The council hall smelled of old wood, damp earth, and fear.
Kael stood at the center, shoulders squared, his cleaver strapped across his back. Villagers filled the benches along the walls, whispering among themselves, their eyes darting to him with unease. At the far end sat the three elders, with Eldran standing slightly apart, his staff resting against the floor like a silent warning.
The old woman who had spoken against him before now leaned forward. Her face was wrinkled, her eyes sharp as a hawk's. "We cannot ignore what you are," she said, her voice cutting through the murmurs. "You bleed, yet you do not die. You laugh when death takes you, only to rise stronger. Such things are not human."
The words echoed in Kael's chest, heavy, undeniable.
Eldran lifted a hand. "We agreed. He deserves a chance."
The woman sneered. "A chance to bring ruin?"
"It will not be words that decide," Eldran said firmly. He turned toward Kael, his gaze piercing. "It will be trial."
A murmur rippled through the hall. Some villagers leaned forward eagerly, others paled.
Kael's hands tightened into fists. "Trial?"
Eldran nodded once. "By blood. By restraint. By will. If you fail, the village will cast you out. If you succeed, they will accept you. For now."
The old woman's lips curled. "And if he cannot restrain himself?"
"Then," Eldran said coldly, "I will end him myself."
---
The trial began at dusk.
Outside the palisade, torches were lit in a wide circle, casting the clearing in restless shadows. The entire village gathered, their faces pale in the firelight. At the center, Kael stood stripped of armor, his cleaver held loosely in his hands. Serenya lingered at the edge of the circle, bow ready, her eyes fixed on him—not with hatred, but with something sharper.
Eldran raised his staff. The ground trembled, runes flaring to life in a circle around Kael.
"This trial is not of strength," the old mage declared. "We already know his strength. This trial is of control."
At his signal, two villagers dragged a cage into the circle. Inside, a beast writhed and snarled—a direwolf, its fur bristling, eyes glowing red with hunger.
Kael's breath caught.
"You will fight," Eldran said. "But you must not kill. If you cannot stop yourself before the final blow… then we will know what you are."
The cage opened.
---
The direwolf lunged, jaws snapping, saliva spraying from its fangs. Kael moved instinctively, sidestepping, his cleaver rising in a perfect arc. The blade stopped a hair's breadth from the beast's throat, the momentum burning through his arm like fire.
The villagers gasped.
Kael grit his teeth, shoving the wolf aside with the flat of his blade. The beast rolled, snarled, and charged again.
Strike. Stop. Strike. Stop.
Each motion tore at him, like holding back a storm inside his veins. His body screamed to finish it, to let the blade fall, to end.
[Instinct Override: Active]
"Why do you hesitate? Death is what you are."
The whisper roared in his head, drowning out the crowd, drowning out reason. His vision tinted red. The wolf leapt, and before Kael could think, his cleaver slashed deep into its side.
Blood sprayed across the dirt.
The villagers shouted, some recoiling, others cheering. Eldran's eyes narrowed, his staff glowing. Serenya's bowstring tightened.
Kael froze, panting. The wolf staggered, howling in agony but still alive, crawling toward him with desperate fury. Kael's hands shook, the cleaver trembling as he raised it for the final strike—
Then he saw Serenya's face.
Not fear. Not anger. But disappointment.
It cut deeper than any wound.
With a strangled cry, Kael threw the cleaver aside. He grabbed the wolf by its scruff and slammed it into the dirt, pinning it beneath his weight. The beast snarled, claws raking his flesh, but Kael held firm, refusing to deliver the death blow.
The whispers howled in rage inside his mind.
"Weakness. Cowardice. This is not who you are!"
"Shut up!" Kael roared aloud, his voice echoing into the night.
And for the first time, the whisper fell silent.
---
When the wolf was dragged back into its cage, Kael collapsed onto his knees, chest heaving, blood dripping from his arms. The crowd was hushed, caught between awe and unease.
Eldran approached, staff tapping against the ground. His eyes scanned Kael, then flicked to the wolf's cage, then back again. Slowly, he raised his voice.
"He restrained the blade."
The villagers muttered, confused, uncertain. The old woman spat. "Barely."
"But he did," Eldran said firmly. His staff struck the ground, runes flashing and then fading. "For now, he remains one of us."
The words were final, but the silence that followed was heavy. Acceptance, yes—but without trust.
Kael rose unsteadily, meeting their stares. He saw it in their eyes: they hadn't seen proof of his humanity. Only a monster in chains.
---
Later, when the crowd dispersed, Serenya found him at the edge of the clearing. His cleaver lay abandoned in the dirt, and he stared at it as though it were a stranger's weapon.
"You passed," she said quietly.
Kael let out a bitter laugh. "Did I?"
Her jaw tightened. "You stopped yourself. That matters."
"For how long?" His voice cracked. He turned to her, eyes burning. "Every time I die, it gets harder. Every time I rise, it gets louder. I don't know how many times I can hold it back before—"
He stopped. He didn't need to finish. She knew.
Serenya's gaze softened, though her hand still rested on her bow. "Then don't face it alone."
Kael stared at her, unable to find words. For the first time in days, the chains around his chest loosened—just a fraction.
But deep inside, he knew the whispers were waiting. And the trial had proved only one thing:
They would not wait forever.
---