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Chapter 9 - Chapter Nine: The Weight of Silence

The wind had changed.

Angel stood on the edge of his family's rooftop, the same vantage point he used to love as a child—before the Academy, before the blade, before blood.

The village below was peaceful. Lanterns flickered in windows. Children's laughter drifted faintly on the air.

But Angel didn't trust peace anymore.

Behind him, Marina slept in her bed, curled up with her fox-shaped light. His mother sat by the fireplace humming an old lullaby. Cael leaned against the front door, arms crossed, keeping silent watch with that ever-present wariness in his eyes.

They didn't know what he'd done. What had been done to him.

Angel raised his hand, fingers splayed, aura flickering faintly at the tips.

"No one will touch them again. Ever."

The barrier formed in silence—light woven into threads, spiraling upward and outward in a dome of invisible force. It wasn't just a shield; it was sentient. If anything tried to enter with violence in their heart, the barrier would turn their magic inward until they broke.

He poured more energy into it. Anchored it with memory.

With love.

With rage.

When it was done, he whispered a word only the barrier could hear:

"Protect."

And then he left.

❖ ❖ ❖

By the time Angel returned to the Academy, the mood had shifted.

The sky over the towers was darker. The usual hum of arcane life had dulled. Students walked in tighter groups, whispers snapping like electricity between them.

He felt it before he even crossed the gates.

Fear.

It followed him like a shadow.

Some students bowed slightly when they saw him. Others turned away quickly. One boy—brave or stupid—locked eyes with Angel and said, "Murderer," under his breath.

Angel didn't flinch.

He didn't need to.

The stone path beneath the boy's feet cracked silently from pressure alone.

❖ ❖ ❖

The Grand Hall had never been this full.

Faculty. Royal representatives. Clan officials. Even a few masked figures Angel didn't recognize.

At the center of the circular chamber, three empty chairs awaited him—each lined with glowing runes.

An inquisition circle.

Silas stood at the far end, leaning against a pillar, flipping through his grimoire lazily. He nodded once at Angel, but said nothing.

Angel stepped into the center. The runes flared to life beneath him.

From above, a voice spoke—not human. Not singular.

A council voice.

"Angel Galván, you are summoned under Article Twelve of the Arcanum Charter. To answer for an unsanctioned act of magic beyond Class S. To explain the death of an unknown intruder whose remains were never recovered. And to account for the destabilization of three magical barriers due to your aura surge."

Angel didn't respond. Not yet.

"Do you deny the death?"

"No," he said flatly.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"Do you deny the surge?"

"No."

"Then speak, Dreamborn. Tell us why we should not consider you a threat to this world."

Angel lifted his gaze. "Because if I were a threat… you'd already be dead."

The room fell silent.

Even the walls seemed to stop breathing.

Then, a lone voice from the shadows behind the tribunal rose—velvet and venomous.

"Such arrogance," the woman said, stepping into view.

She was dressed in gold-black robes, her eyes like molten glass. High Inquisitor Velin of the Order of Severance—known for leading purges against magic that "dared to disobey the laws of nature."

"You think power justifies itself?" she sneered. "You think because you survived a fight, you're above the rules?"

Angel stepped forward slowly. The runes tried to hold him—but flickered.

He stared into her eyes and spoke with terrifying calm.

"I didn't survive. I was hunted. I didn't strike first. But I ended it. And I won't apologize for existing just because someone decided I was inconvenient."

Velin smiled coldly. "You're not inconvenient. You're unstable."

Silas finally spoke from the shadows.

"So is reality. Doesn't mean we erase it."

Velin snapped her gaze to him. "Silence, Binder. You're already on thin thread."

Angel closed his eyes for a moment. Took a breath. Then said the words that burned at the back of his tongue.

"If you're looking for a weapon, I'm not it.

If you're looking for a monster, I'm not it.

But if you threaten my family again—if anyone dares—you will find out what a Dreamborn can truly imagine."

The room didn't answer. It just watched.

Because they all saw it now:

Not a boy.

Not a prodigy.

But a force—one forged in death, tempered by pain, and now awakening.

❖ ❖ ❖

That night, Silas found Angel again—this time on the steps of the Tower of Echoes.

"You made enemies," Silas said quietly.

"I always had them," Angel replied. "Now they just know my name."

Silas sat beside him.

"They're planning something. You can feel it, can't you?"

Angel nodded. "War. Assassins. Exile. Maybe worse."

Silas closed his grimoire slowly. "Then we strike first."

Angel looked over at him.

Silas smiled—just barely.

"Let's burn the chessboard before they even pick their pieces."

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