That evening, armored guards surrounded their inn.
"The council demands your presence," the captain barked, gesturing at Aric. "The boy is not to walk free after what he unleashed."
Mira stepped forward. "He saved your city!"
But the guards shoved her aside. Shackles of gold were clasped on Aric's wrists, glowing with runes that burned against his skin. The fire inside him clawed to be free, but the chains smothered it, leaving him weak.
They dragged him to the Hall once more. The silver-haired magister's voice was like frost. "You bring ruin wherever you walk. Tell us, boy—who sent the serpent after you?"
"I don't know," Aric said through clenched teeth.
"A lie," another magister snapped. "The mark of the Serpent has returned. If you consort with them, you are no savior—you are their herald."
Edran's staff cracked against the floor. "Blind fools! Without him, Caelthorn would be drowning in shadow even now!"
The council's decision was swift. "The boy remains under guard. His power is not his own to command. Until he proves otherwise, he is Caelthorn's prisoner."