Chapter 7: Blood and Ashes
The village was silent when Jean arrived.
What remained of it.
Ash choked the fields. Burnt homes leaned like broken ribs under the weight of fog. Smoke still curled from the ruins. And the stench of scorched flesh hung in the air like a curse.
Jean dismounted, boots sinking into soot.
No one came to greet her.
Only the dead.
Whitney growled low, sniffing the ground. Beneath his steps, Jean saw faint traces of aura—the kind that shouldn't have been there. Luther aura. Falsified, twisted.
She knelt beside the charred remains of a cradle.
A child's toy sword, half-melted, still clenched in a tiny blackened hand.
She closed her eyes. Whispered a prayer.
"Celeste, guide them through the veil."
And then she stood.
There were survivors hiding in the chapel—barely a dozen souls, hollow-eyed and trembling. When Jean stepped through the door, an old man raised a rusted pitchfork.
"Back! Stay back, witch!"
"I'm not here to hurt you," Jean said gently.
"You killed them!" a woman cried, cradling a burned child. "You and your demon wolf!"
Whitney lowered his head, whimpering.
Jean stepped forward anyway, laying down her sword.
"It wasn't me," she said. "I swear it. But I will bury them. And I will find who did this."
The villagers didn't respond.
They just watched as she worked.
Through the night, Jean dug graves with her bare hands. No aura. No sword. Just her. Dirt and sweat and silence. By dawn, every victim had a name again. Every body, a resting place.
At the edge of the final grave, the village priest approached.
He was gaunt. His eyes haunted. But he carried something in his hands—a scorched banner.
"This survived the fire," he said, holding it out.
Jean unfolded it.
Black cloth. A single white raven stitched into the center.
She stared at it, her fingers curling tight.
Raven's message was clear.
You may shine, but I own your shadow.
---
Elsewhere, in the halls of the Iron Empire…
Valeria Durnstahl, the Iron Empress, stood on her obsidian balcony overlooking the burning skies of her war-forges. Her crimson armor gleamed under molten torchlight. At her feet, generals bowed.
"She moves like a queen," Valeria said, watching the distant storm clouds swirl in her diviner's mirror. "Young. Untested. But dangerous."
One general rose. "Do we intervene, Empress?"
Valeria turned, the light catching the deep scar across her cheek.
"No. Let the Luthers devour themselves. But ready the legions. If she survives Raven…"
She smiled like a blade.
"…we'll offer her a different kind of war."
---
That night, under starlight…
Jean sat on a hill outside the ruined village, her hands stained with soot and blood. Whitney lay beside her, his head in her lap.
"Why, Raven?" Jean whispered. "What did they do to you?"
The wolf stirred, nuzzling her.
She looked up at the stars, the mark of Celeste faintly glowing at her back.
"If she wants a war of symbols… then I'll answer her."
She rose slowly, gripping her blade.
"But I'll fight it in the light."
---