The bell tolled across Eldoria at the tenth hour.
Each echo rolled through the mist like thunder chained to time itself. It reached every corner of the ancient city — through narrow alleys where blacksmiths halted mid-strike, through shrines where priests whispered trembling prayers, through the market square where children froze, clutching their parents' hands. Every heart beat in rhythm with that bell, dreading the sound of its final note.
Tonight was the night of judgment.
The night they would decide the fate of Captain Ryn — the man who had fought monsters… and then became one.
---
The Hall of Silence
The Judgment Hall stood like a tomb of stone and shadow. Its pillars were carved from bones of beasts long extinct, etched with runes that no one dared read aloud. The air smelled of cold iron and incense; torches hissed against walls damp with age.
At the center, beneath a ceiling so high it vanished into darkness, knelt Ryn. His wrists were bound in runescribed iron cuffs, the metal gleaming faintly with cursed energy. Blood crusted along his forearms. The faint shimmer of scaled flesh still lingered beneath torn bandages — a reminder of the horror that had unfolded in the forest.
He knelt motionless, head bowed, breath shallow — not out of defiance, but exhaustion.
Outside, rain whispered against the roof.
Then, the doors opened with a groan that echoed like the groan of a dying titan.
Kaen stepped in first, his boots scraping against the marble floor. His squad followed — Riku's hands clenched around her coat, Darren and Boran close behind, faces grim, and further back, Aya, Koari, Jin, and Draxion stood in silent formation. At the rear was Ragna, their leader, expression unreadable, eyes shadowed under the flickering light.
Every footstep sounded like a heartbeat.
They halted when the Councilor rose from his dais.
---
The Council Speaks
"Captain Ryn of Eldoria's Third Squad," the Councilor began, his voice deep and slow, echoing between the cold stone pillars. "You stand accused of bearing the curse of the Primordial. You transformed into a beast of ancient blood, turned your blade against your comrades, and endangered this city's walls. Before the judgment is passed… do you wish to speak?"
The hall fell into a suffocating stillness.
Even the torches seemed to hold their breath.
Ryn did not look up. His eyes were half-lidded, fixed on the floor before him. The muscles in his jaw tensed — once, twice — then stilled again. He said nothing.
Seconds dragged. The sound of distant rain faded. The silence itself became unbearable.
Kaen's throat tightened. Say something, he wanted to shout. Anything, Captain.
But Ryn remained still — like a statue carved from guilt.
Behind Kaen, Riku swallowed hard. "He's not… he's not a monster," she whispered under her breath, voice trembling.
Draxion placed a hand on her shoulder. "The Council doesn't see hearts, only bloodlines," he muttered.
The Councilor's gaze flicked toward the murmuring, and silence fell again. Then he turned back to the circle of elite members seated behind him — the High Elders of Eldoria — merchants with eyes of gold, scholars whose robes shimmered with sigils, priests veiled in bone-white masks.
They began to speak in low tones — not to Ryn, but about him. Words like "risk," "containment," "heritage," and "sacrifice" drifted through the air like the buzz of flies over a wound.
Minutes passed. The only sound was the crackle of torchfire.
Kaen clenched his fists. They talk of him like a weapon, not a man.
Riku's fingers dug into his arm. "Please," she whispered. "Please let them show mercy."
---
The Verdict
Finally, the Councilor lifted his hand. The whispers died.
His mask caught the firelight, eyes hidden behind hollow sockets.
"Captain Ryn has indeed broken control," he said, voice heavy. "Yet witnesses confirm he alone faced the creature that would have leveled Eldoria. He saved this city… at great cost."
A murmur rippled through the crowd — disbelief, confusion, even a hint of shame.
Kaen's breath caught. They're… acknowledging it?
"Therefore," the Councilor said, raising the scroll in his hand, "the Council decrees — Captain Ryn shall be released."
The words struck the hall like thunder.
Gasps. Cries. Relief. Rage.
But before joy could bloom, the Councilor continued:
"—However, this mercy is chained. Should he ever again show signs of transformation… should the beast within him awaken… he is to be executed immediately. Without trial. Without delay."
The silence that followed was colder than death.
Kaen's heart dropped. The world seemed to slow.
The Councilor turned his masked face toward Ragna.
"Squad Leader Ragna," he said solemnly. "Will you bear this duty? Will you deliver the strike, should the curse return?"
Every head turned toward Ragna.
The man's eyes darkened. For a long time, he said nothing.
Then, with a breath that shook slightly, he nodded.
"If that day comes," he said, voice barely above a whisper, "I will do what must be done."
Riku's eyes widened. "Ragna, no—!"
He didn't look at her.
Kaen's chest burned. You can't ask him to kill his own captain…
He wanted to speak, to protest, but the sight of Ryn's bowed head stopped him. The captain hadn't moved. Not a flinch, not even a flicker.
He accepts it, Kaen realized. He's already prepared to die.
The Councilor raised his staff. "Then judgment is concluded. May Eldoria endure."
The gavel struck stone with a sharp clang.
---
The Chains Fall
The guards stepped forward. The sound of iron unlocking echoed like the breaking of a spell. Ryn's shackles fell, striking the floor with a hollow chime.
Kaen's legs moved before he even realized it. He rushed forward, Riku beside him, followed by Darren, Boran, and the others.
"Captain!" Riku's voice cracked as she caught his arm. "You're— you're free!"
Ryn looked up slowly. His eyes — bloodshot, tired, but still human — met hers. For the first time since the trial began, he smiled.
"Free…" His voice rasped. "With conditions."
Kaen knelt beside him, supporting his weight. "We'll find a way to break them, Captain. I swear it."
Darren forced a grin. "Still better than a grave, huh?"
Ryn chuckled softly — or tried to. It came out as a cough.
Aya moved quickly, pressing a damp cloth to the bruises across his shoulder. "You shouldn't even be standing," she scolded, voice shaking. "The Council's 'mercy' left more wounds than the beast ever did."
Jin kicked at a loose stone. "They should be the ones in chains."
Boran grunted, placing his hammer beside Ryn. "Doesn't matter. You still stand, Captain. That's enough."
The group fell silent as Ryn's gaze drifted to Ragna.
The squad leader stood apart, head bowed.
When their eyes met, the air between them shifted.
The hall's noise dimmed — the shouts, the torches, even the rain outside. Everything seemed to fade, leaving only the two of them — bound not by words, but by something heavier.
Ryn straightened, blood dripping from his sleeve.
"So it's you," he said quietly.
Ragna nodded once. "It's me."
No anger. No hate. Just a grim understanding.
Ryn smiled faintly. "Then let's hope you'll never have to raise your blade."
Ragna's lips tightened. "Hope isn't always enough."
The silence that followed was sharper than any sword.
---
The Storm Breaks
Thunder rolled outside. The sound trembled through the stone walls.
Kaen looked up — and in that brief flash of lightning through the high windows, he saw dust drifting from the rafters, glowing like ash in a dying flame.
A single drop of rain slipped through a crack in the roof.
It struck the floor between Ryn and Ragna, echoing in the silence.
The torch nearest the dais flickered once, its flame bending unnaturally — as though the air itself had drawn a shuddering breath.
Kaen's voice trembled. "Did you feel that?"
Riku nodded, staring at the flickering flame. "It's… colder."
For a heartbeat, no one spoke. Then Kaen forced a grin, trying to push the dread away. "Let's get the Captain out of here before the roof decides to collapse too."
The soldiers laughed weakly — a fragile, desperate sound.
But as they helped Ryn toward the doors, Kaen's thoughts wouldn't quiet.
He wanted to cheer, truly — the man who saved them was alive, after all.
But the condition tied to Ryn's freedom felt like a chain made of time itself — ticking toward an inevitable end.
He could almost hear it.
Each drop of rain on the roof, each heartbeat in his chest — counting down.
---
The Walk into Light
The great doors groaned open.
Cold air rushed in, smelling of wet earth and lightning.
Ryn stepped out first, the squad at his side. The villagers who had gathered outside gasped and parted as he appeared — some bowed, some turned away, others simply stared.
The rain fell harder now, tracing lines of silver across his face. His shoulders trembled, whether from pain or exhaustion, none could tell.
Behind him, Ragna followed in silence, his hand brushing the hilt of his sword — the sword he might one day have to draw.
Kaen looked between them, heart heavy.
To him, this moment should have felt like an ending — the closing of a terrible chapter.
But instead, it felt like the silence before a storm.
He turned his eyes upward. Lightning forked across the dark sky, painting the towers of Eldoria in pale light.
"Peace this fragile…" he whispered, "…can't last."
The words vanished into the rain.
Ryn paused at the edge of the courtyard. For a brief moment, he looked back — toward the Hall where his fate had been sealed. Then his gaze found Ragna again.
No words passed. Only understanding. Only that unbearable weight of brotherhood and duty.
A faint smile crossed Ryn's lips. "Until the next dawn, old friend."
Ragna didn't answer — just nodded once.
And then, as thunder cracked overhead, a shadow passed across the mountain horizon — vast and winged, vanishing as quickly as it came. The soldiers barely noticed, but Kaen did.
He froze. The rain dripped from his fingertips.
"Did you see—"
But the words died on his tongue.
Ryn walked forward, unshackled but not free, his figure fading into the mist.
The sound of chains still echoed faintly in Kaen's mind — not metal, but something deeper, heavier, inevitable.
The storm broke open fully.
Rain struck the stone courtyard in relentless rhythm — like the ticking of that unseen chain, counting down toward the moment when mercy would end… and judgment would begin a new.