(Serian POV)
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They didn't wait for him to return to the capital.
They came to him.
In the dead of night, as his camp slept under a rain-soaked canopy, five robed figures stood around his tent. They bore white staffs etched with golden scripture—and silver masks shaped like angels.
> "Serian of the Flame," the tallest one said, "You have violated the Code."
Serian didn't flinch. He stood, sword sheathed at his side.
> "I protected innocents."
> "You protected her people," another snapped. "The Demon Queen's filth."
> "They were human."
> "So was she, once."
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The tallest priest stepped forward.
> "Do you know what happens to heroes who forget their chains?"
He lifted his hand.
A collar of light began to form in the air—holy magic meant to bind souls.
Serian's heart pounded. Not with fear.
With rage.
> "You would shackle me," he whispered, "for showing mercy?"
The collar cracked with golden energy.
> "No. We shackle you for forgetting your purpose."
> "Then perhaps," Serian said, stepping forward, "I need a new one."
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The clash was swift.
He didn't draw his sword—he didn't need to.
His hand caught the collar mid-air and shattered it with a pulse of flame. Not divine flame—something older.
The five priests froze.
> "That power…" one whispered. "It's not holy. It's not even human."
The leader raised his staff again.
But Serian simply stared.
> "Tell the Council," he said coldly, "I won't kneel."
The priests vanished in streaks of light.
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Later that night, Serian stood by the river, staring at his reflection.
The flames behind his eyes were not his.
They belonged to someone else.
And far away, in the Hollow Mountains, Malveth sat up suddenly.
> "He awakened a piece," she whispered.
Her love interest frowned. "Of what?"
She didn't answer.
Just smiled.
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