Thump. Thump. Thump.

The sound echoed through the workshop, heavy like a judge's gavel striking. Each footstep that approached the sealed doors seemed to shake the very air, vibrating with a power that was nothing like the beasts they had fought before.

This was a different kind of monster.

Vanessa, who had been running a diagnostic on the now-cooling Synthesis Loom, flinched with every step. She glanced at Jonah, her eyes wide with a question she didn't dare ask:

Are we about to face heavy punishment?

Jonah just gave her a reassuring smile. He felt strangely calm. Next to him, his new creation, Sylva, stood with impossible grace. The elegant, deer-like creature tilted its head, its golden eyes radiating a gentle curiosity, not fear.

Thump. The footsteps stopped right outside the door.

A moment of heavy silence.

Then, Seraph's voice, sharp and professional, crackled over the workshop's private intercom. "He's here. I'm letting him in. Stay sharp, Jonah."

Jonah took a quiet breath. "Got it."

Sssshhhh-KCHUNK!

With a groan of heavy metal, the reinforced workshop doors slid open. A figure stood in the bright hallway light, appearing as a dark shape. He was a man, big and solid like stone. He wore very clean white and gold robes.

High Inquisitor Theron stepped inside.

The doors slid shut behind him, plunging the room back into its own magical glow. Theron's presence immediately sucked all the warmth out of the air. His eyes, burning with a fire that promised holy retribution, swept across the room.

He took in the massive, complex web of runes on the floor - the Synthesis Loom. He noted Vanessa, a young Mage student who looked like she wanted to hide behind a stack of books that weren't there. Then, his fiery gaze landed on Jonah.

And the creature beside him.

Theron's eyes narrowed. He had expected to find some twisted, demonic abomination. A monster born of forbidden arts, reeking of corruption. But the creature before him… it was serene. Its body, carved from living wood, glowed with a soft, green light. Its crystalline hooves seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it. It was a being of impossible grace, something he couldn't immediately classify as holy or profane.

And that made it even more dangerous.

"By whose authority," Theron's voice boomed, and it wasn't just a sound, it was a force. The words were laced with power, designed to crush a person's will and force them to confess their darkest secrets.

"By whose authority do you create life from nothing, boy?"

Jonah didn't flinch. He just met the Inquisitor's gaze. He could feel the raw power in that voice, a pressure trying to squeeze the truth out of him. But he had faced down the psychic roar of a Broodmother.

This was just a man who was very, very loud.

As Theron spoke, a new energy began to gather around him. A shimmering, golden heat, like the air above a bonfire. It was his signature ability, the infamous `Aura of Judgment`. It was a holy power that exposed every lie, every sin, every dark thought, and terrified the unholy until their minds shattered.

He was preparing to unleash it, to burn away the deception and reveal the heretic cowering beneath.

He was ready to pass judgment.

But before the first flicker of his holy fire could truly ignite, something else happened.

It wasn't an attack. It wasn't a defense. It was a feeling.

From Sylva, a gentle, irresistible wave of peace washed over the room. It wasn't a shout; it was a whisper. It was the feeling of a cool breeze on a hot day, the calm of a forest after the rain, the soft warmth of the first spring sun.

It was the `Aura of Serenity`.

The punishing heat around Theron didn't get extinguished. It just… soothed.

The righteous fire in his soul wasn't put out, but it stopped burning so hot. His holy anger, the fuel for all his power, suddenly felt… distant. His strong belief, the heart of who he was, wasn't sharp anymore. It felt soft, its focus blurred.

Theron's eyes went from furious to faintly confused. He tried to summon his righteous anger again, to feel the burning hatred for heresy that had guided him his entire life. But he couldn't. It was like trying to be angry at a puppy. It just wasn't working. He felt… calm. Very, surprisingly calm.

He reached for the sword at his hip, his hand closing around the hilt. It was an instinct he had honed over a hundred battles. But his fingers refused to tighten. His muscles wouldn't obey. How could they? There was no enemy here. There was no threat. There was only a quiet boy and a creature that felt like a prayer.

His own power, a power that relied on righteous fury, had been completely neutralized. Not by force. But by peace.

Jonah saw the confusion on the Inquisitor's face. He watched as the man's hand fell away from his sword, his broad shoulders slumping just a fraction. This mighty Inquisitor, who had faced down demons and dragons, now looked like a man who had forgotten what he came here to do.

Calmly, Jonah finally answered the booming question. His voice was quiet, but in the new silence of the room, it was perfectly clear.

"I made a promise to a dying soul," he said simply.

"This is the result."

His simple answer, lacking any fear or defiance, surprised Theron even more. He expected heretics to spit and curse, or to beg. He had never faced one who simply… explained.

He stared at Sylva, whose golden eyes held no judgment, only an endless well of compassion. He looked at Jonah, a boy from the Undercroft who spoke of promises to the dead.

Theron was speechless. He was a weapon without a target, a judge without a crime to condemn. He had come here to face an enemy he could hate, and instead, he had found something he couldn't even begin to understand. To condemn this would be like condemning kindness itself.

He had been defeated. And there hadn't even been a fight.

The silence stretched on for another ten seconds, thick with Theron's inner turmoil.

Finally, he turned abruptly, his movements stiff. He marched back towards the door, his heavy footsteps no longer sounding so confident.

He paused at the threshold, not turning around.

"This matter… is complicated," he managed to say, his voice strained.

"My investigation is not over."

And with that, he was gone.

Sssshhhh-KCHUNK!

The doors sealed shut, leaving the three of them alone again.

Vanessa let out a breath she seemed to have been holding since the Inquisitor arrived.

"What… what just happened?" she whispered, her face pale.

Jonah didn't answer right away. He just looked down at Sylva, who gently nudged his hand. He felt a wave of gratitude and peace wash over him from his creation.

He hadn't won a battle. He had shared a feeling.

And somehow, that felt far more powerful. He knew the Inquisitor would be back. But for the first time, he felt he had a power that the zealots and the bureaucrats could never truly comprehend.