The restraints holding Remus down probably should have been the first thing he noticed upon awakening. Maybe it was the roaring headache disorienting him, or everything that had happened recently, or maybe even his strange familiarity with being confined. Whatever the case, the first thing Remus noticed was his surroundings.

He wasn’t in the barracks, or anywhere near the front lines, for that matter. In fact, now that he took in the faces circling him, the thick crowds, the architecture so distinct it could only come from the Leisure District, Remus’ reality crashed down on him.

No matter how tired he was, how close his eyelids were to drooping fully down, or how much pain he was in, he still had enough sense to digest one vital fact.

He was in danger. Oh, terrible, terrible danger. Perhaps the most danger of his life. And after the year Remus had just been through, that statement alone was enough to kill.

Remus noticed the chains then, and suddenly the chafing manacles were the most acute sensation of his life. He didn’t dare struggle against them. One tap into his spiritual senses, and the overwhelming power of the audience hit him like a punch to the nose.

He took in a shaky breath, and at the same time, took in the surroundings in all their horror.

Chained against a post, cresting a wooden platform at the centre of Leisure District, Remus could see the assembled crowd with more clarity than he could ever possibly need. No activation of his Mark was needed to send adrenaline coursing through the obstacle course of his internals — there were already gallons of the stuff calling his beaten body home.

The man standing next to him radiated at least Warlord power. The epaulettes of his uniform, the self-assured look in his eyes, and even the steadfast aura emitted by his Mark . . . it all spelled out his Justice Clan background in clear, bold writing.

The buzzing of the crowd did nothing to relax Remus’ frantic nerves. He couldn’t decipher the general emotion pervading the gathering. Was it anger, annoyance, pure confusion, or intrigue? If the people of his own city turned against him . . .

No. Relax. Relax, before you burst a blood vessel. The words did the bare minimum to stop Remus from being sick, the tension in his stomach nauseating.

The man opened his lips, crew-cut hair styled perfectly to his square face. “We gather here today, fellow citizens of First Rite, and representatives of foreign cities-”

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

Remus did his best not to squirm. It was painfully clear what was occurring, but that can of worms only opened up other questions; about two million of them. If this matter was involving people outside of his comfy home of First Rite, ignoring any issues with Damosh, then why on earth was it getting so out of hand? What had Remus done?

The newspapers danced before his eyes. His heart vaulted into his throat, one possible prospect tearing him from the inside out anew. If this had anything to do with his association with Violet, and she was in some sort of danger . . . if anything had happened to her . . .

His stomach, throat, and chest all ached, hot lava flooding through them all. It threatened to burn him to shreds, to light his body aflame with greater power than he could ever hope to exude himself.

“ . . . for the trial of Remus, reported member of both the Carpentry and Ambition Clans. Today addresses his allegations of endangering the war effort, placing the importance of his own personal vendetta over that of the wider world. Deserting his clan, cooperating with the Unbounded, the list goes on. Not to mention the many grievances clans have against the defendant, whether they can be considered in a court of law or not.”

Remus rested his forehead against the ground ahead of him, the temptation to headbutt the platform repeatedly overwhelming. It was only squandered by the fact that while yes, it would be gratifying to give up his last strand of sanity, coming off as a lunatic probably wouldn’t have helped his case. And, by the looks of it, Remus would have to fight for his life.

The eyes of the crowd. It was the only thing he could focus on. The man that served as his judge, jury, and executioner only set his nerves into a frenzy, and so for his own good, and the good of the crowd not having to see him vomit, Remus set himself to staring at no-one in particular.

That was, until he saw them.

Two dots of gold in the hoards of people, somehow blending in, and lost to Remus if he did so much as blink.

The man was clad in his signature robe of gold, one Remus would have paid anything to see torn apart, and covered with the man’s blood. Gold clashing on gold.

The man next to him was shorter in stature, in wealth, and in every attribute Remus could name. A lesser Damosh, but Remus knew Edmar with an uncomfortable familiarity.

These two, he could stare at all day. He gazed at their smug faces, knew exactly what kind of strings they had to pull to arrange his downfall, and never did blink. Remus could have burnt bullet holes through their faces, had Damosh’s glimmering white teeth not been nearly as blinding.

There on the platform, somehow so terribly alone among a crowd of hundreds, Remus felt his entire world be undone.

End of Arc 3: Clad in Iron