As Lusian rode through the streets of Acropolis, he could feel the weight of the gazes fixed upon his back.
It was nothing new. The Douglases had always inspired fear; their surname alone was enough to silence a merchant's haggling, make a peasant step aside, or cause a guard to stiffen at his post. Lusian was more than accustomed to that distance.
But this time was different.
They were not watching him with the usual apprehension reserved for a powerful nobleman. They looked at him as though they feared what he might unleash at any moment. Whispers grew in his wake, creeping through the alleyways like dry leaves being swept toward an invisible abyss.
Lusian narrowed his eyes. This was not the old shadow of House Douglas; it was something else, a suspicion that had already infected every corner of Acropolis. Even children looked away when he passed.
He tightened the reins slightly. Something had fractured during his absence, and he hated not knowing what.
The heavy doors of the Royal Hall swung wide open before the procession.
Lusian crossed the threshold first. Elizabeth walked beside him, keeping her posture straight despite the exhaustion of the journey. Behind them came Emily and Kara, both battered, covered in dust, with the marks of battle still fresh upon their skin.
They did not look like princesses or mythological heroes.
They looked like survivors.
The guards flanking the hall immediately snapped to attention when they saw them enter. Lusian noticed something unusual in their expressions: respect and fear.
The latter was predictable.
The former, however, left him unsettled.
At the far end of the hall, King Felipe Erkhan rose from his throne.
He did not wait for Lusian to perform the rigid court protocol. Nor did he give the nobles or guards time to react. He walked directly toward the duke and placed both hands upon his shoulders, his gesture heavy with solemnity.
"Lusian..." The king's voice carried a weariness that needed no explanation. "I wish this reception could have been different."
Lusian met the monarch's gaze impassively.
"Your Majesty."
Felipe gently tightened his grip on his shoulders.
"You brought my daughter back safe and sound. That... is something I can never repay you for."
Lusian inclined his head slightly.
"We fulfilled our duty. We protected the princess and held the line wherever necessary."
Elizabeth stepped forward, breaking the tension of the reunion.
"Father, we have returned," she said clearly, though the exhaustion of the journey was evident on her face. "We saved cities, contained creatures that threatened to devour entire regions, and kept the hope of thousands of people alive." She paused briefly, looking at Lusian. "And if I am standing here today... it is because of him."
Queen Adelaine immediately stepped forward and pulled her daughter into a tight embrace. For one fleeting moment, a warm sense of normalcy seemed to return to the Royal Hall.
Then the bells of the central cathedral began to toll.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
A deep, slow, ominous toll that froze the air within the chamber.
The smile vanished from the king's face.
From the side corridors, pushing their way through the nobles, figures began to advance. They were wrapped in ceremonial white robes and wore golden masks that refracted the torchlight.
The Heralds of the Celestial Dogma.
Over the past few months, the priestly order had gained a level of political and social influence that very few nobles dared openly challenge. The man leading the procession stopped only a few meters from Lusian. His posture was rigid, his presence imposing; and although the mask concealed his features, the piercing coldness in his eyes was unmistakable.
"Duke Lusian Douglas of Mondring," the Herald declared.
Lusian remained silent, one hand resting calmly upon the pommel of Dainslein.
The Herald continued, raising his voice so that it echoed through the upper galleries:
"The Oracle has scrutinized your destiny. The gods have sent us a revelation concerning your fate: your very existence will bring ruin and supreme calamity upon this world."
A tense, stifled murmur swept through the hall.
Emily stepped forward, unfazed.
"What?"
The Herald turned his gaze toward her.
"Heroine Emily. We have not come to slander the duke. We have come to proclaim divine truth in order to protect the Kingdom."
Emily shook her head, tightening her grip on her sacred staff.
"That makes no sense. He saved thousands of lives. He stood on the front lines with us when the wall collapsed, when there was no one else left."
"The gods do not err in their judgments," the Herald replied with monotonous certainty.
Emily fell silent for a moment. For the first time, the faith she had placed blindly in the Church's decrees collided with the reality of what she had witnessed on the battlefield.
But she did not retreat even an inch.
"Then... there must be a mistake in what they believed they saw."
Kara let out a dry, piercing laugh that echoed beneath the stone vaults.
"A mistake in interpretation?"
Every gaze turned toward her.
The Heroine of Strength stepped forward until she stood shoulder to shoulder with Lusian.
"I was there," Kara said, pointing to the cuts and burns that still marred her armor and skin. "I fought beside him. I saw him face abominations capable of laying entire districts to waste. I saw him cover the retreat of soldiers who did not even know his name." Her gaze hardened as it fixed upon the priest's golden mask. "So I care very little about what some oracle whispers."
The hall fell into deathly silence.
Beside her, Elizabeth had not taken a single step back either.
Felipe raised a hand.
"Silence!"
His voice reverberated throughout the hall.
Then he looked directly at the Heralds.
"Gentlemen, we will hear your words. But do not forget where you stand." His expression hardened with the majesty of a sovereign backed into a corner. "This is still my kingdom."
The Herald inclined his head slightly.
"Of course, Your Majesty."
But there was no respect in his tone; only icy patience, the patience of one who knew he was backed by the weight of faith and doctrine.
Lusian observed the scene in silence.
Now he understood everything: the averted gazes in the streets of Acropolis, the whispers among the merchants, the distance kept by the guards.
They were not judging House Douglas's past.
They were condemning its future.
They spoke of him as though he were a latent threat, an enemy who had to be executed before he could commit his first crime.
Lusian advanced slowly.
He positioned himself directly in the center of the hall. The light filtering through the towering windows fell upon him, illuminating him as though he were standing before an invisible tribunal.
He looked at the Herald.
Then at the priests wearing their golden masks.
And finally, at the nobles who held their breath from the side galleries.
"You speak of my death."
No one answered.
The murmur of the court vanished completely.
Lusian continued, his voice calm, devoid of anger or desperation:
"Do not deny it. You want it."
The Herald held his gaze rigidly.
"We seek to prevent a calamity."
"Then send whoever you wish."
Lusian took another step forward. He did not reach for Dainslein; he had no need to.
"But if someone wants my life..."
He stopped.
For a moment, no one in the hall dared to breathe.
"...then let them be prepared to lose theirs."
The torches along the walls flickered as a dull fluctuation rippled through the air.
Kara smiled from the corner of her mouth, resting a hand proudly upon the pommel of her greatsword. Emily remained firm at his side, ready to serve as his shield.
And King Felipe understood from the duke's gaze that this was not an empty provocation.
It was a final warning.
The Herald remained motionless behind the coldness of his golden mask.
Then he answered after an icy pause:
"So be it."
The silence that followed weighed more heavily than any declaration of war.
Everyone in the court understood that the divine judgment had ended—and that from that moment onward, the peace of the Kingdom had been broken forever.