The square was already full by the time Shiro and Elira pushed their way through the crowd. Bells tolled overhead, sharp and relentless, ringing out the sound of trouble.
"What's going on?" Elira whispered, clinging to his sleeve.
He didn't answer. His chest already knew.
At the center of the square, a circle of armored knights stood in formation, their polished breastplates gleaming in the morning sun. Between them, his parents knelt with their hands bound. His mother's face was pale but calm; his father's jaw was clenched tight, defiant even in silence.
"Papa… Mama…" Elira's voice cracked.
"Quiet," Shiro hissed, pulling her closer into the shelter of the crowd. If they were seen—
The priest stepped forward, robes flowing like waves of ink. His voice carried unnaturally, each word amplified as though the gods themselves demanded silence.
"Citizens of Ardenthal. By decree of the Temple, these two stand accused of spawning an anomaly. They will be taken for interrogation, their souls examined for corruption."
Murmurs broke out instantly, disbelief rippling like a storm. Shiro's stomach twisted. Spawning the anomaly…? They mean me.
The priest raised a hand, silencing the crowd.
"Their offspring are to be seized as well. We have already dispatched knights to the Academy to collect the anomaly himself. The siblings too will be brought in for questioning."
Elira gasped, clutching his arm so tightly her nails dug in. Somewhere else in the crowd, a smaller hand tugged on his cloak. He turned to see Mirielle — wide-eyed, shaking, her ribbon crooked in her hair.
She must've been out running errands when the commotion started. Now she is here. In plain sight.
The crowd erupted. Voices shouted — protests, denials, fear.
"They've done nothing wrong!"
"Interrogate them? What is this, the Inquisition?"
"Even the children? Have you no shame?"
But the knights only tightened their formation. Chains rattled. Shiro's parents were forced to their feet, the priest shouting to drown out the voices around him.
"Silence"
Shiro's nails dug into his palms. Every instinct screamed to run forward, to do something. Anything. But he was frozen—until a voice brushed against his mind.
"Leave. Now."
It was the same voice from the ceremony and the dream. Female, sharp yet gentle, commanding without shouting.
Shiro flinched, glancing around wildly. No one near him had spoken.
"You must not be seen here. When the crowd thins, their eyes will find you. Take your sisters and go."
His heart hammered in his ears. The magician. The woman from the battlefield. She was in his head again.
"Elira. Mirielle." He swallowed, trying to sound calm. "Stay close. We're leaving."
"But—" Elira's eyes filled with tears.
"We can't help them here," he said, forcing the words through clenched teeth. His throat burned with every syllable. "If they find us now… we'll only make things worse."
Shiro grabbed his sisters' hands, threading them through the moving bodies, forcing himself not to look back. Not to see the way his mother's eyes searched the crowd, or the way his father stood taller even in chains.
The crowd surged like a storm-tossed sea, and for a moment Shiro thought they'd slip away unnoticed. But as he turned down a narrow street, a shout cut through the chaos.
"There! By the well—three children!"
Armor clattered. Shiro's blood turned to ice. A knight was pushing through the throng, his steel gauntlet raised, eyes locked directly on them.
Elira gasped, tugging Shiro's sleeve. "They saw us!"
"Run!" he barked, yanking both sisters toward the alleyways that twisted behind the square. Their sandals slapped against the cobbles as the knight's boots thundered after them.
"Stop! By order of the Temple!"
They darted around a corner, breath ragged, hearts pounding. Shiro risked a glance back—too late. The knight rounded the bend, his blade drawn, his face a mask of grim duty.
And then—another voice cut in.
"Brother! News from the Academy!"
A second knight appeared from the opposite street, his cloak torn from the run. The first one halted, breathless, caught between duty and report.
"They weren't there," the new arrival said grimly. "The anomaly and his sisters never came to the Academy."
The pursuing knight's eyes narrowed. "I had them—I was just on their heels!"
"Then they're close," the second muttered, scanning the alleys. His gauntlet pointed to a side passage—their passage—but only for an instant. "They can't have gone far. Spread out!"
Orders barked. Boots thundered. The knights moved on.
Shiro pressed himself against the alley wall, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his temple. Elira clung to his side, trembling. Mirielle buried her face in his cloak.
The knight had been only a breath away. One more step, one more heartbeat, and he would have turned into the alley.
And then—
"Think," the woman's voice whispered again. "Find a place. Somewhere hidden. Somewhere forgotten."
Shiro's mind seized on the memory. The abandoned storehouse. His old hiding place.
"Yes," the voice urged. "Hold it. Do not let it go."
Heat surged in his chest. His limbs locked, seared by invisible fire. His sisters cried out as symbols burned into the air around them—glowing, writhing, alive.
The crowd surged as the knights began pulling his parents away. Shouts turned to chaos, some people pushing back, others stumbling to flee. It was the only cover they would get.
The voice whispered again, softer this time, almost kind.
"Good. Hide, for now. Survive. The time to fight will come soon enough."
And so Shiro led his sisters away, his heart a storm of grief and fury, to the only "safe place" he could think of. The press of bodies shielded them as Shiro dragged Elira and Mirielle through the chaotic crowd. His heart hammered so loud he thought the knights might hear it. The square blurred — banners, faces, shouts — all folding into a haze of fear and desperation.
"Where—where are we going?" Elira whispered, stumbling at his side.
Shiro clenched his teeth. He didn't know. Not really. Anywhere away from here. Anywhere the Temple's eyes couldn't find them.
And then — the voice again.
"Think. A place hidden. A place forgotten. Somewhere only you know."
His breath caught. His mind reached instinctively toward a memory: the abandoned grain storehouse on the far edge of Ardenthal. Broken roof. Rotting beams. A place he had once escaped to as a child when the world felt too heavy.
The voice pressed closer, urgent.
"Yes. Fix that place in your mind. Picture every stone. Every shadow. Hold it tight."
"What are you—" Shiro began, but his words broke. His body jerked, his limbs suddenly stiff, as if invisible strings had seized him.
Elira gasped. "Shiro?!"
A heat like molten metal surged in his veins. His hand rose without his command, his sisters clutched tightly against him. The world tilted, light flared — symbols burning in the air around them, circles within circles, lines spiraling like the turning of the Cycle itself.
The crowd didn't notice; the chaos of the arrest drowned everything. But Shiro felt it — power older than the city, alive and writhing inside his skin.
And then the world shattered.
With a sound like cracking glass, the square dissolved into white.
For a single, endless instant, he was nowhere — suspended in a void of humming light, his sisters' screams muffled by the roar in his ears. Then the light collapsed inward, dragging them down—
They fell hard, dust exploding beneath their feet. Darkness. Silence.
Shiro gasped, air ripping back into his lungs. His body crumpled to the ground, weak and trembling. Sweat stung his eyes. He could hear Elira sobbing, Mirielle coughing, but he couldn't lift his head. He was hollow. Drained.
The voice whispered, softer now.
"Forgive me. It was the only way."
His vision blurred. The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was the familiar broken rafters of the abandoned storehouse. They were safe. For now.
The Temple of the Cycle rules in silence and in fire.
Priests claim the gods' will, their words law across every city and farm. They decide which souls are honored, which condemned. They bless marriages, sanctify births, and oversee every Awakening. None dare oppose them.
Beneath them, the Orders of Knights enforce the Temple's decrees. The Holy Knights guard the priests and hunt heresy; the Common Knights serve the cities, policing the people and collecting tithes. Together they form the blade and shield of the gods' Law.
The common folk endure. Some worship in fear, believing obedience spares them from divine wrath. Others cling to hope, praying that good deeds will win them a better life in the next turn of the Cycle.
But whispers persist. Whispers that the Temple grows fat from offerings, that the noble houses twist the law to bind their souls into endless dynasties. Whispers that the gods do not answer prayers, that the priests are liars, and that the Cycle itself is a cage.
The world is balanced on the blade of a knife. And into this balance — an anomaly has been born.
When Shiro finally stirred, the storehouse rafters loomed above him, half-collapsed and splintered. His body ached as though every bone had been hollowed out. Beside him, Elira and Mirielle huddled close, clutching his arms, their tear-streaked faces filled with fear.
Shiro tried to speak, but only a ragged whisper left his throat. "I… I don't know what's happening…"
For the first time, he allowed himself to break. His fists shook against the dirt floor. His parents were gone. His family was hunted. His body was no longer his own.
And somewhere in the shadows of his mind, the woman's voice lingered — calm, certain, waiting.
"This is only the beginning."
The square was already full by the time Shiro and Elira pushed their way through the crowd. Bells tolled overhead, sharp and relentless, ringing out the sound of trouble.
"What's going on?" Elira whispered, clinging to his sleeve.
He didn't answer. His chest already knew.
At the center of the square, a circle of armored knights stood in formation, their polished breastplates gleaming in the morning sun. Between them, his parents knelt with their hands bound. His mother's face was pale but calm; his father's jaw was clenched tight, defiant even in silence.
"Papa… Mama…" Elira's voice cracked.
"Quiet," Shiro hissed, pulling her closer into the shelter of the crowd. If they were seen—
The priest stepped forward, robes flowing like waves of ink. His voice carried unnaturally, each word amplified as though the gods themselves demanded silence.
"Citizens of Ardenthal. By decree of the Temple, these two stand accused of spawning an anomaly. They will be taken for interrogation, their souls examined for corruption."
Murmurs broke out instantly, disbelief rippling like a storm. Shiro's stomach twisted. Spawning the anomaly…? They mean me.
The priest raised a hand, silencing the crowd.
"Their offspring are to be seized as well. We have already dispatched knights to the Academy to collect the anomaly himself. The siblings too will be brought in for questioning."
Elira gasped, clutching his arm so tightly her nails dug in. Somewhere else in the crowd, a smaller hand tugged on his cloak. He turned to see Mirielle — wide-eyed, shaking, her ribbon crooked in her hair.
She must've been out running errands when the commotion started. Now she is here. In plain sight.
The crowd erupted. Voices shouted — protests, denials, fear.
"They've done nothing wrong!"
"Interrogate them? What is this, the Inquisition?"
"Even the children? Have you no shame?"
But the knights only tightened their formation. Chains rattled. Shiro's parents were forced to their feet, the priest shouting to drown out the voices around him.
"Silence"
Shiro's nails dug into his palms. Every instinct screamed to run forward, to do something. Anything. But he was frozen—until a voice brushed against his mind.
"Leave. Now."
It was the same voice from the ceremony and the dream. Female, sharp yet gentle, commanding without shouting.
Shiro flinched, glancing around wildly. No one near him had spoken.
"You must not be seen here. When the crowd thins, their eyes will find you. Take your sisters and go."
His heart hammered in his ears. The magician. The woman from the battlefield. She was in his head again.
"Elira. Mirielle." He swallowed, trying to sound calm. "Stay close. We're leaving."
"But—" Elira's eyes filled with tears.
"We can't help them here," he said, forcing the words through clenched teeth. His throat burned with every syllable. "If they find us now… we'll only make things worse."
Shiro grabbed his sisters' hands, threading them through the moving bodies, forcing himself not to look back. Not to see the way his mother's eyes searched the crowd, or the way his father stood taller even in chains.
The crowd surged like a storm-tossed sea, and for a moment Shiro thought they'd slip away unnoticed. But as he turned down a narrow street, a shout cut through the chaos.
"There! By the well—three children!"
Armor clattered. Shiro's blood turned to ice. A knight was pushing through the throng, his steel gauntlet raised, eyes locked directly on them.
Elira gasped, tugging Shiro's sleeve. "They saw us!"
"Run!" he barked, yanking both sisters toward the alleyways that twisted behind the square. Their sandals slapped against the cobbles as the knight's boots thundered after them.
"Stop! By order of the Temple!"
They darted around a corner, breath ragged, hearts pounding. Shiro risked a glance back—too late. The knight rounded the bend, his blade drawn, his face a mask of grim duty.
And then—another voice cut in.
"Brother! News from the Academy!"
A second knight appeared from the opposite street, his cloak torn from the run. The first one halted, breathless, caught between duty and report.
"They weren't there," the new arrival said grimly. "The anomaly and his sisters never came to the Academy."
The pursuing knight's eyes narrowed. "I had them—I was just on their heels!"
"Then they're close," the second muttered, scanning the alleys. His gauntlet pointed to a side passage—their passage—but only for an instant. "They can't have gone far. Spread out!"
Orders barked. Boots thundered. The knights moved on.
Shiro pressed himself against the alley wall, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his temple. Elira clung to his side, trembling. Mirielle buried her face in his cloak.
The knight had been only a breath away. One more step, one more heartbeat, and he would have turned into the alley.
And then—
"Think," the woman's voice whispered again. "Find a place. Somewhere hidden. Somewhere forgotten."
Shiro's mind seized on the memory. The abandoned storehouse. His old hiding place.
"Yes," the voice urged. "Hold it. Do not let it go."
Heat surged in his chest. His limbs locked, seared by invisible fire. His sisters cried out as symbols burned into the air around them—glowing, writhing, alive.
The crowd surged as the knights began pulling his parents away. Shouts turned to chaos, some people pushing back, others stumbling to flee. It was the only cover they would get.
The voice whispered again, softer this time, almost kind.
"Good. Hide, for now. Survive. The time to fight will come soon enough."
And so Shiro led his sisters away, his heart a storm of grief and fury, to the only "safe place" he could think of. The press of bodies shielded them as Shiro dragged Elira and Mirielle through the chaotic crowd. His heart hammered so loud he thought the knights might hear it. The square blurred — banners, faces, shouts — all folding into a haze of fear and desperation.
"Where—where are we going?" Elira whispered, stumbling at his side.
Shiro clenched his teeth. He didn't know. Not really. Anywhere away from here. Anywhere the Temple's eyes couldn't find them.
And then — the voice again.
"Think. A place hidden. A place forgotten. Somewhere only you know."
His breath caught. His mind reached instinctively toward a memory: the abandoned grain storehouse on the far edge of Ardenthal. Broken roof. Rotting beams. A place he had once escaped to as a child when the world felt too heavy.
The voice pressed closer, urgent.
"Yes. Fix that place in your mind. Picture every stone. Every shadow. Hold it tight."
"What are you—" Shiro began, but his words broke. His body jerked, his limbs suddenly stiff, as if invisible strings had seized him.
Elira gasped. "Shiro?!"
A heat like molten metal surged in his veins. His hand rose without his command, his sisters clutched tightly against him. The world tilted, light flared — symbols burning in the air around them, circles within circles, lines spiraling like the turning of the Cycle itself.
The crowd didn't notice; the chaos of the arrest drowned everything. But Shiro felt it — power older than the city, alive and writhing inside his skin.
And then the world shattered.
With a sound like cracking glass, the square dissolved into white.
For a single, endless instant, he was nowhere — suspended in a void of humming light, his sisters' screams muffled by the roar in his ears. Then the light collapsed inward, dragging them down—
They fell hard, dust exploding beneath their feet. Darkness. Silence.
Shiro gasped, air ripping back into his lungs. His body crumpled to the ground, weak and trembling. Sweat stung his eyes. He could hear Elira sobbing, Mirielle coughing, but he couldn't lift his head. He was hollow. Drained.
The voice whispered, softer now.
"Forgive me. It was the only way."
His vision blurred. The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was the familiar broken rafters of the abandoned storehouse. They were safe. For now.
The Temple of the Cycle rules in silence and in fire.
Priests claim the gods' will, their words law across every city and farm. They decide which souls are honored, which condemned. They bless marriages, sanctify births, and oversee every Awakening. None dare oppose them.
Beneath them, the Orders of Knights enforce the Temple's decrees. The Holy Knights guard the priests and hunt heresy; the Common Knights serve the cities, policing the people and collecting tithes. Together they form the blade and shield of the gods' Law.
The common folk endure. Some worship in fear, believing obedience spares them from divine wrath. Others cling to hope, praying that good deeds will win them a better life in the next turn of the Cycle.
But whispers persist. Whispers that the Temple grows fat from offerings, that the noble houses twist the law to bind their souls into endless dynasties. Whispers that the gods do not answer prayers, that the priests are liars, and that the Cycle itself is a cage.
The world is balanced on the blade of a knife. And into this balance — an anomaly has been born.
When Shiro finally stirred, the storehouse rafters loomed above him, half-collapsed and splintered. His body ached as though every bone had been hollowed out. Beside him, Elira and Mirielle huddled close, clutching his arms, their tear-streaked faces filled with fear.
Shiro tried to speak, but only a ragged whisper left his throat. "I… I don't know what's happening…"
For the first time, he allowed himself to break. His fists shook against the dirt floor. His parents were gone. His family was hunted. His body was no longer his own.
And somewhere in the shadows of his mind, the woman's voice lingered — calm, certain, waiting.
"This is only the beginning."