The protest was supposed to be orderly.
That was what the permit said. That was what the guild mediators insisted. That was what the clergy representatives promised when they agreed to "peaceful expression of concern regarding recent irregularities."
People gathered in the square just after midday.
Not a mob.
Not yet.
Families. Workers. A few priests. A few guild apprentices wearing their sigils openly, as if daring someone to challenge them. Banners were raised—not threatening, just firm.
ORDER BEFORE MIRACLES.
FAITH NEEDS STRUCTURE.
NO MORE UNREGISTERED WONDERS.
Across the square, someone else had brought a smaller sign, hand-painted and uneven:
WE WERE SAVED.
That one drew looks.
Aiden watched from the edge of the crowd, hood pulled low, heart sinking.
"This is bad," he murmured.
Seris nodded. "Not yet. But it will be."
They both felt it—the tension that came when too many people believed they were right and too few were listening.
Then someone screamed.
It wasn't loud at first. Just sharp. Surprised.
A man near the center of the square stumbled backward, clutching his arm. Blood soaked through his sleeve, dark and fast.
The crowd recoiled.
A mage stood frozen nearby, staff still humming faintly with residual energy.
"I—I was just warning him back," the mage stammered. "He grabbed me. I didn't mean—"
The wounded man collapsed.
Silence fell like a dropped plate.
Then panic rushed in to fill it.
"He used magic!" someone shouted.
"Against civilians!" another cried.
"This is what happens when miracles run loose!"
Guards surged forward.
Someone threw a stone.
Then another.
The protest shattered into noise.
---
Aiden moved without thinking.
He caught the wounded man as guards pushed through the crowd, hands pressing instinctively to the bleeding arm.
"I can help," he said, voice tight. "Please—let me help."
The man's eyes were wide with terror.
"No," he whispered. "No more. No more miracles."
He tried to pull away.
Aiden froze.
That moment—hesitation, uncertainty—was all it took.
A guard shoved him back. "Step away."
Seris grabbed Aiden's sleeve, pulling him out of reach as the square descended into chaos.
"This was engineered," she hissed.
Aiden stared at the scene—the fear, the blood, the sudden certainty people had latched onto.
"I didn't do anything," he said, hollow.
"I know," Seris replied grimly. "Neither did the city."
---
High above, unseen, Caelum exhaled slowly.
"Oh dear," he murmured. "That one was too loud."
---
Elsewhere, far from the shouting, Varros sighed.
He reclined in his study, listening to reports delivered breathlessly by a minor functionary whose hands shook just enough to be annoying.
"An incident in the square, my lord. A guild mage discharged magic. Civilians injured. Guards intervened."
Varros closed his eyes.
"How… inelegant."
The man swallowed. "Public sentiment is shifting rapidly. Calls for stricter oversight. Emergency authority."
Varros opened his eyes, irritation flashing briefly before being smoothed away.
"I told them pressure," he said. "Not spectacle."
The functionary hesitated. "Lord Halvren insisted this would force the Duchess' hand."
Varros laughed softly.
"Oh, Halvren."
He rose, crossing the room to the window, where the distant noise of the city drifted faintly upward.
"Halvren always did believe brute clarity was preferable to subtlety," Varros mused. "Such a pity."
He turned back, smiling pleasantly. "Arrange for Halvren to be… implicated."
The functionary stiffened. "My lord?"
"Unregistered magical discharge. Failure to control guild members. Incitement," Varros recited lazily. "I'm sure we can find something appropriate."
"And if he resists?"
Varros' smile thinned. "Then he learns why I prefer chess to dice."
The functionary bowed and fled.
Varros returned to his chair, entirely at ease.
One ally overreached.
Which meant one rival would be removed.
The city would demand accountability.
And Varros would, graciously, provide it.
---
By nightfall, the story had already changed.
The injured man was stable—thankfully—but the headlines were written as if he'd narrowly survived an assassination.
Guild statements contradicted each other. The Church condemned violence while subtly implying it was inevitable without control. Guards arrested the mage, then quietly released him into guild custody.
And Lord Halvren was named as "under investigation."
Aiden stood on the rooftop, watching lanterns flicker like nervous stars.
"This is my fault," he said quietly.
Seris shook her head. "No. This is what they wanted."
"But I was there."
"And so were a hundred other people," she replied. "You're just the symbol they're fighting over."
He clenched his fists. "I don't want to be a symbol."
Seris met his gaze. "Then you're going to have to decide what you are."
---
Far away, Varros raised a glass to the city's unrest.
"To initiative," he murmured. "And to mistakes."
High above, Caelum watched the spark spread and frowned—not in fear, but in calculation.
"That," he said softly, "was avoidable."
Which meant it would not be the last.
---