CHAPTER TWELVE
To Convince the Council
As they escorted me toward the Captain of the Guard’s office, more and more people stopped to stare. Whispers spread through the gathered crowd as soon as they noticed my ragged, bloodstained clothes. Concern flickered in their eyes, an unspoken fear of what new tragedy might follow.
Most of them were probably wondering what they stood to lose this time. After all, the Bad Omen had arrived again, escorted by guards, just like before. Even through the murmurs and sideways glances, I felt their silent judgments pressing in from all sides. Roran and his team seemed uneasy too, their postures growing tense under so many watchful gazes.
Eventually, we reached a large building with additional guards posted out front. The front courtyard buzzed with activity, as if several shifts were overlapping. A few men and women rushed in and out, carrying weapons or bundles of paperwork. I barely had time to register the bustle before the guards led me inside, guiding me down a long, narrow corridor with walls lit by faint, sputtering lamps. We passed a couple of side rooms where off-duty guards huddled in hushed conversation, but my escort hurried me forward until we stopped at a single door bearing an engraved plaque:
Norman Highrow
(Captain of the Guard)
I recognized the name as Hana and Cedric’s father—the man rumored to be exceedingly strict. For a moment, we all stood outside, silent. Tension prickled in the hallway as the guards exchanged uneasy glances.
“Should we use the sticks?” Mareth joked in a hushed voice. “Whoever picks the short stick is the one to talk to the Captain.”
“Don’t be childish,” Kael grumbled, though his gaze darted to the door again, as if half-considering the idea. “Roran’s is the most senior guard among us. He should be the one to go in.”
Mareth nodded. Roran looked as though they had both betrayed him. “Fine,” he muttered. “But you two owe me for this.”
With a resigned sigh, he pushed the door open and stepped through alone, leaving the rest of us in the corridor. Kael and Mareth leaned in, ears nearly pressed to the door’s frame. I felt self-conscious about eavesdropping, but when they did it so openly, curiosity tugged at me too. I found myself crouching below them, straining to make out voices.
We heard Roran’s tone first—still subdued, but tight with urgency. “Sir, we’ve got a… situation at the residential post.”
A deeper voice answered, carrying a worn authority that suggested he had seen countless crises before. “What is it this time?”
There was a brief pause, as though Roran braced himself. “A child, sir. Walking in the fog. He says his name is Omen, and he claims to have information requiring your attention.”
“A child walking in the fog? Calling himself Omen?” The Captain sounded skeptical. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“No, sir. I wouldn’t dare joke about this. We brought him here; he’s right outside.”
“Then bring him in.”
Moments later, the door swung wide. Roran stood there, catching Kael, Mareth, and me hunched around the entry like children caught spying. “Come on, kid,” he said with a faint sigh, stepping aside for me to enter.
I moved past him into the office and found Norman Highrow seated behind a solid wooden desk piled high with documents and rolled-up reports. At a glance, he matched everything Hana and Cedric had hinted at—tall, broad-shouldered, with a stern demeanor and a scattering of scars on his forearms. His cropped hair and square jaw only heightened the impression of strict discipline.
His sharp gaze swept over my torn shirt and the caked blood, and I saw his eyes narrow with suspicion. “So, you’re Omen?” he asked, sounding both disbelieving and intrigued. “We don’t have anyone here by that name… aside from a certain person.”
Norman Highrow’s presence made it clear that lying to him would be dangerous. Still, I had come prepared to conceal certain truths behind carefully chosen words.
“Yes, sir,” I said, forcing my voice steady. “Most people call me the Bad Omen. I’m not formally registered in District 98, but I live here. Please… just call me Omen.”
His suspicion hardened, as if he were trying to read my every twitch. “Tell me, Omen, do you often wander around in the fog? In case you haven’t noticed, it’s crawling with beasts.”
He glanced pointedly at the cuts in my shirt, at the dried bloodstains. His tone suggested disbelief that anyone, especially a child, could survive multiple ventures into the fog.
I lifted a tattered edge of my sleeve, remembering the wounds that had been there before my long sleep. “Yes, Captain. I’m very aware of how dangerous it is.”
Norman’s expression grew more appraising. He looked like someone who had faced down plenty of monsters himself and expected no less of his men. “It’s remarkable you’re alive. This is the second time we’ve found you wandering out there, is it not? Once might be luck, but twice…” He let the implication hang in the air. “That doesn’t happen by coincidence.”
I nodded soberly. “Yes, Captain Norman. But I didn’t go there to test my luck a second time. I bring a warning for the district.”
That declaration made his eyebrows rise slightly, a flicker of interest replacing some of the suspicion. “A warning, you say? Some new beast on the move, threatening our ward?”
“Not exactly.” I hesitated, trying to arrange my thoughts. “It’s not our ward that’s in danger—at least, not yet. District 95 is going to be destroyed soon. Its Obelisk will be taken. And it’ll happen in twenty-nine days.”
A heavy silence fell across the room. Behind me, Kael and Mareth exchanged wide-eyed stares, while Roran stiffened where he stood. Norman stayed composed as a statue, though his gaze pinned me, searching for any hint of dishonesty.
“Twenty-nine days is very specific,” he said quietly. “You speak as if you know the future. I find that hard to believe.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“It’s not that I see the future, sir.” My heart thudded as I forced my voice not to tremble. “But I know something or someone is targeting District 95’s Obelisk, and they’ll strike exactly twenty-nine days from now.”
My heart drummed so hard I could feel it in my throat. Everything hinged on whether they believed what I was about to say. If they dismissed my warning, I had no backup plan and District 95 would be left defenseless.
Norman stood in front of me, silent for a long moment, his rugged features betraying no emotion. It was difficult to read him in the sparse light of his office. At last, he spoke, his voice sounding as if it had been honed by years of barking orders.
“Explain how you know this,” he said, his gaze drilling into mine.
I had already weighed how to convince them. My time was limited; I could not waste any of it in half-measures. In the end, all I could do was come right out and say it: District 95 was going to be destroyed by a beast of the fog.
Yet, it was not up to District 98 to decide how District 95 should respond. The role of District 98 was only to decide whether this information was urgent enough to be carried by the Chainrunners all the way to District 95. If the Chainrunners refused, I would have to attempt the journey myself, something that felt overwhelmingly risky. I did not know those routes, and explaining my mission to each District along the way would be a nightmare, wasting precious time.
Moreover, the most likely scenario was that I would run into yet another beast and slip into a long sleep. By the time I awakened, District 95 could already have been wiped out.
But if the Chainrunners’ message sounded like something people desperately wanted to believe, some revelation that offered them a glimpse of otherworldly intervention, perhaps they would heed the warning. They would not listen because a nine-year-old child said so, but because, in times of fear, people often clung to something greater than themselves.
I felt a stab of guilt at the thought of exploiting their belief, yet I saw no better option. Letting them walk into destruction without warning would be worse. So I chose my words carefully, hoping to kindle some ray of hope, even if it meant bending the truth about the fog.
“I know District 95 is going to be destroyed because the fog told me,” I said quietly, watching for reactions. “It does not want the people of District 95 to die, so it sent a warning. A beast is headed their way, and they cannot fight it. The District will fall once its Obelisk is gone, but the people can still be saved.”
A deep silence choked the air.
Nobody spoke or even moved for a full minute.
Everyone present knew that people blamed the fog for bringing monsters. Many believed it to be a sentient enemy of humanity. By claiming the fog had chosen to communicate with me, I was all but telling them that our oldest adversary had suddenly decided to help. It sounded outrageous… yet might be believable, coming from someone who had walked in the fog before.
Kael and Mareth, standing off to one side, seemed almost convinced already, judging by the sweat beading on their foreheads. Their eyes darted around as though the walls themselves might close in.
As the second minute slipped by, the Captain finally broke the stillness.
“I see.”
Then silence again.
“Captain,” I began carefully, “I know this must be difficult to believe, but we haven’t much time. They need to be warned—”
“And what exactly do you expect us to do?” the Captain cut in, his voice calm but edged with skepticism. “Tell them to abandon an entire district? Even if your warning is real, do you think they will leave their ward to seek refuge in another district that may not even have the resources to feed them?”
His expression revealed genuine concern, yet also a readiness to dismiss me if the logistics seemed too far-fetched.
“Sir, we should at least send a message,” I pleaded, feeling a swirl of desperation. “They need some kind of warning.”
“That is not for you to decide,” the Captain returned bluntly. “That falls to the Council. And even if the Council does want to send a message, the Chainrunners themselves have the autonomy to refuse. They could also decide on their own to go, even if the Council does not approve.”
He sounded weary, and a little frustrated. The autonomy of the Chainrunners in District 98 was notorious. Realizing that I might not get any more direct support from him, I nodded in resignation.
Norman lifted his gaze, eyeing me from head to toe. “You have survived the fog more than once, and that’s worth noting. Even if I doubt this business about the Fog ‘speaking,’ I’ll forward your message. Let the Council and the Chainrunners decide. Is that all?”
I hesitated, noticing how the tension in the room lessened slightly. Something told me I might not get another audience with Norman Highrow anytime soon, and there was one more matter I needed to clarify, something that could spare me a lot of trouble later.
“Actually, there is one more thing,” I said quietly, choosing my words with care. “I know that leaving the district is not punishable in itself, but I know that breaking security is. I know some might consider leaving the ward without going through official records a breach...”
That was one aspect of ancient Araksiun culture that remained very much alive in District 98: endless paperwork. I understood that they needed records for every Chainrunner departure. Norman, of course, knew this better than anyone.
“Yes, indeed,” Norman replied, slight disapproval coloring his tone. “Security breaches are punished. But you are not even a registered citizen here. And as far as I know, this is the first time we have caught someone slipping out and coming back like you did, usually those that go out never come back and that is punishment enough. I was inclined to overlook it. Unless… are you asking to be punished?”
“No, Sir,” I said, raising my hands quickly. “That’s not it. It’s just…” I hesitated, trying to put my thoughts in order. My belongings, my food supplies, and all the materials I had stored were still in the fog. Realistically, that was where I slept—my home, in a sense. Winter had not yet ended, and the idea of sleeping on the streets again made me shudder. But sooner or later, the guard would catch me coming or going, and I might be in deeper trouble.
Given how much I had already tested their trust by claiming the fog spoke to me, I could only imagine how suspicious they would get if they caught me prowling around outside the ward again. Lost in thought, I drifted into silence until I realized everyone was watching me blankly. I snapped out of it and apologized.
“Sorry. I tend to get lost in my head sometimes. I didn’t mean any offense. What I was asking is… hypothetically, if someone wanted to leave the district properly, they would need permission each time, right? To avoid breaking security, they would have to exit through official channels… which means paperwork, or some kind of approval, right? Every single time?”
I finally spilled it out, almost feeling relief just to have voiced the question.
Norman regarded me with mild curiosity. “Strictly speaking, there is no formal ‘permission’ required to leave, because nobody wants to risk their life outside the ward. So we do not mandate it. Hypothetically…” He paused, his tone softening. “The only real condition is that, if someone is under eighteen, they need parental permission to leave. That’s about it.”
He saw through my “hypothetical” facade but did not call me out on it. I supposed he had bigger concerns. At least now it might be easier in the future if I tried to bring any items from the fog into the district. If I entered through a guard post, they could register my supplies. That would keep me from looking like a thief.
I left the Captain’s office feeling more at ease than I had expected. My warning to the Council was in motion, though a sense of urgency still gnawed at me. I could do nothing but hope they would act before District 95’s time ran out.
Roran and his small team, who had witnessed more than they probably ever wanted to, loitered in the hallway. Roran and Kael departed soon after, but Mareth insisted on walking me to the residential district, adamant that Elina and Jharim needed to know I was safe. They had, apparently, spent the past few days—while I was in my long sleep—fretting anxiously over what had become of me.