Date: Early September X786
Location: Crocus — Secret Council Detention Wing & Fairy Tail HQ
A single rune-lit corridor spiraled deep beneath the Council Citadel — far from the echo of festival horns, far from any warmth, and farther still from anyone who could truly name Teresa.
She had walked these halls before: once to dismantle Ky'run's memory, once to sever its illusions. Tonight, she came not to escape, but to face what the Council called the Trial of Blood and Chains.
At the corridor's end, a vault door loomed, gleaming with layered runic locks. Each glyph pulsed the same grim cadence she had crushed beneath the arena maze — echoes of blood oaths and brittle ambitions.
She paused, fingertips brushing the cold arch as if it were a heartbeat she meant to stop. In her mind, the trial's name echoed like a quiet accusation.
Above, Crocus had settled into an uneasy hush after the Games. Fireworks still clawed at the sky, but to Teresa, they felt like distant cries — a celebration staged for ghosts.
Inside the chamber, Bran and Warrod waited. Bran's pallor betrayed a tremor of guilt. Warrod stood still, posture carved from old regret — yet something in his gaze flickered with reluctant mourning.
Bran's voice cracked first. "Teresa… you understand what this means."
She tilted her head slightly, armor whispering in the low torchlight. "I know the name," she answered, each word a quiet blade.
Warrod stepped forward, searching her face as if he might still find a seam to reach through. "Then you know the stakes."
Behind them, Rune Knights stood rigid, weapons drawn but quivering, as though they already understood they wouldn't be used.
The heavy door ground open.
Torchlight lunged across the walls, each etched with blood sigils and chain motifs. At the chamber's center sat a heavy chair — more throne than seat, more executioner's platform than trial.
Bran closed the door behind her, the echo slicing through the chamber like a final chord. Warrod tapped a rune panel. "You are judged not as a criminal," he said softly, "but as a force. The Council demands an oath — or it binds you."
Bran set a parchment on the table, a sigil burning faintly at its edge. "Place your hand. Recite: 'By the Council's authority, I do not bear restraint against it.'"
The silence that followed felt infinite.
Teresa lowered her gaze to the parchment — three chained arcs, the same blood-infused pattern she had once shattered in Crocus's underbelly. Her fingers hovered above it, unmoving.
Warrod's voice, taut as a bowstring, cut the hush. "Or we proceed by force."
Far away in Magnolia, Macao watched rune feeds flicker and pulse. Romeo hovered nearby, breath shallow.
"They're judging her?" Romeo whispered.
Macao's hand closed around his shoulder, rough but steady. "They're trying to collar a storm. But she won't bow."
In the chamber, Bran slammed his palm on the table. "You saved them..., but you weakened us. You acted alone. You humiliated our structure."
Teresa stepped forward. Her voice came low, a hush of wind before lightning. "Your goal was never safety. You want control dressed as peace."
Bran's jaw trembled. Warrod's head bowed, shoulders heavy.
She looked directly at Warrod, her eyes softer, almost kind. "I dismantled sabotage. I protected the quiet spaces in between your laws. But I will not kneel to fear's altar."
Slowly, she pushed the parchment back. Torchlight fractured across her armor, her silhouette standing taller than any chain dared to reach.
Alarms shrieked outside the door. The Citadel trembled like a living creature waking to pain.
"Seal breach — east wing!" a voice cried.
Inside, rune barriers snapped to life, glyphs flashing crimson and white. Teresa stood still as locks groaned and clicked.
Bran's voice splintered. "Either you swear — or we bind you here forever."
She closed her eyes.
Walking the Razor Edge flowed through her veins. Her breath steadied, spine settling into a coiled grace.
She pressed her palm to the table. "I kneel only before fairness. I serve balance..., not dominion."
The glyph beneath her hand shivered, lines faltering as her core command rippled through them. The runes flickered once, then cracked, dissolving like frost beneath a rising sun.
Bran staggered back, mouth agape. Warrod's eyes filled with shame, or relief, even he did not seem to know.
She exhaled, her gaze turned skyward. "No chain can hold what was born to remain free."
Bran fell to his knees. Warrod closed his eyes, his head lowering in a quiet bow.
Beyond the splintered door, Rune Knights flooded the corridor. Ethne and Mana pushed forward first, eyes wide. Bran sagged, pale and defeated.
Ethne whispered, voice shaking. "Why?"
Teresa turned to her, unwavering. "Prison is for crimes, not conviction. Balance belongs to all. Not just your quorum."
Back in Magnolia, Macao watched the final rune feed fade to black. He let out a slow, hoarse breath.
"She's out," he murmured.
Romeo stood unmoving, voice thin. "She's... something beyond us now."
In the quiet chamber, Teresa stepped forward, her heel crashing through the blood-sigil parchment, scattering its glow into dust.
"I remain free," she said. "But not alone."
She turned to Warrod. "I will walk the front lines. But I will not trade iron chains for gold ones."
Then, to Bran, her words had a sharpened edge. "Reforge your laws — or they will break beneath their weight."
The door yawned open. Alarms still thundered beyond the corridor, but she moved past them without hurry, her cloak cutting through the hall like dusk sliding across a blade.
Ethne pressed her fingers to the wall, face paling. "Then... we must reforge — or fall."
Warrod lowered his head, voice hushed but certain. "You've given us a second dawn."
Teresa inclined her head, a gesture softer than any vow. "Then let dawn break."