The hall reeked of old blood.
Kael stood at the edge of the Council's shattered dais, his fingers still stained from a fight that hadn't been his. The torches crackled weakly in their sconces, casting long shadows across the cold stone walls of the ancient chamber. And in the center of it all… the corpse of Elder Veyron, throat torn open, eyes wide with betrayal.
He hadn't done this. But no one cared.
"You swore an oath, Kael!" Councilor Dren roared, face flushed with fury. "You pledged to bring change—not murder."
"I didn't touch him." Kael's voice was flat, quiet. But it rang louder than the accusations being hurled at him.
"You expect us to believe that?" Dren spat. "The boy with cursed blood. The one who walks with monsters."
Kael didn't flinch. Not when the other elders turned their eyes on him. Not when the guards shifted their stance, hands on hilts. His heart beat steady. Cold. Controlled.
"I didn't kill him," he repeated, "but maybe someone wanted it to look like I did."
Dren snarled and gestured sharply. "Strip him of all titles. Confine him until judgment is passed."
A few guards hesitated. Then moved.
But Kael didn't wait. He turned, walked away, and no one dared stop him. Not when his aura pressed against the room like a gathering storm.
Outside, the castle's silence was heavier than any scream. Lyra met him in the shadows near the eastern tower, her hood drawn low. "They're blaming you."
"I know."
"Did you—"
"No," he cut her off. "But someone did. And they want me to burn for it."
Lyra exhaled, stepping closer. "There's a scent—on Veyron's robes. It's not yours. It's not even human."
Kael narrowed his eyes. "Then we follow the blood."
A wind kicked up, cold and biting. Somewhere beyond the castle walls, a raven cried out once. A warning, maybe. Or a promise of more blood to come.
Behind Kael, the oath he'd sworn to the Council lay broken—not by his hands, but by someone who wanted war.
And war was what they'd get.