced—sealed, official, already unrolled.
"By order of the Civic Council," the guard read, "Aiden—designation pending—is hereby named a destabilizing influence under investigation for unlawful miracle activity, incitement, and public endangerment."
The crowd murmured.
Aiden's stomach dropped.
"That's not—" he began.
Seris swore under her breath. "This is irregular. There's no tribunal, no notice—"
"Emergency authority," the guard interrupted. "Granted this morning."
Aiden felt it then—the weight of attention slamming into him from every direction. Fear. Anger. Hope. All of it tangled together, pulling at something inside him that desperately wanted to respond.
He clenched his fists.
"No," he whispered to himself.
---
From a balcony three streets away, Varros watched the scene unfold with open delight.
"Oh, beautifully clumsy," he murmured. "Halvren would be so proud."
A lesser noble beside him shifted nervously. "My lord… if this turns violent—"
Varros waved a hand. "It won't. Not yet. Violence would imply loss of control."
He leaned forward slightly. "This is about permission. About letting people believe they're allowed to be afraid."
The noble swallowed. "And if the Duchess intervenes?"
Varros smiled. "Then she validates the accusation."
He lifted his glass.
"Either way," he added pleasantly, "the board moves."
---
Liora felt it before she saw it.
A pressure behind her eyes. A sudden, visceral wrongness—as if something old had perked up, curious.
She pushed through the crowd just as a stone flew.
It struck Aiden's shoulder—not hard enough to injure, but hard enough to matter.
Everything froze.
Then chaos erupted.
"Arrest him!"
"Don't let him touch anyone!"
"He did this!"
Aiden staggered back, panic flooding his senses. Power surged—instinctive, uncontrolled—before he could stop it.
"No," he gasped.
The air warped.
Not explosively. Not dramatically.
Just enough that the guards hesitated, movements slowing like they'd stepped into deep water.
Above the square, unseen and unconcerned with subtlety, Caelum leaned against nothing at all and laughed softly.
"Oh," he said, delighted. "They've chosen fear."
His wings did not unfurl. His presence did not announce itself.
That was the point.
"Let the games begin."
---
Liora was already there, grabbing Aiden's arm. "Breathe," she hissed. "Look at me. Do not react."
Seris drew a line with a burst of force—nonlethal, blinding, just enough to scatter the front ranks.
"Move!" she shouted.
They ran.
The crowd surged after them, fear transforming into pursuit with frightening ease.
Caelum watched them go, head tilted.
"So earnest," he mused. "So unprepared."
He did not interfere.
Not because he couldn't.
Because this was necessary.
---
The Duchess received the report moments later.
Her expression did not change.
But the room felt colder.
"Who authorized this?" she asked quietly.
Silence.
"I asked a question," Aureline repeated.
A trembling clerk finally spoke. "Emergency powers were invoked by… a coalition."
Aureline closed her eyes.
Varros' laughter echoed in her memory.
"So that's how he wants it," she said softly.
She straightened.
"Summon the Watch Commanders," she ordered. "And lock the council chamber."
The clerk hesitated. "Your Grace—"
"I will not have my city turned into a hunting ground," Aureline snapped. "Not by cowards hiding behind procedure."
---
Aiden, Seris, and Liora barely escaped into the undercity tunnels, breaths ragged, hearts pounding.
Aiden slid down the wall, shaking.
"I didn't mean to—" he started.
"I know," Seris said firmly, kneeling in front of him. "You didn't."
"But they believed it."
"Yes," Liora said quietly. "That's the problem."
Aiden stared at his hands, horrified. "What if next time I can't stop it?"
Seris met his gaze, steady and unflinching. "Then we make sure you're never alone when it happens."
Above them, the city roared—arguments, orders, fear given a voice.
And somewhere higher still, Caelum smiled wider.
The board had been overturned.
The pieces were running.
And the game—finally—was worth playing.
---