Vaeroth woke angry.
Word of Tregar Voss's arrest spread through the city like sparks racing across dry straw. By sunrise, crowds had gathered in alleys, on balconies, and around the Hall of Records. Some cheered. Some yelled. Some simply watched with tight jaws — people who knew that when a powerful man is dragged down, someone stronger usually steps forward to take his place.
Inside the Hall, Aeron sat on a bench outside the hearing chamber, head bowed, hands glowing faintly under his sleeves. The glow came and went like a nervous heartbeat.
"You're doing that thing again," Maera said, leaning against the opposite wall. "The glow. It's pulsing like you swallowed a lantern."
Aeron exhaled. "It just happens when I'm anxious."
"Ah," Maera nodded. "So… all the time."
Aeron cracked a tiny, shy smile.
The chamber doors opened. Garron emerged, followed by Lyria, Soryn, and Kethra. Garron's expression was carved stone — hard enough to break a door but heavy with more thoughts than he would ever say aloud.
Lyria tossed a folded document into Maera's hands. "Voss confessed — not willingly, of course. But when we cornered him with the ledgers and witness reports, he buckled."
"Did he say who ordered the grain diversions?" Maera asked.
"Yes," Soryn answered. "But the answer only creates more questions."
He placed a parchment on the table. The signature glowed faintly, marked with a brand rather than ink: a hammer striking an anvil.
Kethra spat. "The Forgefathers."
"Voss says he never met them directly," Lyria added. "Only dealt with an envoy — a hooded figure who wore metal rings etched with runes."
Maera whistled. "So we've got a cult-like economic cartel with matching jewelry. Wonderful."
Soryn leaned in, lowering his voice. "What matters is what Voss didn't say."
Garron nodded. "The Sovereign's name never came up. Either he doesn't know, or he was too terrified to speak it."
Aeron's glow dimmed. "So the corruption goes deeper."
"Worse," Kethra said. "It reacts fast."
Just then, the outer doors slammed open. A battered messenger stumbled inside, face pale.
"Emergency! The Ashwatch district is burning! Saboteurs attacked the grain wagons meant for redistribution!"
Garron grabbed his hammer. "We move."
Lyria's eyes narrowed. "Not just saboteurs. This is retaliation."
Maera was already sprinting. "Oh, good. I needed a reason to get my steps in."
Aeron followed, the glow in his chest tightening like a warning.
When the group reached the Ashwatch district, they found chaos: overturned carts, burning sacks of grain, terrified families hiding behind barrels. Smoke thickened the air with a choking sting.
But the attackers were still there.
A half-circle of masked fighters stood around the flames, each wearing the same brand as Voss's document — the hammer over the anvil. Their leader was tall, wrapped in metallic cloth that shimmered like steel dust.
"Step aside!" the leader shouted. "By order of the Forgefathers, unauthorized grain redistribution is a civic crime!"
Maera snorted. "Crime? Feeding people is a crime now?"
The leader raised a spear with a glimmering iron tip. "Mercy breeds dependency. Order must be maintained."
Garron stepped forward, voice cold. "We're maintaining it. You're the ones burning food."
The leader lowered his mask, revealing silver eyes — not magical, but fierce in a way that said he'd seen enough suffering to turn himself into a weapon.
"I lost my family in the last famine," he said. "The city abandoned us. If people learn to depend on handouts, the cycle continues. Hunger must be controlled."
Aeron felt something sharp twist inside. This man wasn't evil — he was shaped by pain.
"We can fix hunger without hurting people," Aeron said quietly.
"Naive," the leader spat. "Pain is the only teacher that listens."
He charged.
The battle erupted.
Garron's hammer collided with a spear, sparks flashing. Lyria slipped between two attackers like wind, her rapier flicking with surgical strikes. Maera spun, claws slashing, tail whipping legs out from beneath masked fighters. Kethra used her wrench like an axe, smashing spear shafts.
Aeron ducked under a blade, fear making his glow flare brighter.
The leader lunged at Aeron.
"You carry ash in your veins," he growled. "You're a symbol of the chaos to come!"
Instinct took over.
Aeron raised his hands — and flame burst out in a cone of molten light. The leader jumped back, cloak smoking. Aeron stumbled, horrified at the power he had unleashed.
"Kid!" Maera yelled. "Warn us before you explode like that!"
After a brutal exchange, the masked fighters retreated, dragging their wounded.
"We're not done," their leader growled. "The Forgefathers will choke this city before letting you rewrite its order."
As they vanished into the smoke, Aeron's glow dimmed again — but this time, a strange ember stayed under his skin.
Soryn grabbed his shoulder. "You're changing."
Aeron swallowed hard. "I know."
Above them, the smoke twisted into a shape that looked almost like a face — watching.
Waiting.