Chapter 29: The Weight of A Word
THIRD PERSON POV
Avin walked further into the temple, his eyes locked on Miranda.
Ashborn followed immediately after. And the moment his boots struck the marble floor, the air itself changed. Every guard within the chamber snapped into rigid attention, their armored heels striking down as one. The sound echoed like thunder through the hall.
THUD.
THUD.
THUD.
Ashborn did not even look at them. He merely raised one arm, curling his fingers in a subtle, almost dismissive "come here" gesture. Instantly, the chamber shifted from tension to eerie calm.
Avin saw it clearly — power. His own entrance had caused no ripple, no shift. But Ashborn’s? His presence alone commanded the Sanctuary. They bent to his will as if it were divine law.
Ashborn moved without pause, striding toward Miranda’s questioning stall, and Avin followed, his steps awkward, hesitant.
They stopped before the council. Ashborn bowed low, a gesture of reverence practiced through years of ritual. Avin mimicked him, copying every angle, every controlled motion, every detail — as if trying to hide behind his brother’s shadow.
Yet, as he bent forward, his eyes couldn’t help but flick to Miranda.
She stood in her stall, chains biting her wrists. She leaned heavily against the wood for support, her body trembling, fragile. Avin’s chest tightened with rage at himself — powerless, helpless, nothing but a spectator as the girl who had once smiled at him was paraded like livestock.
Ashborn turned, moving toward the row of chairs provided for the Chrono family. He seated himself with controlled dignity. Avin followed, slipping into the chair closest to him, trying to hold his posture even as his insides churned.
Silence. Long. Suffocating.
Then — movement.
The eldest of the robed priests rose slowly from his seat above the others, his ancient frame commanding instant respect.
At once, every guard drew their swords — sheathed — and struck them against the marble.
THUD.
THUD.
THUD.
A pulse of light burst from the temple floor. Runes spread outward, weaving into a massive magic circle. Strange symbols flickered into being, swirling like constellations. Among them, Avin caught one detail that froze him:
A sequence of Arabic numerals. Endless, spiraling along the rim of the circle.
3.14159...
Pi.
The circle rose higher and higher, crawling up the towering pillars, washing the temple in green light. When it reached the ceiling, it shattered with a sound like breaking glass, scattering into millions of shards. They fell like emerald rain, disappearing just before they touched the ground.
The swords were raised again, resheathed.
Then the elder’s voice thundered, solemn and formal.
"In the arms of our god Chronos, time is void. The river halts at His command. He grants us this sacred interval, wherein judgment may be rendered. And thus, we lift our praise to Him."
The guards, knights, and priests stomped their boots three times.
THUD.
THUD.
THUD.
Silence.
The elder lowered himself back into his stall.
With a grinding roar of gears, Miranda’s stall rotated on its axis until she faced the twelve elders. Chains rattled with every movement.
Another man — seated at the far right of the tribunal — stood. His voice was sharp, his tone devious.
"This trial convenes upon a godless peasant, the child of a woman who embraced the abyss. The mother, a suspected spy of the fallen Boreas family, infiltrated the Chrono household to gather secrets and strike at one of our precious nobles."
"Precious noble?" Avin thought bitterly, his teeth grinding. Me? The same one you ridicule, spit on, discard? Suddenly I am precious when it serves your scheme?
The man’s voice dripped venom.
"As the spawn of a condemned abyssal beast, this girl now stands before the honored Chrono Church. She shall be judged for the sins of treason, and for the attempted harm of a noble. In place of her mother, she will answer."
Avin’s nails dug into his palms. Rage swelled until it made him tremble. He imagined leaping forward, cracking the old man’s skull against the marble, rearranging his mind until he spoke truth. But he sat still, powerless.
The inquisitor turned to Miranda.
"Do you worship a god?"
Her voice was faint, but steady. "No."
"Did your mother?"
"No."
"Are you a spy for Boreas?"
"No."
"Was your mother?"
"No."
"Do you bear hatred for noble blood?"
"No."
"Did she?"
"No."
Question after question, accusation after accusation. Each time, Miranda’s answer was the same — calm, unwavering. Not hysterical, not frantic. Avin could see it in her: she was terrified, yet there was a strange composure, like a girl who had already surrendered to fate.
The man sighed, his lips curling.
"As foreseen, she denies all. Which is why we have summoned a witness."
His eyes slid to Avin.
"The young master of the beloved Chrono family — Avin Nulla-Chrono."
Avin’s chest seized. All eyes fell on him. The elders. The guards. The faceless masses beyond the doors. The weight of judgment pressed on his shoulders.
"Go on, then."
He turned. Ashborn’s eyes met his, cold, unflinching.
"Go and save our reputation," Ashborn said, his voice a blade. "Be a Chrono."
The words should have filled him with disgust. And yet — deep down, Avin felt it. The spark. The strange, irrational admiration for his brother’s strength. It motivated him, even as it hollowed him.
Damn... Avin really was pathetic.
He rose. Step by step, he walked to the witness stall, his body stiff, his chest tight. Standing within, he lifted his chin to face the tribunal.
The inquisitor extended a hand toward him.
"This noble witnessed the abyssal beast’s rampage. If he attests to her treachery, the girl will inherit her mother’s punishment. Death. The family of Chrono will be cleared of stain and granted retribution against Boreas."
His finger pointed to Miranda.
"So tell us, young master. Were you attacked by the abyssal monster — the mother of this girl?"
The chamber stilled.
Avin turned his head.
Miranda met his gaze. And she smiled.
A soft, fragile smile. Relief. She believed in him. Believed he would save her. Believed he would choose her over the family, over reputation, over everything.
Her eyes pleaded: You will protect me. You always will.
But Avin’s thoughts twisted like knives.
Should I risk everything for her? Risk exile, hatred, the end of any chance of answers? She and her mother cared for Avin. But I am not Avin. I am Clive. Do I really throw away my one chance in this world for feelings that aren’t even mine?
And yet... if I betray her, I betray the only people who ever treated Avin with kindness. The only ones who gave him warmth.
His thoughts tangled, colliding, ripping him apart.
Silence reigned. Only the faint rustle of his clothes as he lowered his head, closing his eyes.
And then...
...
...
...
...
"Yes."