⟁ Chapter 32: Havella's Hundred Hands
The sun didn't rise gently in this city — it commanded the horizon, blazing gold over domes and worn rooftops, gilding the prayers rising with the smoke. Havella's boots hit the stone ground harder each day, her presence becoming more and more expected in halls that once ignored her completely.
To stop a war in the heart of the Byzantine Empire was no matter of force — it required becoming part of the fabric itself, until she could pull the threads tight enough to unravel the violence beneath.
And so she worked.
First, as a shadow in court — listening behind veils, lips pressed shut, eyes always open. She stole secrets before they reached mouths. Poisoned words by stealing their momentum. She became a rumor that walked — the "eastern girl with silent steps" who knew what the Patriarch would say before he said it.
Second, as a servant in the barracks — scrubbing blood off swords, stitching up arguments between officers before they turned into executions. She watched their drills. Memorized formations. Then she began to correct them, subtly. And they listened, even if they didn't understand why.
Third, in the churches. She lit candles. She carried offerings. She watched the fights of doctrine that flared hotter than oil fires. And in the middle of one such clash, she stole the center of attention. Took it right out of the air with nothing but her voice.
"Truth doesn't kneel for titles," she said. "It only stands when no one owns it."
A bishop slapped her. She didn't flinch.
That night, three of his rivals called her sister.
Days turned to weeks. Havella learned to mimic tongues, accents, thoughts. She could speak like a noble and walk like a ghost. She began to understand her magic — not just what to steal, but how to choose what not to.
She could take someone's weapon, or she could take their reason to fight. And that, she found, was far heavier.
She stole sleep to stay awake, smiles to defuse threats, and on one wild night, she even stole a general's name for three days — forcing the army to stop moving while they sorted the confusion. It bought her time.
Yet every success felt heavy. Not because she doubted the goal, but because each victory made her less like the girl who walked into this trial.
And she remembered Jio's face. Simple. Honest. She wondered if she could go back to that.
In one final act — a whisper passed through senators and soldiers alike — Havella convinced them there had been no war to begin with. She layered truth and lie so finely even she didn't know where they split anymore.
The empire calmed.
Atop a tower watching the city breathe in uneasy peace, Havella stood, hands aching.
"I didn't stop a war," she muttered. "I just... convinced it to wait."
And from the sky above — unseen — Approcajjot's symbol shimmered faintly on the wind, like an eye half-closed in thought.
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End of Chapter 32
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