The air in the tearoom grew thick, heavy with the weight of Aurelise's challenge. This wasn't the market square. There was no crowd for Ravi to melt into, no chaotic scene to exploit. There was only a clear street, a dozen guards, an unarmed priest, and the unblinking, analytical gaze of a noblewoman demanding a demonstration.
Lyssara's face was a mask of perfect calm, but Ravi could feel the tension radiating from her. Her gamble, her brilliant reframing of their power dynamic, was being put to the ultimate test. If he did nothing, their mystique would shatter. They would be exposed as clever manipulators with one lucky trick. If he acted and failed, or if his "power" was revealed as something crassly physical, their leverage would be gone.
"The sun does not perform on command, Lady Thornwyn," Lyssara said, her voice smooth as polished stone. "It simply shines. Consequences follow."
Aurelise's lips curved into a thin, dangerous smile. "We shall see."
Down on the street, the two guards grabbed Kaelith Ardentor's arms. The massive War-Priest didn't struggle, but he didn't yield either. He stood like an oak tree rooted in the earth. "My body is yours to cage," his deep voice rumbled, loud enough for the onlookers to hear. "But my spirit belongs to a higher authority."
"Gag him!" the officer barked, unnerved by the priest's stoicism.
Ravi's mind raced. How could he intervene? How could he create an accident out of nothing? He scanned the street, the buildings, his eyes desperate for a loose drain grate, a spooked horse, a faulty axle. There was nothing. Just smooth cobblestones, solid architecture, and disciplined soldiers.
He was trapped. His only weapon was his own body, and using it directly was out of the question.
Lyssara gave him a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of her head. Don't move. Don't act. She trusted the narrative. She was betting on the story itself having power.
Ravi, on the other hand, had never trusted anything in his life. He was a creature of paranoid action. He couldn't just stand there. He had to do something.
His gaze fell on a detail no one else would have noticed. A small, decorative iron gargoyle, no bigger than a man's head, perched on the corner of the tearoom's own roofline, directly above the street. It was old, its features worn smooth by centuries of rain. From its snarling mouth, a thin line of green patina snaked down the stone—a telltale sign of water runoff, and corrosion.
It was a terrible idea. A long shot. But it was the only idea he had.
Maintaining his posture of slumped, vacant confusion, he took a single, clumsy step backward, as if intimidated by the scene below. He "accidentally" bumped into a heavy, ornate ceramic vase standing on a pedestal near the window. The vase, filled with sand and decorative reeds, wobbled precariously.
Aurelise and her guards shot him a look of pure annoyance. Lyssara's eyes widened a fraction of an inch in a silent, desperate warning. No!
Ravi pretended to lose his balance, flailing for a second. His hand, in its feigned panic, slapped against the side of the thick, unyielding stone window frame.
He exerted no force. He didn't push or punch. He just... touched it.
A deep, groaning tremor, entirely out of proportion to the slight contact, ran through the stone structure of the building. It wasn't a sound. It was a vibration felt in the teeth, in the bones of the floor. For a microsecond, the entire building seemed to flex around the point of his touch.
Outside, the small, corroded iron gargoyle, its mounting weakened by a hundred years of weather and a single, inexplicable seismic shockwave, sheared off from its perch.
It didn't fall straight down. The angle of the break sent it spinning out and away from the building, arcing through the twilight air. It tumbled end over end, a silent, thirty-pound chunk of meteorological misfortune.
Down below, the officer was losing his patience. He strode toward Kaelith. "I gave you an order! Gag this pious—"
He never finished the sentence.
The spinning iron gargoyle fell out of the sky and slammed directly onto the crown of his helmet.
The helmet, forged by Imperial smiths to deflect a sword blow, didn't stand a chance. It crumpled like paper. There was a sickening, final thump, and the officer collapsed to the cobblestones without a sound, a heap of lifeless armor.
Chaos erupted.
The guards stared at their fallen commander, then up at the empty sky, then at the shattered remains of the gargoyle lying next to his head. Their discipline, their training, their military arrogance—it all evaporated, replaced by raw, primal fear.
They weren't fighting an enemy. They were fighting the world itself. The very stones of the city were turning against them.
Kaelith Ardentor, standing untouched between the two now-frozen guards, slowly lowered his gaze from the sky to the dead officer. A look of profound, thunderstruck awe dawned on his scarred face.
He turned his head and looked directly up at the window of the tearoom. Directly at Ravi. Their eyes met across the distance. Ravi saw not suspicion, but pure, undiluted belief. The War-Priest had just witnessed his sermon made manifest. He had seen a sign.
"A falling stone for a fallen law," Kaelith's voice boomed, his words a sudden, impromptu sermon. "The heavens themselves pass judgment on the Warden's injustice!"
The crowd, which had been watching in fear, began to murmur. They hadn't seen where the stone came from. They had only seen the result. A righteous man defended. A corrupt officer struck down. An act of God.
The surviving guards, their morale shattered, exchanged panicked looks. One of them pointed a trembling finger up at the tearoom. "It came from there!"
Back in the room, the silence was absolute. Aurelise stared at the scene below, her face a pale, frozen mask of disbelief. Lyssara was looking at the small tremor lines that had appeared in the plaster around the window frame, a look of dawning horror on her face.
Ravi had just demonstrated his power. But he'd also made a catastrophic mistake. He had created the perfect accident, but in doing so, he had revealed a tell. He hadn't just proven the myth. He'd also given them a clue to the physics behind it.
The sound of armored boots pounding up the stairs from the ground floor broke the spell.
Aurelise turned from the window. Her two guards drew their swords, the rasp of steel on leather deafening in the small room. She looked at Ravi, and the analytical curiosity was gone, replaced by something far more dangerous: the hungry, possessive glare of a collector who has just confirmed a priceless artifact is, in fact, real.
"It seems our negotiations have been… accelerated," she said, her voice a low, thrilling whisper. "Stay behind me. My guards will handle this."
"Handle what?" Lyssara demanded, stepping in front of Ravi.
Aurelise gave her a smile that was all teeth. "My newfound assets are being threatened. I am merely protecting my investment."
The door to the tearoom burst open. Five of the Warden's Watch spilled into the room, their swords drawn, their eyes wild with fear and anger. They were no longer following orders. They were lashing out, hunting the source of their terror.
"You!" the lead guard bellowed, pointing his sword at Ravi. "The jinx! Sorcerer! You killed the commander!"
He charged.
Ravi felt a strange calm descend. There was no more room for subtlety. No more need for a clever narrative. There was only the brutal, simple equation of force about to meet its master.
He simply stood his ground, raised his hand, palm out, and let the guard's sword come to him. A perfect parry he had never learned. An effortless defense he had never practiced.
The forged steel blade, screaming for his blood, touched his open palm. And with a soft, final hiss, dissolved into a cloud of useless, glittering dust.