The council chamber throbbed with unrest, like a hive rattled by a stone. The air was thick with breath and whispers, thick with the pulse of judgment. The head councilor's staff still rested against the oak table, its carved shaft gleaming faintly in the lamplight, the echo of her verdict lingering like smoke in every ear:
Leave the boy, or leave our gates.
For a long, taut moment, no one moved.
Sofia stood at the fore, her shadow cast long and jagged across the chamber's stone floor. Her hand rested near the hilt of her sword, not gripping it, not yet but the promise of steel was in her stance. The scar that cut across her cheek seemed to harden with her words as she spoke, slow, deliberate, each syllable striking like hammer blows.
"You would bind him like a criminal, for what? For saving your streets from the very blades that threatened them?"
The ink-stained councilor, hunched and thin as a reed, leaned forward. His blotched fingers tapped the table; each knock a sharp drip of disdain. "For what he carries, Captain. You saw it with your own eyes. He burned a man to ash with nothing but his hand. Tell me, what guard in this town, or in your company, could stand against that?"
Murmurs rippled through the hall like wind through reeds. Unease. Agreement. Fear.
"He didn't burn us!" Owen's voice cut in, cracking with the force of sudden defiance. He stepped forward, fists clenched, his boyish face pale but resolute. "He burned the ones who attacked us! What do you expect him to do. sit still while knives are driven into his chest?"
A ripple passed through the gathered townsfolk. Some nodded faintly, others scowled, but all leaned closer, caught in the storm of words.
Leo stood rigid at Owen's side, every sound hammering against him like blows on an anvil. His hands curled tight, nails biting into flesh. The shard's voice stirred within him, sleek and hungry:
They argue of chains for you while the Serpent sharpens knives in the dark. Let me speak. One word from me and their tongues will wither, their fear turn to ash.
Leo's chest rose and fell too fast. He shut his eyes briefly, forcing silence where the shard demanded flame. He said nothing.
The gray-haired head councilor rose at last, her posture straight as a spear. She lifted her staff, its iron tip striking stone once, ringing through the hall. Her gaze swept the chamber, then locked onto Leo with the weight of inevitability.
"Enough," she said, her tone like flint struck to steel. "Words cannot hide what is plain. That shard is a danger no valley should cradle. The Council of Domains will decide its fate, where scholars, not farmers and fishers, may bear the risk. Until then, the boy will be held under guard."
Her decree dropped into the chamber like a stone into a still pond. The ripples spread immediately. Silence thickened. No one drew breath too quickly.
Then, Sofia moved.
Not steel, not yet. Just a single step forward, her boots ringing sharply against the stone. That one step deepened the hush, tightened it, made the entire chamber taut with the threat that she might unsheathe her sword at any moment.
Her voice was iron wrapped in frost. "You think your walls will hold against the cult when they return? You saw their knives bend iron, their shadows crawl like serpents. They came for him, yes, but they'll burn through you to reach him. You would hide him here, like bait in a snare? You'll doom this valley before the Council of Domains even sends a rider."
The guards in blue sashes shifted uneasily at her words. Some fingers twitched at spears; others glanced nervously toward the doors, as if expecting shadows to ooze in even now.
The townsfolk began to murmur louder, buzzing like a hive on the verge of frenzy.
"He should leave-"
"No, if he goes, the cloaks will follow him straight to our fields."
"Better him gone than all of us dead!"
Then a woman's voice, sharp as a knife, cut through the noise. "And what if the boy is the Serpent's seed already? Did you not see his fire? What if he turns it on us?"
Fear spread like fire on oil. The chamber swelled with mutters, fear twisting into a tide that no hand could hold back.
Leo felt the weight of their eyes, hot as brands on his skin. Heat prickled across his body though no flame stirred, heat born not from fire but from their judgment. He parted his lips to speak, but Owen's hand shot out, gripping his sleeve hard.
"Don't," Owen whispered fiercely. "If you speak now, they'll hear nothing but threat."
The head councilor's staff rapped again, sharp as a verdict. "This debate ends," she declared. Her tone carried finality. "The boy will be taken into custody by nightfall. If your caravan refuses, you will be escorted beyond our gates and forbidden return. This is the will of the council."
The words tolled like a funeral bell, heavy and final.
Sofia's jaw tightened, the muscles in her cheek shifting like stone under strain. She gave no reply. She did not bow, nor did she break into rage. Instead, with the smallest flick of her hand, she signaled her company. She turned sharply on her heel and strode toward the doors. Her men followed, boots loud in the silence.
The council allowed them passage, though eyes tracked them like blades all the way out.
When Leo stepped into the daylight, the world beyond had already shifted. The square had swollen with onlookers. Faces turned, voices dropped, then rose again in harsh whispers as he emerged. Fingers pointed. Children hid behind skirts.
"Serpent's mark."
"Fire-boy."
"Not natural…"
The words clung to him, heavy as chains. He kept his head down, fists trembling at his sides, each step harder than the last.
And in the shadow of a narrow alley, half-hidden from the throng, a figure watched. Cloaked, still, patient. A pale serpent tattoo coiled around his wrist as his hand traced a sign in the air, two serpent heads, devouring one another.
No knife was needed. No curse whispered. The cult did not have to lift a blade.
The town was already eating itself.