Stone walls rose from the plains like a scar.
Aron slowed when he saw them.
The city of Virelden did not welcome travelers. Its gates were narrow, reinforced with layered iron, and
etched from top to bottom with warding sigils. Watchtowers loomed overhead, crossbows and spell-foci
already aimed outward, not inward.
A city built to keep things out.
And to trap things within.
A line had formed outside the gates. Merchants, refugees, mercenaries—people who smelled of road dust
and desperation. Guards moved along the queue, inspecting hands, eyes, occasionally pressing glowing
crystals against exposed skin.
Detection.
Aron's fingers tightened around the iron ring Ayesha had given him.
It pulsed faintly, warm against his skin.
"Next."
The word snapped like a whip.
Aron stepped forward.
The guard was older, his face carved by years of suspicion. He held the crystal up, watching it glow as it
neared Aron's chest.
For a heartbeat—
The light flickered green.
Then dimmed.
The guard frowned, shook the crystal once, then waved Aron through. "Move."
Aron did not look back until he was inside.
Virelden breathed differently.
The streets were narrow, intentionally so. Buildings leaned inward, blocking the sky. Holy symbols and
warning charms hung from doors and windows. Even the air felt heavier, saturated with incense and
suppression wards.
People watched him.
Not openly.
Side glances. Tense shoulders. Hands hovering near weapons.
Fear, carefully managed.
Aron walked until his legs trembled, then ducked into a cheap lodging house near the lower district. The
innkeeper barely looked at him as she slid a key across the counter.
"No magic," she muttered. "No trouble."
He nodded.
In his room, Aron sat on the edge of the narrow bed and removed the ring.
The hunger surged instantly.
Not violently.
Hungrily.
He slammed the ring back on, gasping as the pressure eased.
"So this is what you hid from me," he whispered.
The system stirred.
SYSTEM NOTICE
Environmental Suppression: High
Anomalous Activity: Actively Monitored
Night fell.
From his window, Aron watched patrols march the streets—templars in white-and-gold armor, hunters
bearing familiar purification runes. At the city's center, a spire rose high above the rooftops, its peak
glowing faintly with holy light.
A central authority.
A place where decisions were made.
A scream echoed suddenly through the streets.
Short.
Cut off.
No one reacted.
Windows shuttered. Doors barred. The city absorbed the sound like it had heard it a thousand times before.
Aron's chest tightened.
He lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
"I won't use it," he told himself. "I just need information."
Sleep did not come easily.
When it did, it brought dreams of vines creeping through stone, cracking spires from their foundations.
Morning brought noise.
A public square filled with people, drawn by murmurs and bells. Aron followed at a distance, keeping his
head down.
A platform had been erected.
Chains hung from iron posts.
A man knelt at the center, bound, shaking.
"Plant heretic," someone whispered.
The templar's voice rang out, clear and practiced. "By decree of the Concord, corruption shall be purged."
The execution spell ignited.
Green light flared—then turned white.
The man screamed.
Aron staggered as something inside him recoiled violently.
SYSTEM ALERT
Forced Purification Detected
Source: Similar Attribute Signature
The body collapsed, gray and empty.
The crowd dispersed.
No cheers.
No tears.
Just relief.
Aron backed away, bile rising in his throat.
So this was the price of safety.
He retreated into an alley, breathing hard, fingers digging into stone.
"They'll do the same to me," he whispered.
The system did not deny it.
As church bells rang across Virelden, Aron made his decision.
He would not stay hidden forever.
But when he acted…
This city would remember his name.