The square shuddered.
Not from an explosion. Not from magic.
But from uncertainty.
The laughter had faded, yet its echo still clung to the air like frost that refused to melt. A tension so sharp it made breath feel heavy spread through the plaza, crawling over stone and skin alike.
People began to stir.
Whispers rose—first hesitant, then urgent.
"Did… did you hear that?" "That voice—where did it come from?" "Was it… magic?" "No—no, it sounded too clear…" "Who said that?"
Heads turned in every direction.
Up toward the cathedral spires. Across the sea of people. Toward the rooftops. Behind the Divine Guards.
No one stood out.
And that terrified them.
Some clutched their prayer beads tighter. Others took small, instinctive steps back. A few—just a few—felt something unfamiliar bloom in their chests.
Agreement.
"Maybe… maybe they're right…" "Is this really justice?" "That voice—what if—"
"Silence!"
The bishop's snarl cut through the murmurs like a whip.
