Chapter 2 - Shadows Over Valoria
The sudden shift in the crystal’s glow sent a shockwave of cold terror through the Grand Hall. The sickly crimson smoke curling from the base of the pedestal carried the acrid smell of burning sulfur and volatile black powder.
“Down! Everyone get down!” High Scholar Alistair shrieked, throwing his aged body behind a stone column.
Panicked screams echoed off the vaulted ceiling. Nobles trampled over velvet robes, fleeing toward the high archways. Guard captains drew their broadswords, completely helpless against a magic they couldn’t comprehend.
Only two figures remained unmoving in the center of the chaos: Fenris and Lord Caspian Veyne.
Caspian’s calm facade cracked for a fraction of a second. His dark eyes flicked toward Fenris—not with contempt, but with a sharp, murderous realization. The fake core was meant to detonate after the royal treasury took custody of the real artifact, framing the rival house for treason. It was never supposed to be exposed here.
With a flick of his wrist, Fenris stepped toward the smoking pedestal. He didn’t run. He didn’t panic. Raising a single finger, he tapped the side of the glowing red stone.
A micro-burst of pristine, silvery light rippled from his skin. The crimson smoke evaporated instantly. The unstable magic inside the river silt collapsed into nothingness, leaving behind nothing more than a dull, useless gray rock.
The room fell into a suffocating silence.
Alpha Merrick stared at the dead stone, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He looked at Fenris, then at the gray clay, then back at the stable boy whose face remained entirely calm.
“You... what did you do?” Merrick rasped, his voice trembling despite himself.
“I saved your life,” Fenris replied softly. “And the lives of everyone in this hall.”
Before Merrick could process the insult, Caspian Veyne stepped forward, his expression smoothed back into icy professionalism.
“Guard captains, secure the room!” Caspian barked, his voice cutting through the remaining noise. “It seems a dangerous imposter artifact was substituted under our very noses. We owe this... young man a debt of gratitude for noticing the discrepancy.”
Caspian leaned in closer to Fenris, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper that only Fenris and Vana could hear. “However, knowing how a bomb is made often means knowing who built it. Do not leave the city, stable hand.”
Vana felt her stomach drop. Caspian wasn’t thanking him; he was marking him for execution. As Caspian turned away to direct his soldiers, Vana grabbed Fenris’s arm, pulling him out through a side servant entrance into the cool night air.
“What was that?” Vana demanded, her voice shaking as they reached the quiet shadows of the outer courtyard. “Fenris, you neutralized a black-powder magic bomb with your bare hands! Who are you?”
Fenris looked up at the twin moons hanging over the mountains. The quiet, gentle smile returned to his face, but his eyes held an ancient, heavy sadness.
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“I am your husband, Vana,” he said quietly. “And right now, we need to pack our things. Merrick will not let this humiliation go.”
He was right. Behind them, in the grand shadows of the keep, Alpha Merrick was already summoning Bran and his heaviest enforcers. The Alpha had been made a fool in front of the entire kingdom, and in the Iron Blood Pack, humiliation was paid for in blood.
