Days blurred together as Cyrus drifted in and out of consciousness, his body and mind struggling to recover from the trauma they had endured. When he finally returned to his feet, the world seemed somehow different, as if the very colors had shifted during his convalescence.
Thanks to Neno's skilled ministrations, Tirag had been healed, though the scars ran deeper than flesh. The moment he could stand, Tirag had retreated to his training room, locking himself away from the world. Cyrus was immensely grateful for Tirag's help in saving Lork, even if it had come at the cost of a promise he would likely come to regret. The weight of that debt hung heavy on his shoulders, a constant reminder of the price of survival.
Lork, however, had vanished without a trace or message. The absence was expected, but it stung nonetheless. Cyrus found himself caught in a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. He knew that Lork had approached him with ulterior motives, but beneath the lies and manipulation, there had been a genuine friendship. It was as clear as crystal, as undeniable as the beating of his own heart. His rational mind urged him to seek out Lork, to mend the rift between them, but shame kept him rooted in place. How could he look his friend in the eye, knowing what he now knew?
The revelation about the girl who had sought his help – Lork's sister – twisted like a knife in Cyrus' gut. He found himself wondering why fate seemed to delight in being so cruel. If only he had helped her, perhaps things could have been different. Perhaps their friendship could have been salvaged. But the moment he had closed that door, ignoring her desperate pleas, he had shattered everything. Like a broken mirror, nothing remained but fragmented pieces, sharp enough to cut anyone who tried to piece them back together.
Yet, could he truly blame himself? She had been with the bureau at the time, had tried to kill him. Was he supposed to simply extend a hand, unsure if it was walking into a trap? He knew, deep down, that Lork would understand. But understanding wasn't enough to face the shame that threatened to consume him.
As Cyrus walked silently through the villa, his bandaged arms tucked into his pockets and his head bowed low, he couldn't escape the weight of his own hypocrisy. He had accused Lork of being a liar, but what was he if not the same? He had lied to his parents, to Leora, to Lork, and even to himself. The realization left a bitter taste in his mouth.
The spinning stairs of the villa stretched out before him, spanning several kilometers around the most massive building in the complex. As he ascended, the wind whipped at his face, forcing him to shield his eyes. When he finally looked up, the imposing structure came into view.
The entrance was a study in dignified power, its massive door dripping with ancient and majestic might. But it was the figure standing guard on the rooftop that truly caught the eye – a lion, carved with such skill that its stone fur seemed to ripple in the breeze. Its powerful canines were bared in a menacing roar, golden eyes gleaming with an air of majesty and authority that seemed to transcend its stone prison.
Cyrus inhaled deeply, steeling himself before pushing the doors open. The resulting creak echoed through the cavernous hall beyond. As he walked along the corridor, he couldn't help but marvel at the large firewood carvings that hung on both sides of the walls. Stone figures lined the passage, growing older and more intricate the deeper he ventured.
The craftsmanship was breathtaking. Cyrus found himself wondering what master artisan could carve stone with such precision, such life. As he moved forward, he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, the stone eyes seeming to follow his every move.
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Finally, he arrived at the center of the hall. The queen and her people sat around a circular table, while the elevated platforms and balconies surrounding the room were filled to bursting with what seemed to be every Bite in existence.
The Prophet stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate, hands clasped behind his back. "Do you know why you're here today, in the Hall of Justice?" His voice carried easily through the hushed chamber.
Cyrus kept his head low, knowing that the Bites would have remained ignorant of his transgressions if not for the Nightmare Vogel's attack upon their return. The creature's ability to blast one's head across domains had proven terrifyingly real. Only the villa's powerful magical wards had saved Tirag's life.
"Do you have any idea why the Bites have survived for so long?" the Prophet continued, his voice rising as he drew closer. Suddenly, he slammed his foot against the ground, the impact sending tremors through the hall. "Because there are rules!"
The noise died down almost instantly, leaving a pregnant silence in its wake. Cyrus finally lifted his gaze, meeting the Prophet's eyes. "My friend was in danger. I couldn't have stayed out," he said, his voice steady despite the fear churning in his gut.
The Prophet's face hardened. "Just because he was in danger doesn't give you the right to break our rules. The use of your canine powers is strictly forbidden for personal agendas. You have transgressed one of the most important tenets that hold us together. This cannot go unpunished." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "You will not receive anything from the Bites anymore. Once you find the primordial canine, you will leave and never approach any of us again, unless your life means nothing to you."
The sentence hit Cyrus like a physical blow. He fell to his knees, pressing his forehead against the cold concrete. "No, I... you can't do that. I need that money, please. It's for my father." His voice cracked with desperation.
The Bites around the room chatted among themselves, their unified opinion clear in their expressions. Cyrus turned his pleading gaze to the queen. "My queen? We had a deal." His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white with tension.
"How could you be so cruel?" he continued, his voice rising. "Lork is like a brother to me. If your daughter was in danger, wouldn't you have rushed to save her? Wouldn't you have broken any rule for her?"
The queen's response was as cold as it was unexpected. "She isn't worth breaking the rules for," she said, tilting her head to lean on one arm. The Bites' voices rose in shock, but none dared to speak out. "Prophet, tell Cyrus why your son's image is in the Souls Passage," she added, absently stroking her small cat.
The Prophet's face remained impassive as he returned to his seat. "Liam was exactly like you. Full of life, full of energy, and full of stupidity," he began, his voice devoid of emotion. "He thought he could use his powers for his personal pleasures. He was exiled, not killed, out of respect for me – something I will forever shame myself for."
Cyrus stared at the Prophet, stunned by the revelation. He had never imagined that the man's dedication to the rules outweighed even his love for family. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. The full weight of his actions, and their consequences, settled over him like a shroud.
Suddenly, the Prophet's eyes exploded with violet energy. He seemed to swell with power, becoming a cosmic star in human form. With a wave of his hand, streams of light danced through the air. His voice, when he spoke, seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
"The wheels of fate are in motion," he intoned. "The veil shrouding the whereabouts of the primordial canine will soon be lifted. Brace yourself, for the storm of our futures is rising."
As quickly as it had come, the display of power faded. The Prophet's eyes flickered, and everything returned to normal. The hall erupted into a cacophony of excited chatter, the Bites' voices rising in a crescendo of speculation and fear.
The queen's face shifted, a mixture of concern and determination etching itself into her features. With a sharp command, she ordered everyone to leave, her voice cutting through the din like a knife.
As the hall began to empty, Cyrus remained on his knees, the weight of his exile pressing down upon him. The path ahead seemed darker and more treacherous than ever before, but he knew he had no choice but to walk it. The primordial canine awaited, and with it, perhaps, a chance at redemption.