CHAPTER 17: THE HEIR’S JUDGMENT

Caedrion emerged from the dungeon with a greater understanding of magic than he had ever theorized was possible.

And also of his limitations.

In theory, he could construct and manipulate matter at the atomic scale. But in practice, his attempts would only result in the detonation of whatever being he attempted to cast upon.

Or himself if he couldn’t control the backlash....

Put simply, he lacked the energy required to produce such results.

Every spell consumed the mana flowing through his veins, mana that would only regenerate through proper rest.

He didn’t yet know if it was possible to increase his capacity for mana storage, or if he could refine his spellwork to become more efficient. Perhaps in time he might find a secondary power source to draw upon.

All he knew for certain was this: the magic of the Architect could, in theory, manipulate atoms themselves.

But in practice, that dream remained distant.

He rested that night.

And come morning, he fulfilled the promise he had made to his family.

Dressed in the proper battle attire of a Magus, Caedrion stood alone in the city square.

His father, aunt, and fiancée remained within the safety of their castle, whether by reluctance or fear, none could say.

Caedrion stood at the center of a growing crowd, surrounded by the knights of House Ferrondel.

Citizens pressed in from every direction, murmuring in confusion and unease at the sight of the shackled prisoners, men clearly bearing the sigils of House Ignarion.

The murmurs died down the moment Caedrion spoke.

"These men came to my home from House Ignarion, demanding we return a ward, one who had sought our protection after being falsely accused of an attempt on my life by Valerius Ignarion himself. They insulted my aunt. They violated guest rights. In doing so, they stand here today, guilty."

Whispers turned to outrage. Shouts rang through the air like sparks catching on dry kindling.

For too long, House Ferrondel had endured humiliation at the hands of their neighbors. But this?

Attempting to murder their heir, framing a loyal ward, and then demanding his head? That was too far.

Stones flew, one, then many. Acts that would’ve been criminal under other circumstances.

But with guilt declared by the heir of House Ferrondel, the prisoners’ fates were sealed. They no longer had the right to abuse or even stand above the common man.

The city had endured. But now it remembered how to rage.

"Tyrants!"

"Bastards!"

"Thieves!"

"Murderers!"

"Off with their heads!"

Caedrion raised a hand, and the crowd quieted, barely. Their fury still smoldered behind their eyes.

"For generations, House Ferrondel has been ground beneath the heel of others. They’ve taken our lands. They’ve stripped us of dignity. But never before have they dared to strike at the heart of my family. And yet, here we are."

He turned to the prisoners.

"Speak. Tell them the truth. Tell them all what your House has done."

There was no hesitation.

Those who had survived the dungeon, and what came after, knew better than to test fate again. Their words were nearly in unison.

"Lord Caedrion speaks truth. Valerius Ignarion tried to kill him, for reasons we cannot say for certain, but we suspect he covets Lady Aelindria. He framed his half-brother Baelius, and we were sent to retrieve Baelius before the truth could come out. We know our guilt. We only ask for a clean death."

Even the most skeptical among the gathered crowd found no trace of deceit in their words.

Caedrion pulled off his glove, raising his bare hand to the light. The leylines across his skin glowed like molten gold.

"As heir to the Architect, I pass sentence in her name, and in the name of all the Eidolons. Death."

He swept his hand like a blade.

One head fell.

Then another.

And another.

Caedrion moved like lightning, too fast to follow. His flesh had been reforged by magic, denser than steel, sharper than obsidian.

By the time the city realized a moment had passed, every prisoner was dead. Their headless bodies hung limp in the pillories.

Not a sound escaped the crowd. Not even breath.

Caedrion stood motionless, his uniform and skin drenched in ichor like a ghoul who had just fed. Then, with a snap of his fingers, he was clean again, pristine as though it had never happened.

The magic defied every known law.

The executions could have been achieved by an elite Formwright, perhaps someone like Sylene. But Caedrion was not a Formwright.

And yet he moved, struck, and purified himself in ways no other Architect-blooded magus should be able to.

The silence was broken by Caedrion’s voice, low and calm, eyes lifted to the heavens.

"It is most regrettable that we’ve been forced into this position. Know this: House Ferrondel has never sought war. But neither have we ever feared it. If this was meant to provoke us, then House Ignarion shall have its wish. And let it be known: this war will end their claim to greatness. One way or another."

He turned and said no more.

But behind him, the streets erupted in thunderous roars. The people had been wounded for too long, and now, finally, their chains had broken.

Aelindria watched the entire scene from afar.

The boy she once knew had grown into something she could neither predict nor control.

And though she wouldn’t admit it, by the time Caedrion turned from the square and began his return to the castle...

Her cheeks had turned scarlet, and not from the sun’s kiss.