The room turned against him.
The children shrank back, whispering prayers, their eyes wide with fear. The priest's voice thundered across the hall, demanding answers, demanding the boy open his hands, bare his chest, reveal the truth.
The shard pulsed hot against his ribs, a heartbeat not his own.
Defend.
The boy shook his head violently, clutching the fabric of his tunic, but the hunger inside him surged until his hands trembled. His breath came in ragged gasps.
The priest reached forward.
"Child—"
The word never finished.
The boy's arm lashed out before he even willed it. Fingers curled like talons, he shoved the old man back. A burst of light cracked from his chest, jagged and pale. The priest staggered, robes smoldering where the glow had touched him, and collapsed against the altar with a cry.
Gasps. Screams. Children bolted toward the door, tripping over one another. Lena was already gone, her footsteps echoing down the hall.
The boy stood frozen, chest heaving. His hand still burned from the light, though he had not known such power could exist.
The priest writhed, clutching at his side. "Demon…" he croaked. "You've brought a demon into this house…"
No, the shard whispered in the marrow of the boy's bones. Not demon. God.
The boy staggered back. His legs carried him before thought could catch. Out the chapel doors, into the night. The cold air hit his face, but he barely felt it. The relic's glow throbbed under his skin, guiding his steps.
Behind him, bells began to toll. Not in prayer. In warning.
For the first time in his life, the boy was no longer an orphan of the chapel.
He was an exile.