Chương 6: What the Priests Saw

The return to the sanctuary's inner wing took place in a silence far heavier than the day before. The difference this time was simple: the entire chamber knew. Not everything. Not the title. Not the exact nature of the fracture. But enough. Enough for every glance cast at Zayn to now carry some form of calculation. The corridors of the Second Ring of the Sanctuary of the Arches had lost none of their brilliance.

The light of the Sun of Glass still slid along the white pillars, broke into soft reflections across the polished floor, made the fine sacred inscriptions carved into the walls shimmer. Everything looked pure. Clean. Perfectly ordered. And yet, as they walked, Zayn saw something else. The priests lowering their eyes a little too quickly. The servants stepping farther aside on his side than on the others'. The knights watching him with a caution they no longer even bothered to hide.

The other four were being escorted. He was being contained. There was no attempt at conversation for the first few minutes. Even Jonah stayed silent. Even Lena. That alone said enough about how deeply the soul measurement session had left its mark. Seven. The number kept returning in Zayn's mind like an insult too cleanly delivered. Not even ten. Not even the approximate density of a normal adult human in this world. Seven. He could feel the logic taking shape inside the sanctuary's stares: four exceptional heroes…

and one mistake. Elias walked ahead, level with the lead guard, not as though he were trying to take charge, but as though his body had naturally placed itself where the group's tension distributed best. Of course. Mira, a little farther back, almost never looked at Zayn directly. Instead, she watched the people watching him. The moments of hesitation. The shifts in posture. The relocated guards. The corridors they were not using. She was already rebuilding the invisible map of his situation.

Lena, meanwhile, looked caught between staying close to Elias to preserve some minimum cohesion in the group… or slowing down to walk beside Zayn. In the end, she chose the second. She moved to his left, not close enough for the gesture to seem theatrical, not far enough for him to pretend it meant nothing.

"Are you holding up?" she murmured. Zayn kept his eyes forward.

"No, but since everyone seems to find that fascinating, I'm making an aesthetic effort." Lena let out a breath through her nose. Not a laugh. Not completely.

"You could answer normally sometimes."

"And ruin my reputation?" This time, she actually smiled. Very slightly. Then it faded.

"Seven," she said even more quietly. The word made him want to tense, but he forced himself not to move.

"Yes."

"I didn't even know that could exist, for a summoned person."

"Neither did I." It might have been the first perfectly honest thing he had said to her since the ritual. Lena fell silent for a second.

"Do you know what Jonah said right after, when we left?"

"I assume it was charming."

"Not exactly." She lowered her voice further.

"He said that if you really were at seven, then what happened yesterday wasn't just abnormal. That it meant something other than raw power had slipped into your summoning." Zayn turned his head toward her.

"He said that?"

"Yes." He looked away almost at once. Of course Jonah would have understood that part. Because a number that low should have been enough to make him a complete failure. Not someone who triggered ritual panic. So the problem was not simply that he was weak. The problem was that despite that weakness, something had still judged him worth recognizing. And that… that could not reassure anyone.

At last, they reached a vast door of opaque glass crossed by golden lines and religious runes older than those in the ordinary corridors. Two sanctuary knights stepped aside without a word when the lead officer presented his seal. The door opened. The room beyond was not a ceremonial hall. It was a decision chamber. Wide, circular, sealed off from the outside world, with a white stone table shaped like a broken ring at its center.

Tall chairs, sculpted but austere, had been arranged around it in a hierarchy visible even to someone who had never seen the room before. Half the seats were already occupied. The Clergy of the Sun of Glass. The College of Arches. A representative of the Crown. And once again, those nobles in ash-gray coats from the east. The Circle of Ash. Zayn understood it better now. This was not merely the name of a collective family line or a religious order.

It was one of the Seven Circles of the human high nobility, each organized around a historical function of the kingdom. The Circle of Ash gathered the great houses of the eastern marches: frontier lords, families who lived closest to the demonic continent, the ones who buried the first dead in every cycle and had long since stopped believing in the elegant delays of the center. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. People forged by ruin.

People who preferred a dead risk to a vague threat. A very bad audience for him. Maelor was already standing in his place. At his right, Archbishop Seradion. At his left, a woman in a dark coat embroidered with silver thread, likely sent directly by the Crown. When the five entered, the conversation stopped at once. The archbishop set his eyes on them, then said,"The recognized heroes may wait in the adjoining antechamber. The summoned Zayn Veylor remains here." Lena tensed immediately.

"What?" The woman from the Crown answered before Seradion could.

"The exchange that follows does not concern the validation of your heroic titles."

"It concerns him," Jonah said.

"Yes," replied one of the nobles from the Circle of Ash.

"And that is exactly the problem." Elias took one step, just one.

"If he was summoned with us, we should know what is being decided about him." The ash-gray noble who had already spoken during the soul measurement lifted a dry gaze toward him.

"No. What you must learn first is that being summoned here does not grant you the right to sit in on the kingdom's decisions." The tone was not contemptuous. It was worse. Habitual. As though this hierarchy were so obvious that only a child would question it. Jonah opened his mouth. Mira cut him off with a single word, almost imperceptible:"Not here." He shot her a dark look, but he understood. This room was not a place where they would gain anything by being frontal. Lena, meanwhile, kept her gaze fixed on Zayn.

Not on the priests. Not on the nobles. On him. As though she were silently asking whether he would hold together without forcing her into some stupid scene. Zayn held her gaze for a second. Then he lifted one shoulder.

"Go with them." She frowned.

"Zayn—""Go." The word came out flatter than he meant it to. Not kind. Not brutal. Simply tired. Elias gave the room one last look, weighed the forces present, then inclined his head slightly. Not in submission. In memorization. He led the other three toward the antechamber without pressing further. When the door closed behind them, the silence changed texture immediately. There was no group anymore. No living human friction. Only institutions. The king was not there. Neither were the people.

Only the hands that truly held the kingdom.

"Sit," Maelor said. This time, Zayn obeyed without arguing. Not out of docility. Out of economy. The chair indicated for him was lower than the others. Naturally. Seradion folded his hands before him.

"We are going to be very clear." The noble of the Circle of Ash let out the faintest sneer.

"That would be a pleasant first." The archbishop did not even look at him.

"Yesterday's ritual produced an interference not covered by standard texts. Today's soul measurement confirmed a serious anomaly, but not one immediately classifiable as active corruption." Zayn held back a laugh. They truly were incapable of speaking any other way. The woman from the Crown took over.

"In simpler terms, Zayn Veylor is neither validated as a hero nor condemned as a demonic entity."

"For now," added the ash-gray noble.

"For now," she conceded. At least that one knew how to speak in a normal language when needed. Seradion resumed:"The Clergy considers the subject a major doctrinal danger. If his true title were to be revealed, the consequences would be considerable." Not his true title. The phrase made something twitch inside Zayn. So they knew. Or at least some of them knew enough. He cast a very brief glance toward Maelor. The mage did not move. Impenetrable. Of course.

The woman from the Crown went on:"The College considers the subject a unique historical anomaly whose study takes priority over any definitive action."

"The Circle of Ash," said the eastern noble at once, "considers that a summoned individual with soul strength seven, interrupted resonance, and recognition by an unknown interference at the heart of a heroic ritual is not a subject of study. It is a threat in incubation." This time, no one interrupted him. Because however brutal his reasoning was, it held together perfectly. The noble turned his head directly toward Zayn. There was no hatred in his stare. That was worse.

The stare of a man used to looking at things he might have to have killed.

"Do you understand what that number means?" Zayn looked at him without answering. The man continued anyway.

"An ordinary adult human is worth around ten. A decent knight reaches twenty-five. A frontier officer worthy of the name nears fifty. A high-ranking mage exceeds seventy-five." He paused.

"The other four are already worth between seventy-four and one hundred." The silence tightened around that final word. Then:"You are worth seven." Each syllable landed cleanly. Not an attack. A fact.

"So if a power recognized you despite that, the danger does not lie in your current strength. It lies in what that recognition may later allow to be bypassed." Zayn kept his stare fixed. Part of him wanted to answer with something sharp, intelligent, poisonous. Another part understood that here, every additional word would be harvested as material. The woman from the Crown folded her hands.

"The immediate problem is political." Yes. At last. Someone had put the right word first.

"The summoned heroes must be presented to the kingdom in the coming days. The population expects saviors. The noble houses expect alliances. The military orders expect assignments. The Clergy expects a clear moral reading." She set her eyes on Zayn.

"And in the middle of all that, we have a fifth summoned whom it is impossible to present as he is." Seradion inclined his head very slightly.

"The title must remain secret." The noble of Ash replied at once:"The title must above all be rendered useless."

"That is not for you to decide."

"It is for us to pay the price if you are wrong." The tone rose by one degree. Not in volume. In truth. Maelor spoke then. Finally.

"Enough." The word cut through the chamber more effectively than the archbishop's voice.

"The two assistants present yesterday have been purged of the exact memory of the interrogation." Zayn looked up. Good. So Maelor really had sealed the leak. Not just in theory. The mage continued:"The scribes received only a partial public reading. The nobles present at the soul measurement have access only to the numbers, not the full reading of the initial rite. As of now, only the members of this room know that a non-heroic recognition occurred." The word title was not spoken.

But this time, everyone heard it anyway. The woman from the Crown let out a slow breath.

"How long can we keep this contained?" Maelor answered without hesitation.

"Not long." The ash-gray noble barely laughed.

"At last, a useful sentence." Maelor did not even look at him.

"The problem is not only human leakage. The problem is coherence. The more Zayn is exposed to reading artifacts, blessing rites, or certain perceptive skills…" His gaze slid very briefly toward the closed door of the antechamber. …so toward Mira, Zayn understood.

"…the more difficult the discrepancy will be to conceal." Seradion closed his eyes for a second.

"Then we have no choice." Lena would have hated that sentence. Jonah even more. The noble of the Circle of Ash straightened ever so slightly, ready to bite. But Seradion finished differently than he expected.

"The four recognized heroes will enter the primary protocol starting today. Zayn Veylor, meanwhile, will take part in the first evaluation excursion under direct supervision." Zayn lifted his head at once. First excursion. The noble of Ash frowned.

"An excursion?"

"Yes," said Maelor.

"Beneath the sanctuary." The mage placed both hands on the table.

"The ritual underways still contain confinement galleries, old reliquaries, seal conduits, and residual pockets of minor entities. The location is dangerous enough to observe real reactions, but controlled enough to avoid an open catastrophe." Zayn understood almost immediately. A test. Not an open execution. Not yet a heroic mission.

A test where they could see: how he reacted under pressure, whether he developed an active anomaly, whether he endangered the others, or whether he simply died and spared them the trouble of choosing. The noble of the Circle of Ash understood the same thing.

"You want to throw him into a sealed abyss and see whether something comes back out." Maelor looked at him at last.

"I want observations in real conditions before you demand his military transfer." The word transfer made its way through Zayn's mind with glacial slowness. So it was already there. Not decided yet. But already imagined. The woman from the Crown drew in a breath.

"And if this excursion goes badly?" Seradion answered:"Then we will have justification." For what? No one asked. Because everyone knew. The ash-gray noble fixed Zayn for one more second, then sat back completely.

"Very well." He spoke the way one grants a reprieve to something one reserves the right to break later.

"But if this evaluation confirms a drift, the Circle of Ash will demand his requisition." That word again. Requisition. Not execution. Not protection. Requisition. Like a dubious weapon taken to the front so someone could decide whether it served a purpose or should be thrown into the fire. The woman from the Crown neither approved nor objected. A very bad sign. Then Seradion finally asked the question Zayn had known was coming from the beginning.

"Do you have anything to say before this decision is applied?" The whole room watched him. Maelor, who wanted to understand. The Clergy, who wanted containment. The Crown, which wanted management. Ash, which wanted a quick decision. Zayn stayed silent for two seconds. Then three. He felt the old reflex rising in his chest. Shut down. Mock. Wound before being wounded. But something else moved too. Not courage. A dirtier kind of lucidity. If they were waiting for him to plead, he lost.

If they were waiting for him to threaten, he lost even faster. So he said the only thing that could still inconvenience them a little.

"You've already decided." The ash-gray noble gave a slight sneer. Seradion, however, answered plainly:"Yes." At least that. At least no more false choice. Zayn gave the slightest nod.

"Then no." No speech. No pleading. No explosion. Just that. No. Something in the room shifted by a hair. The noble of Ash did not seem impressed. Neither did the woman from the Crown. But Maelor watched that answer with very fine attention. As though even that poor, dry, insufficient refusal fit into a compartment he had not yet fully filled. Seradion rose.

"Take him to the antechamber. The group departs within the hour." Within the hour. Time had just shortened again. As Zayn was led back toward the door, he finally understood what this meeting had truly decided. Not only his supervision. Not only his evaluation excursion. It had given him a deadline. A very short one. To be useful. Or become easy to remove.