The church still smelled of wax and smoke. The candles had been extinguished hours ago, yet the scent lingered, clinging to the air like something unwilling to leave. Smoke drifted lazily along the rafters, blurring the light that filtered through the stained glass windows. Dust floated in the shafts of sunlight, slow and silent, and each sound seemed to echo longer than it should have.
When Alexander entered, the murmurs began. They were faint at first, uncertain breaths, half-formed words, but they grew like a tide moving through the pews. Faces turned toward him, some in disbelief, others in barely contained fury. The sound of his boots on the old stone floor cut through the whispers, sharp and deliberate.
He walked with a soldier's posture, but without the stiffness of one. His cloak trailed behind him, dark and heavy against the pale light. When he reached the center of the nave, he stopped and bowed his head, not in reverence, but out of habit, as though the gesture had long ago lost its meaning.
"I was told this gathering was meant to honor the fallen," he said. His voice was calm and clear, not loud but made to carry. "But it seems I was called here for a different reason."
The crowd didn't answer. The silence pressed close again, heavy as stone. In the front rows, a few rebels shifted uncomfortably; behind them, villagers and soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder, eyes fixed on him.
"I've heard what's being said," Alexander continued. "That I betrayed the Knights of Light. That I sold you all to the Valval Priesthood." He lifted his hands slightly, palms open, as if offering them his emptiness. "So here I am. If I were guilty, I'd have stayed behind my walls and let your grief build whatever story suited it."
He let the words settle. The air felt colder now, the kind of chill that seeps in when anger meets doubt.
From the far side of the room, Aros stepped forward. His face was pale beneath the flicker of the lamps, and his expression carried the exhaustion of someone who had held his rage for too long."You mean your castle," Aros said. "The one they gave you after you betrayed us?"
Alexander's eyes found him easily. He didn't flinch or look away. "You're not wrong," he said. "They did give me lands. Bondrea, to be exact."
A ripple of sound went through the hall: muffled gasps, low murmurs, even Talon's controlled demeanor broke for a heartbeat.
Aros took another step forward. "Bondrea," he said, his voice rising. "A gift paid for with thirteen of our dead."
Alexander's smile was faint, more a shadow than an expression. "A gift," he repeated. "A ruin, really. The fields are ash, the rivers poison. The Light burned through it until even the stones crumbled. I walk there sometimes. The ground breathes like something buried but not gone. If that's generosity, they can keep it."
He turned slowly, letting his gaze sweep across the faces before him. His tone softened, almost weary. "You all know Bondrea. You've seen what's left of it. Maybe they didn't reward me. Maybe they wanted to remind me. To show me what happens when a noble forgets who he is."
Aros crossed his arms, but his anger was less steady now, laced with uncertainty. "You talk well," he said. "Too well. But you're still a noble first, rebel second."
"Maybe," Alexander admitted. He took a step closer. "But nobility has its uses. My name still carries weight. There are those who remember what my family stood for before the Light twisted everything it touched. If I wanted, I could call them to arms tomorrow. And they would come."
A few in the crowd exchanged uneasy looks. Talon's hands clenched behind his back. "Alexander, that's enough..."
But Alexander ignored him. His gaze shifted again, slow and deliberate, until it rested on a man standing halfway down the aisle. Gustav.
"Tell me, Gustav of Galiera," Alexander said, his voice quieter now but sharper. "What name do you carry these days?"
Gustav straightened, startled. "What are you implying?"
"Only that it's curious," Alexander said, "how a man stripped of land and title suddenly becomes master of one of the richest duchies on the southern coast."
"That's a lie," Gustav said quickly, but his tone cracked halfway through the sentence.
Alexander's eyes narrowed. "Is it? Because Jacobo seems to think otherwise."
He reached into his coat and withdrew a folded letter, sealed in gold wax with the unmistakable mark of the Valval Priesthood. The light caught it, glinting faintly as he held it up.
"'To Gustav of Galiera,'" Alexander began to read, his tone slow and even, "'by decree of His Grace Jacobo, High Servant of the Light, you are hereby appointed Duke of Vishora, with full recognition of title and estate.'"
The reaction was immediate. Gasps broke through the church, followed by whispers and scattered shouts. Aros turned to Gustav, disbelief cutting through the anger on his face. "Tell me it's not true."
Gustav's mouth opened, but no sound came out. His face drained of color. He looked from Aros to Talon, and then to the knights by the doors, as though someone might step in and rescue him from his own silence.
Alexander stepped closer, holding out the letter with casual grace. "Congratulations, Gustav. You have a home again. Consider me your messenger."
Talon slammed his palm against the altar. The sound rang out like a bell. "Enough!" His voice cut through the chaos. "If that letter is genuine, Gustav of Galiera will be taken into custody. We'll question him when this ceremony is over."
Two knights moved immediately, their armor clinking as they approached.
Gustav stumbled backward, his composure gone. "You don't understand," he said, his voice breaking. "It wasn't like that, I didn't..."
Aros stepped toward him, his face hard and expressionless. "You did."
The knights seized Gustav by the arms. He didn't resist. The sound of the chains echoed as they dragged him toward the side door.
Alexander watched them go, then carefully folded the letter and tucked it back inside his coat. His tone was calm, almost polite. "I believe that clears my name. At least for today."
He looked back at Aros. "Call me a traitor again if it helps you sleep, but next time, make sure you're shouting at the right man."
Aros's fists tightened. For a moment, he looked ready to strike, but Talon raised a hand and stopped him. "Not here," he said.
Alexander gave a small, humorless smile. "Of course. You always did love order, Talon."
He turned and walked toward one of the side benches. The church felt larger now, emptier somehow, as if the air itself was trying to recover from what had just happened. He sat down slowly, crossing one leg over the other, his composure unbroken.
He tilted his head back, eyes catching the fractured colors of light spilling through the stained glass. His voice, when he spoke, was almost gentle."Now," he said, "shall we continue the funeral?"
No one moved. No one spoke.The silence returned, heavier, colder, and far more alive than before.