Chapter 16 – Fire Beneath the Ashes
The Whisper Campaign
It started small.
A few villagers repeated Seliora's words after supper:
"Eryndor is not like us… maybe he was meant for more."
Others nodded in secret. Farmers who once feared him now left small offerings at his door—fruit, grain, even coins. "Not worship," they said, "just respect."
But behind closed doors, another group muttered bitterly:
"He is why monsters come. Why gods descend. If we bow to him, we invite doom."
The village, once united, now split into quiet camps.
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Seliora's Subtle Push
Seliora never commanded, never raised her voice. She only asked questions, gentle as drops of rain:
"What if he left, to protect you from danger?"
"Wouldn't it be better if he grew strong, so no god could threaten us again?"
To those who worshipped, she was a prophet.
To those who doubted, she was poison.
And to Eryndor, she was both—friend and danger, truth and lie.
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The Breaking Point
The tension snapped during a gathering at the elder's hall.
One man rose, fists clenched. "The boy is cursed! Every night brings omens, every week brings ruin! We must drive him out before more gods fall upon us!"
A woman countered, voice trembling with faith: "He saved us! You would cast out the only one who can stand against the heavens?"
Shouts erupted, chairs splintered, neighbors who had shared harvests now stood as enemies.
Eryndor froze at the center, heart aching as the people he loved tore themselves apart over his existence.
Seliora stepped forward, her hand light on his shoulder, her voice calm yet sharp enough to cut the room.
"You see? This is why he must choose. Stay bound to fear… or rise above it."
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The Sage's Stand
Aethros struck his staff against the floor, the echo silencing the hall.
"Enough! This is what the Pantheon wants—to break him by breaking you. And you, Seliora, are their knife."
Her smile did not falter, but her eyes glimmered with something cold. "Perhaps. But even a knife may cut chains."
The villagers gasped, the truth of her nature hanging in the air at last.
Eryndor's chest burned. His mentor on one side, the mysterious envoy on the other, and the village split between them. Balance itself seemed to waver—not between gods and mortals, but within his own heart.