The next morning,
Khaos was dragged into the public square chained, bruised, and filthy. A temporary platform had been built overnight. Wooden, tall, surrounded by armored guards and angry faces.
Dozens of villagers stood at the edges, whispering behind hands.
But it was the nobles who sat in chairs of carved oak, their robes too clean for the blood in the air.
Lord Caldus Ferrin an imposing noble in his mid-forties he has slicked-back hair, with streaks of iron gray at the temples with pale gold eyes. He did not march he glided, cloak trailing behind him like shadows peeling from the earth. Gold-trimmed boots struck the dirt path without a sound, and his gaze swept the smoldering forest like a hawk searching for prey.
His eyes found Dylan first.
"Dylan" he said, his voice cool and steady, no faster than the wind.
Then his gaze turned to Khaos bloodied, exhausted, defiant.
He didn't speak to Khaos. He didn't need to. The slight raise of his brow said everything.
This boy breathes too long
Lord Ferrin, Dylan's father, took the center seat.
He didn't look at his son once he sat down. Only at Khaos.
"We gather not for vengeance," he began, voice calm, "but for answers."
Lies always sound softest when dressed in civility.
Khaos lifted his eyes. "I didn't let the beast..."
"You killed two noble heirs," Ferrin snapped, the mask slipping for just a second. "You desecrated their bodies. And now you dare to speak?"
"I saved Dylan"
"Enough!" The voice came from behind. Dylan stood, bandaged, pale. "I watched him do it! I tried to stop him, but he lured us into the woods!"
Khaos growled. "You're lying."
Gasps rose.
But Dylan didn't falter.
"I was scared," he whimpered. "I didn't know how to say it. But Cedric and Lena… they followed him. He was dragging meat, trying to lure something out. He wanted to prove he wasn't cursed."
Rothan, in the crowd, clenched a fist.
They've flipped the story completely, he thought. And no one will stop them.
A few voices from the crowd hesitated.
Old Mrs. Klen, the healer who once treated Khaos's fever, said softly, "But… if he really did it… how did he survive?"
"Witchcraft" someone whispered.
"Darkness," said another.
"A deal with the Xylen," a third hissed.
It didn't matter that it made no sense.
People weren't searching for truth. They were searching for comfort. And blaming Khaos made the world feel safer.
A woman in a merchant's shawl stared hard at Ferrin. Her son had died seven years ago killed in the first breach. She never looked at Khaos with hate. Only pity.
And Rothan… Rothan stepped back into the shadows, already planning.
He couldn't stop this wave. Not yet.
But he could protect the boy from drowning in it.
Lord Ferrin's voice echoed across the square.
"Khaos, son of traitors. You are found guilty by the testimony of the last noble survivor and the witness of blood. You are hereby sentenced to confinement until your fate is decided."
Not death.
But close enough.
The people cheered. Others just watched.
And Khaos, eyes dull, was dragged back toward the prison.
As they pulled him away, his gaze met Rothan's just for a second.
And the knight nodded, barely noticeable.
Not all of them wanted him dead.
But for now, most did.
And that was enough to break something inside him.
The village was still trembling.
The noble council had retreated into the old chamber above the watchtower six of them seated in a half circle of stone, their crimson cloaks billowing slightly in the wind that crept through the open windows.
Lord Ferrin, the most adorned among them, sat in the center.
A man of proud posture and rigid control, Lord Ferrin wore a dark navy tunic lined with gold, the sigil of House Ferrin a sun pierced by a spear gleaming on his shoulder. His dark brown beard was trimmed to perfection, his expression unchanging even as his son's lies had fueled a storm of anger.
"He is unstable," Ferrin said, voice steady. "Just like his parents."
The others nodded slowly, each considering what had to be done.
One of the younger council members, a pale woman with sharp eyes and silver hair, folded her hands.
"He saved the boy."
Ferrin didn't blink. "And brought the beast that killed the other two. His presence alone invites ruin. We cannot afford another breach. Mercy is a luxury Velmira lost years ago."
A heavy silence followed.
Then Ferrin said the words.
"He will be executed. At dawn, before the village. Let the people see justice, and fear."
None of the others spoke. Not to object. Not to agree. The silence was its own verdict.
Below, in the dungeons beneath the watchtower, Khaos sat on the cold floor of a cell no larger than a closet. Damp stone surrounded him. The bars were thick with rust and locked by magic faint glyphs glowing dull red in the dim torchlight.
He didn't sleep. Couldn't. The sounds of rats echoed. His head still throbbed from the stone that struck him. His wrists were torn and sore from the bindings.
He stared at the wall, lips dry. His breath came in slow, shallow waves. They believe him. They want me dead.
Khaos didn't lift his head when the footsteps echoed down the corridor. He was cold. Numb. The cell stank of old blood and mold. His arms ached from how tightly the guards had bound him, and his thoughts were a haze of pain and helpless fury.
The footsteps stopped.
"Khaos."
That voice.
Khaos looked up, eyes adjusting to the torchlight.
It was Ser Rothan.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
"…You came," Khaos finally muttered, his voice brittle. "Did you come to say goodbye?"
Rothan's face was grim, but there was something else in his expression something that didn't match the cold silence of the council above.
"No," he said. "I came to tell you you're not dying here."
Khaos blinked, heart stuttering. "What?"
"I overheard the council. They voted. You're to be executed at dawn".
He stepped closer to the bars.
"They've already decided what you are. Try decided that seven years ago. They don't care about what happened in that forest. They just want to bury the fear you stir in them."
Khaos's hands curled into fists, the chains rattling faintly.
"They want to kill a child," he whispered, bitterness curling in his throat.
Rothan's gaze darkened. "They don't see a child. They see your father. Your mother. The people who 'doomed' Velmira. They see your hair, your eyes" He paused. "You were marked long before today."
Khaos looked down.
He thought about the blood. The way Dylan had screamed. The crowd's silence.
"...So I die for a lie?"
"No," Rothan said firmly. "Because I have a plan. We're getting you out."
Khaos looked up sharply. "What?"
"Tonight," Rothan said. "Just before the midnight bell. The guards will rotate. One of mine will create a distraction. The barrier will drop for exactly forty seconds. That's your window."
Khaos's mouth was dry. "And then what? I run into the forest? Into the wild?"
"I'll guide you through the first stretch," Rothan said. "I've been preparing for this. I never trained you to die in a cage."
Khaos stared at him, disbelief written on his face. "Why…? Why would you risk everything for me? After all this time, you barely said anything beyond instructions. You didn't even like me."
Rothan lowered his head slightly, shadows hiding the flicker of pain in his eyes.
"You reminded me of someone," he said after a long pause. "Someone I failed."
Khaos didn't know what to say.
"I see fire in you, boy. Controlled wrong, it burns everything. But honed… it can light a path through hell. Don't let them snuff that out."
Silence.
Then Rothan reached through the bars, resting a gloved hand gently on Khaos's shoulder.
"Stay strong. Tonight, we run."
Khaos nodded slowly, a fragile ember of hope flickering to life.
But hope, in Velmira, never lasted long.
But fate is a cruel thing.
Evening arrived and so did the guards.
Before the sky fully dimmed, the cell door clanged open. Two armored knights entered without a word. One grabbed Khaos by the arm. The other shackled his wrists in chains far heavier than before.
"No," Khaos struggled. "It's not morning what are you !?"
"The council moved the sentence forward," one muttered. "Too many voices calling for blood."
Khaos fought. "Wait! Rothan—!"
They hit him across the stomach with the pommel of a blade.
The air left his lungs.
They dragged him up the stairs. Through the village.
The streets were quieter now, but torches still burned. Murmurs echoed as they passed villagers watching from windows, doorways, whispering behind their hands.
The platform stood ahead.
Old wood. Iron restraints. Drenched in shadow.
They hauled him up the steps and forced him to his knees. The chains clicked against the post. His wrists were locked, then his ankles.
Above him, the moon rose full behind a shroud of clouds.
Ser Rothan was nowhere to be seen.
Khaos stared ahead.
Alone.
The crowd began to gather.
And the blade waited in silence