The battle was over. But the silence that followed felt heavier than war.
The courtyard of Valdorium lay in shambles, torches sputtering against the broken marble, smoke rising from the corpses of cultists and soldiers alike. Yet no one celebrated. No one cheered.
Their gazes—all of them—rested on Rihan.
He stood at the center of ruin, chest heaving, the remnants of the Eclipse Flame still flickering across his arms. The unnatural fire licked his skin without burning, its glow reflecting in terrified eyes.
Whispers spread like wildfire.
"Did you see? That wasn't human flame…"
"He destroyed the courtyard as much as the Champion did…"
"How long before he turns on us?"
Rihan felt each word like a dagger. He lowered his sword, the fire dimming at last, but the damage was done. The people he had protected looked at him not with gratitude, but with fear.
---
⚔️ The Prince's Game
"Enough!"
The booming voice came from the marble steps. Prince Varus descended, golden cloak flowing behind him, his expression a perfect mask of solemn command.
He surveyed the wreckage, then pointed his blade toward Rihan.
"There stands the true danger," Varus declared. "Not the cultists, not their champion—but him. The outsider. The Vessel."
Gasps spread through the nobles.
Elira instantly stepped forward, placing herself between Rihan and Varus. Her blade was raised, her glare defiant.
"Prince, if not for him, we would all be dead. Even you."
Varus didn't flinch. He smiled thinly, his eyes gleaming.
"And how many more will die because of him? Look around you, Lady Elira. Half the courtyard is ash. Soldiers incinerated—not by shadow, but by his fire. If this is his power while restrained, what will happen when he loses control again?"
The words sank like poison. Some soldiers nodded grimly, others looked away, unwilling to meet Rihan's eyes.
Rihan clenched his fists, but said nothing. Deep down, he knew Varus wasn't entirely wrong.
---
🌒 Chains of Suspicion
The High Council gathered that night within the fractured throne hall. Nobles whispered from the balconies, generals stood tense at the pillars, and at the center—Rihan and Elira faced the judgment of the kingdom.
Varus spoke first, his voice sharp as steel.
"We cannot allow this… anomaly to walk free. He carries the Flame of Draemir. He is the key to the cult's prophecy. Every second he remains among us, danger grows."
Murmurs of agreement echoed. Some councilors muttered about exile. Others about execution.
Elira slammed her fist against the marble table.
"Execution? Exile? He fought for us! He bled for us! Without him, Valdorium would already be ash!"
A silence followed, broken only by the shuffling of robes.
Finally, one of the elder councilors raised a hand. His voice trembled with both fear and reason.
"Perhaps… there is another path. He is dangerous, yes. But he is also powerful. What if we bound him not with chains… but with duty? Make him fight for us. If he falters, then we end him. Until then, we use his strength."
The hall erupted with arguments. Voices clashed—fear, ambition, pragmatism, hatred.
Through it all, Rihan remained silent, his mind a storm. Part of him wanted to scream, to deny their words. Another part whispered that they were right. He was dangerous. Even to himself.
---
🌑 Elira's Choice
When the voices finally dimmed, all eyes turned to Elira. As Draemir's bane and protector of the Flame Vessel, her word carried weight.
She stepped forward, her armor scorched, her face resolute.
"I will take responsibility. If you fear him, then place him under my command. My blade will judge his path. My life will be the seal that keeps him from turning against us."
Gasps filled the chamber. Some were outraged, others awed.
Varus's eyes narrowed. "You dare bind yourself to that… creature?"
Elira's voice cut like steel. "I dare to believe in him. Something you will never understand."
---
🌌 A New Prison
The council voted deep into the night. At last, the decree was made:
Rihan would not be executed. Not yet.
He would serve as Valdorium's Champion—bound by oath and blade, watched by Elira, and judged by the Council.
A protector. A weapon. A prisoner.
As the decree was spoken, chains of magic coiled faintly around Rihan's wrists, glowing silver. They did not restrain his movement—but he could feel them. A bond of magic, tying him to the kingdom, to their will.
The hall applauded. Not in joy, but in relief. They thought they had solved their problem.
But Rihan only felt the weight of new shackles.
---
🌘 Shadows Stir
Later, as the hall emptied, Elira touched his shoulder gently.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "But this way… at least you live. And you live with me."
Rihan met her gaze, searching for anger, pity, anything—but all he saw was fierce determination. Somehow, it steadied him.
He nodded. "Then I'll fight. Not because they command it. But because I choose to."
Far away, beyond the city walls, a black ripple spread across the sky. The Shade Champion's report had already reached Draemir.
And Draemir was smiling.