Alex woke to silence.
Not the ritual chamber's suffocating pressure. Not pain. Just… stillness.
He lay on a simple stone bed inside a circular room lined with runic wards so dense they overlapped like scales. They hummed softly, not suppressive—observational. As if the room itself was watching him breathe.
He lifted his left arm.
The black markings were gone.
In their place was something new.
A chain.
Not real metal—inked into his skin like a living sigil. It began at his left wrist, winding upward in elegant, interlocking links, disappearing beneath his sleeve and reemerging across his collarbone before vanishing behind his neck. The design was intricate, deliberate, almost… restrained.
Not corruption.
Containment.
System Status: Active
Visibility: Restricted
External Detection: Null
The words appeared silently, only for him.
Alex's breath steadied.
So they couldn't see it.
Good.
The door opened.
Three figures entered: the High Inquisitor, a woman in imperial magus robes, and a man wearing the sigil of the Crown—an observer, not clergy.
They stopped when they saw him awake.
The magus stepped forward first, her eyes glowing faintly as she scanned him with layered detection spells. Her brow furrowed. Then tightened.
"No corruption," she said slowly. "No abyssal taint. No divine infestation. His mana flow is… abnormal, but stable."
The Crown observer stiffened. "You're certain?"
She nodded. "If this boy were corrupted, this chamber wouldn't still be standing."
Silence followed.
The High Inquisitor studied Alex for a long moment.
Then he sighed.
"Untie him."
The chains did not return—but the decision had already been made.
They didn't call it a trial.
Trials implied the possibility of innocence.
Instead, Alex was presented.
The Grand Convocation Hall filled to capacity—tiered marble seating rising like a coliseum, banners of every high noble house hanging from vaulted ceilings. At the highest tier sat the Imperial family, crowned in gold and authority.
Every duke.
Every archduke.
The heads of the Church.
The Magisterium.
All present.
Alex stood alone at the center of the floor.
No chains.
No weapons.
Just a fourteen-year-old boy in plain white ceremonial garb, his left arm uncovered—his new mark visible for all to see.
Murmurs rippled through the hall.
"That's him."
"The cursed twin."
"Look—no corruption?"
"Impossible…"
The Emperor raised one hand.
Silence fell instantly.
"Alex von Luthien," the Emperor said, voice echoing with trained command. "You stand accused of destabilizing noble order, manifesting anomalous mana phenomena, and representing an unacceptable risk to the empire."
Alex said nothing.
The High Inquisitor stepped forward.
"Our investigation is complete," he announced. "The subject is not corrupted. The incident at House Luthien was an act of self-defense. The year of lost memory corresponds to abduction and forced mana conditioning by an unknown organization."
Shock rippled through the nobles.
"However," the Inquisitor continued, "the outcome remains unchanged."
Alex looked up.
For the first time, he spoke.
"If I'm not corrupted," he asked calmly, "then why am I here?"
The Emperor met his gaze.
"Because you are uncontrolled."
A noble stood. "An E-rank Peak at fourteen, with A-rank mana capacity? That defies the Ascension Path."
Another added, "And his affinity hasn't even manifested yet. When it does—"
"It could be catastrophic," someone whispered.
The Magisterium representative folded her hands. "He is not evil. But he is unprecedented."
The word carried more fear than accusation ever could.
Unprecedented.
The Emperor stood.
"The empire cannot execute an innocent child," he said. "Nor can it allow one beyond its ability to govern to remain within its borders."
Alex felt the truth settle before the words came.
"Therefore," the Emperor declared, "by unanimous accord of Crown, Church, and High Houses—Alex von Luthien is hereby exiled from the Aurelian Empire."
Gasps echoed.
His mother lowered her head.
His father did not look at him.
Azrael stood beside the throne, face composed, eyes unreadable.
"The subject will retain his life," the Emperor continued, "but relinquish all titles, inheritance, and protections. His name will be struck from succession records. Any return to imperial lands will be treated as hostile intrusion."
Alex stood very still.
Exile.
Not death.
Worse.
The High Inquisitor approached him one final time.
"You will be escorted beyond the empire's outer boundary by dawn," he said quietly. "The Church will ensure you survive the crossing."
Alex met his eyes.
"And after that?"
The Inquisitor hesitated.
"That," he admitted, "is no longer our concern."
Alex nodded.
Inside, the system stirred—silent, patient.
Status: Exile Registered
Constraints Removed
Pathways Opened
No one heard it.
As guards approached to escort him away, Alex turned once—just once—toward the assembled nobles, royals, and gods-on-thrones who had decided his fate.
"I wasn't unlucky," he said softly.
No one answered.
And as he walked out of the Grand Convocation Hall—stripped of name, home, and future—the chain-mark on his arm pulsed faintly.
Not as a shackle.
But as a promise.
The empire had exiled him to avoid disaster.
It had no idea it had just released one.