Alus gleamed like a city of stars under glass—sleek spires of white steel, runic wards pulsing faintly in the streets, sky-rails humming above the heads of rushing citizens.
Karun barely had time to take a breath after teleporting in when a squad of ward-hounds in navy coats closed in on him.
"Verimer," the lead officer barked, voice clipped. "You're coming with us."
Karun didn't resist.
The golden light still clung faintly to his hands from the teleport jump, and the smell of smoke clung to his coat.
People stared as the officers hustled him through the Department of Justice headquarters—past shimmering crystal walls etched with sigils, past clerks and arbiters whispering behind their glowing screens.
He was shoved into a room of polished obsidian and cold steel, a space designed to intimidate even high-level operatives.
The sigils embedded in the walls pulsed like eyes.
And then the door slammed open.
Ms. Agatha Lothorn strode in like a storm wrapped in midnight robes. Her green hair, streaked with silver, framed eyes that glowed faintly violet—the mark of a High Sorcerer of the Seventh Circle.
Her presence made the air hum with restrained mana.
"KARUN. VERIMER." Her voice cracked like a whip, and the ward-lights flickered.
Karun stayed seated. Calm. Silent.
Agatha slammed her hands on the steel table, leaning so close he could smell the ozone of raw spellcraft around her.
"You. Are. A SOCIAL WORKER. Not a hero. Not a crusader. Not some self-proclaimed savior! Your assignment was simple: check on a siren struggling in grade school. Do you know what that means? Check And Report. Not—"
Her voice pitched higher as mana sparked in the air, "—a damn international rescue operation involving mafia infiltration, arson, and an unapproved mana detonation in the Kingdom of Beastkin!"
The runes in the walls flared as her rage made the magic in the room shudder. Papers on the table lifted and scattered like frightened birds.
Agatha slammed her fist on the table again.
"The department is on fire, Karun! Politicians are crawling down my throat because some Godkin boy scout decided to play divine judge in someone else's territory! What were you THINKING?!"
Karun let the silence stretch, his eyes steady on hers.
When she finally stopped to breathe, he spoke in the same calm tone he'd used when talking Lirielle's parents down from hysteria.
"I was thinking," he began, voice level, "that I was assigned to Lirielle for a month. So I'm responsible for her. And when I visited her home because she was in my care, I arrived, and her parents were crying—broken. They told me their daughter was kidnapped."
His fingers curled slightly on the table, the only betrayal of his restraint.
"They didn't know what to do, so I took them to the local police station. Helped them file the report. I waited with them. Listened." He looked up at Agatha, his gold-flecked eyes catching the ward-light.
"And then I heard the officer say this wasn't their first case. That they had dozens like it. That they didn't know where they'd even start looking. Might take months."
Karun leaned forward slightly, voice hardening—not in defiance, but conviction.
"I decided months were too long for a child in a danger."
Agatha's jaw tightened.
Her fingers twitched, and before Karun could react, a bolt of purple lightning cracked across the table, slamming into his chest and hurling him back in the chair.
He gritted his teeth, body jerking under the shock, but he didn't make a sound. When the glow faded, smoke curled from his collar, and he exhaled slowly.
"May I request leniency?" His voice was calm, almost polite.
That made her angrier.
"You—" She pinched the bridge of her nose so hard her knuckles whitened, violet sparks flickering at her temples.
"You're going to get yourself killed, and worse—you're going to drag this entire department into the abyss with you."
She turned sharply, robes swirling like a shadow storm, and stomped to the door.
At the threshold, she paused, head tilted slightly so he saw the edge of her glare.
"Stay here. Do. Not. Move. And don't even think about checking on those victims. I made damn sure they're in the best care possible."
Her voice dropped to a low snarl. "You've caused enough chaos for one day."
The door slammed, leaving Karun alone in the humming silence, the scorch mark on his chest still glowing faintly.
He leaned back in the chair, exhaling through his teeth, staring at the warded ceiling.
And for the first time that night, his hands trembled.
The walls of the special room hummed faintly with layered wards—designed to suppress magic, dampen divine resonance, and neutralize any spell above the fifth tier.
Karun sat with his hands folded on the polished steel table, posture calm, though the scorch mark from Agatha's lightning still etched faintly across his chest.
The door opened again, this time without the fury of storm winds.
Agatha entered first, her expression locked in iron restraint, though the twitch at her temple betrayed exhaustion.
Behind her, a tall, lean figure glided into the room with predatory grace.
The vampire prosecutor looked carved from marble—skin pale as bleached bone, hair silver streaked with black, tailored charcoal suit fitting his frame like a second skin.
His crimson eyes burned softly with the weight of centuries.
"Karun Verimer," the prosecutor said, voice smooth, cultured—yet sharp enough to cut glass. "I am Prosecutor Alaine De Sanguine, appointed by the Alus Judiciary. I trust you understand the gravity of your… improvisations."
Alaine placed a thin black case on the table. With a flick of his fingers, it opened silently, revealing a single scroll glowing faintly with violet runes.
"You were assigned to a Grade-School Integration Case," Alaine began, tone like cold steel in velvet.
"A delicate matter of cultural adjustment. Instead, you conducted an unauthorized cross-border infiltration, dismantled a major trafficking network without Union sanction, and detonated a mana-based explosive inside Beastkin territory."
The words fell like weights. Each syllable pressed down on the room.
Alaine's crimson gaze locked with Karun's.
"These actions, Mr. Verimer, constitute multiple violations: jurisdiction breach, reckless deployment of divine magic, and obstruction of official interspecies law enforcement. Do you comprehend the diplomatic chaos you have unleashed?"
Karun didn't flinch. "Yes."
Alaine's expression didn't soften. "Then you also comprehend why you will remain here, in this Department of Justice containment room, until the Union finishes its preliminary review. A ruling will be delivered by tomorrow's first light."
Agatha's lips pressed tight, but she said nothing.
Karun reached slowly into his coat, movements deliberate so the suppression wards didn't flare.
From the inner pocket, he laid down a thick stack of scorched documents and a crystalline orb pulsing faintly with golden light.
"Transaction records," Karun said evenly. "And this—" he tapped the orb, "—is a mana tracer. It logged every signature in the compound. Every buyer. Every handler. Every client tied to the network."
Alaine's crimson eyes flickered, interest breaking through his frosted calm. He picked up the orb, holding it like a rare gem.
"Comprehensive," he murmured. Then his gaze returned to Karun, cold again.
"This will lighten your charges, Mr. Verimer. But it will not erase them."
Karun inclined his head. "Understood."
The vampire prosecutor studied him for a long moment, then snapped the case shut with a sharp click.
"Stay here. Do not attempt to leave." With that, he turned and glided out, his shadow stretching like a blade across the polished floor.
The door sealed with a hiss, leaving only Agatha and Karun.
Agatha stared at him for a long moment, then exhaled a slow, lethal sigh—the kind that promised death or discipline.
Her fingers drummed once on the table before she spoke.
"You had a perfect record for five years, Karun."
Her voice was quieter now, but colder than the lightning that scarred his chest. "Five years of impeccable work. And you ruined it—with heroics."
Karun looked up at her, calm but unyielding. "I don't regret it."
Her eyes narrowed.
"The cost of what I did," he said, voice steady, "is nothing compared to the freedom—and the future—I gave those victims."
Agatha's hand lashed out, not with magic this time but flesh, smacking him hard between the shoulder blades.
He barely moved, but the sound cracked like a whip.
"Idiot!" she snapped. "You had the entire department at your back! You could have come to me! Why didn't you?" Her voice sharpened like broken glass.
"What were you thinking? That I'd stop you? That I wouldn't care? Or was it that you didn't want to drag us into danger? Because if that's what you thought—your logic is flawed beyond reason."
Karun dropped his gaze to the polished steel.
His voice, when it came, was soft.
"I didn't think clearly. I worked behind your backs. I dragged the department down. I'm sorry."
"Too late," Agatha said flatly. Her tone could have frozen fire.
Then—after a long pause—her shoulders eased, the fury draining into exhaustion.
"It'll be all right," she said finally, voice quieter now, though her eyes still burned. "You won't suffer much. Not if I have anything to say about it."
She turned, robes whispering against the steel floor, and strode to the door. At the threshold, she paused and looked back.
"Try not to burn the world down before morning."
The door shut behind her with a hiss, leaving Karun alone in the sterile room, his reflection fractured in the black steel walls.
He leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling as the ward-lights pulsed in slow rhythm.
He let the weight of the whole situation heavily settle on his chest.
He closed his eyes and sighed.