20Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡV5w3oPcLo8Chapter 6
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THE REUNION
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Cornelius wakes to the crack of wooden staffs slamming against iron. The sound ricochets through the stone chamber like thunder. He jolts upright, heart hammering, breath fogging in the cold air.
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The priests of the village and the Great Hall stand outside the cell—Benjamin among them. Their lanterns cast long, trembling shadows across the floor.
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Cornelius pushes himself to his feet. Then he sees it. Metro’s cell door hangs wide open.
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Empty.
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Silent.
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Impossible.
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Cornelius’s face drains of color. He stumbles back until his spine hits the stone wall.
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Cornelius:
What happened…?
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The elder priest steps forward, eyes blazing.
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Priest:
You’ve switched sides!
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Benjamin says nothing. He just stares at Cornelius—unblinking, unreadable—like he’s trying to see straight through him.
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Another priest jabs a finger toward the empty cell.
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Priest:
He’s a traitor! He’s working with the bandits!
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Cornelius’s breath catches. For the first time in years, he feels something he’s always denied himself—fear. Real fear. The kind that crawls up the spine and squeezes the lungs.
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He bolts.
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He shoves past the priests, nearly slipping on the damp stone. Benjamin doesn’t stop him—he simply watches him go, jaw tight, eyes full of something like awe… or confusion… or disbelief.
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But the other priests shout and give chase, their voices echoing through the hall, stirring the guards, stirring the sleeping village, stirring chaos.
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Cornelius bursts into the courtyard, mud splashing under his boots. He mounts his horse with shaking hands and kicks off hard.
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He slips through the towering front gates entrance just as the black‑armored watch realizes something is wrong.
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A horn blares.
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Arrows start to fly sparatically.
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Children in the street—faces smeared with dawn dust—cheer and chase after the horse, thinking it’s some morning spectacle.
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Then an arrow hits.
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It buries itself deep into the horse’s hindquarters.
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The animal screams, rears, and loyalty ends in an instant.
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Cornelius is thrown—hard.
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He crashes into the mud, his world spinning, vision warping at the edges.
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His ears ring.
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His breath is knocked out of him.
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By the time he lifts his head, the horse is already being seized by the gate guards.
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Cornelius forces himself up, a ways away, slipping, staggering, half‑blind. He hears shouting behind him—angry, confused, accusing—but instincts take over.
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He runs.
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He plunges into the treeline, branches whipping his face, boots sinking into wet earth. The forest covers him with its brush, and within moments, he disappears into the shadows.
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Behind him, the village erupts. Just then-
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The black lacquer carriage rolls up approaching the gate it continues foward ignoring the static around the entrance. It comes to a halt before the stone steps of the Great Hall. Zacharias steps out first, robes swaying, jaw clenched tight. Behind him, Traeven closes the carriage door with a quiet, deliberate click.
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The royal wagon rolls forward without pause.
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