Chapter 11 – Festival of Chains
The morning sun bled across the marble walls of Shinya, painting the towering spires of the Holy Sanctuary in golden light. From afar, the city seemed divine, its white pillars and grand arches giving the illusion of peace. But up close, the streets told a different story. Chains rattled as slaves dragged carts, priests barked orders, and guards patrolled with whips dangling from their sides.
Moro walked silently with Kaya, blending into the crowd of villagers heading toward the Sanctuary's outer plaza. His sharp eyes scanned every detail—the banners fluttering with holy symbols, the glass mosaics depicting saints, the priests' cold smiles. Something about it all unsettled him. The city called this day the Festival of Blessings, but what he felt in the air wasn't joy—it was fear.
"Strange, isn't it?" Kaya muttered under her breath, keeping her hood low. "They smile, but their eyes… they look empty."
Moro nodded. "They've been drained. Like their hope was stolen long ago."
As they turned a corner, a parade of chained workers passed them, heading toward the Sanctuary's gates. Drums thundered, not in celebration, but as a rhythm to force the slaves' march. Children ran alongside, clapping their hands as if this humiliation were a show. Kaya's fists trembled, and Moro had to touch her shoulder to steady her.
"Don't draw attention," he whispered. "Not yet."
But the sight gnawed at him as well. Every fiber of his body screamed to break the chains then and there, yet he knew Shinya was wrapped in layers of power. To strike recklessly would be suicide.
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The Sanctuary bells tolled, deep and resonant, summoning all of Shinya to the grand plaza. Massive stone statues of hooded saints loomed over the space, their eyes carved in ways that made them look alive, as if they watched every soul below. People kneeled automatically as priests in white robes moved through the crowds, carrying censers that released trails of heavy incense. The air thickened, choking, as chants began to echo across the plaza.
Moro narrowed his eyes. The chants carried power. Not simple words, but something laced with strange energy, twisting through the crowd like unseen chains. The people's heads bowed lower, their bodies trembling as though compelled by something greater than fear.
Kaya leaned closer. "This isn't prayer. It feels like… control."
"You're right." Moro clenched his fist. "The Celtic Highs aren't just leaders. They're leeches."
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Suddenly, a commotion rippled through the plaza. A group of ragged men and women were dragged forward by guards, their hands bound, their faces beaten. The announcer priest lifted his staff, his voice carrying across the crowd:
"These sinners dared to speak against the High Council! They dared to whisper rebellion in sacred Shinya! For their treachery, they will be blessed with purification!"
The crowd gasped, yet none dared move. The prisoners cried out, begging for mercy, but the priests ignored them. The announcer raised his staff again, and the statues behind him seemed to pulse with light.
Kaya's nails dug into her palm. "Purification? They mean execution…"
Moro's jaw tightened. His instincts screamed to intervene. But then—he noticed something unusual. Among the kneeling crowd, a hooded figure subtly tilted his head toward the prisoners. A signal. Moro's sharp eyes caught it—a man dressed like the common people, but his posture was too alert, too calculating.
The hooded man from the alleys again.
He didn't move openly, but when the priests raised their staffs to strike the prisoners, something small clattered to the ground—an object tossed by unseen hands. Smoke erupted, swallowing the platform in gray haze. Shouts erupted from the guards, people screamed, and in the chaos, the prisoners vanished.
Gasps swept through the plaza. The priests barked orders, summoning guards to seal the exits, but the prisoners were gone. The rebellion's hand had shown itself—briefly, boldly.
---
"Did you see that?" Kaya whispered, her eyes wide.
Moro nodded. "So it's true. Shinya's rebellion exists. And they're close."
Before he could say more, the air shifted. A cold presence descended upon the plaza, heavy as a storm cloud. From the grand staircase of the Sanctuary, robed figures emerged—tall, imposing, their faces hidden by golden veils. Their very steps seemed to bend the air, their aura so oppressive that even Moro felt a chill crawl down his spine.
The Celtic High Council.
The crowd immediately fell silent. No one breathed. No one dared to.
One of the Highs raised his hand, and the noise of the plaza died completely. When he spoke, his voice was layered, like two voices echoing at once.
"Children of Shinya," the High intoned, "do not fear. Today is not a day of sorrow, but of grace. The sinners you saw have been taken for cleansing. Soon, they shall rejoin the cycle purified."
The crowd murmured reverently, but Moro clenched his teeth. He felt the wrongness of every word—the manipulation, the twisting of belief. His fists burned, the Matrix within him pulsing faintly, reacting to the dark energy radiating from the Highs.
For a moment, one of the veiled figures turned their head. Though hidden, Moro felt their gaze pierce him directly. It was as if they could see through his disguise, into his very soul.
Kaya noticed his tension. "They're watching you…"
Moro exhaled slowly, forcing himself to remain still. This wasn't the time to ignite a war.
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The chants resumed, filling the plaza once more. Bells rang, incense choked the air, and the Festival of Blessings carried on, though a shadow now lingered over every song. Somewhere in this city, rebels planned their next move. Somewhere in this crowd, eyes were watching Moro. And above them all, the Celtic Highs ruled with invisible chains.
As the sun dipped lower, Moro whispered to Kaya, his voice low and steady:
"This city… it's a cage. And I'm going to break it."
Kaya gave him a sharp glance, both fearful and resolute. "Then we better find the ones rattling the bars."
Above them, the statues seemed to smile with stone lips, as if mocking the promise.
The Festival of Chains had only just begun.
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