Chapter 17: Tides of Uncertainty
Silence held the grand hall like a vice.
Aleron's blade, so often a symbol of justice and divine fury, hung idly by his side. His golden eyes flickered not with righteous fire, but turmoil—deep, cutting doubt that Kieran could see even from across the chamber.
The nobles, guards, and high priests remained frozen in shock. The illusion still shimmered above them—lines of fate unraveling, the truth etched into light.
Kieran took a cautious step forward, watching every twitch of Aleron's hand. He couldn't afford to misread this moment.
"Aleron," he said, voice sharp but calm. "You know what they did to you. To all of us."
Kaela stood rigid beside Aleron, sword halfway drawn. Lira clutched her staff, trembling. Only Aria, ever the calm center of the Chosen's harem, stepped closer to Aleron and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Say something," she whispered.
Aleron's jaw clenched. "How… how long have you known?" he asked Kieran, voice quieter than a whisper but heavy with grief.
"Since the moment I awakened in this world," Kieran replied. "The system showed me pieces. And I've clawed my way through lies to get here."
The hall stirred. Whispers rippled through the gathered lords and scholars.
"Lies…"
"They orchestrated it all?"
"But the prophecies—"
"They were written by men."
Lady Fenra stepped forward from the noble crowd, her voice rising above the chaos. "High Priest Malrick, you stood before my dying son and told him the gods had chosen his sacrifice. Was that your will or theirs?"
The High Priest, now pale and trembling, raised a hand. "You must understand—order must be preserved—"
"By spilling blood and chaining fate?" Fenra spat.
The guards hesitated. The nobles drew back. A fracture had begun.
Selene leaned toward Kieran. "The veil's torn. Now what?"
"Now…" Kieran's eyes narrowed. "We make it irreversible."
He raised a hand, and Iris activated the final sigil—a surge of magical energy burst from the crystal embedded in the floor. The illusion shifted, projecting one last vision—the forging of a Fateweave scroll.
It showed a room deep beneath the Cathedral, cloaked in darkness. A group of masked priests, led by Malrick himself, writing prophecy not through divine means but through ancient magic and soulbinding rituals.
The vision ended.
Gasps erupted. One of the lesser priests fainted.
Malrick stumbled back. "You fool! You know not what you're doing. The gods will not forgive this!"
"There are no gods here," Kieran said coldly. "Only men who play them."
In that moment, something changed.
Aleron stepped forward, gaze on Malrick now.
"Is it true?" he asked, barely audible.
Malrick opened his mouth to deny it—but the illusion had already answered.
"I thought I was chosen," Aleron whispered. "I thought… I was saving the world."
"You were being used," Kieran said. "Just like me."
The silence shattered as Kaela finally moved. Her blade swung in a sharp arc—defensive, not toward Kieran, but toward a high priest who had drawn a dagger behind Aleron's back.
Blood splattered the marble floor. Kaela stared at the corpse, chest heaving.
And then, slowly, she turned to face Aleron.
"What do we do now?" she asked.
The weight of the room shifted.
All eyes fell on the Hero.
He looked at Kieran. At the crowd. At his comrades.
And then, with a slow exhale, he sheathed his sword.
"We break the wheel," he said.
Gasps turned into murmurs, murmurs into shouts—some of outrage, some of support. The guards wavered. A noble collapsed to his knees.
Malrick screamed. "You'll destroy us all! Chaos will reign!"
Kieran stepped toward him, calm and resolute. "Then let chaos reign. It's better than a cage of gold and lies."
The High Priest drew on divine magic, summoning a storm of holy light.
But he never finished the spell.
Veyra's axe cleaved through the air, splitting Malrick's staff—and his body—into two.
Screams erupted, but they were too late. The last binding thread of the Cathedral's power had been severed.
The summit dissolved into a frenzy. Some fled. Some fought. Others simply stared, unblinking, as their world came undone.
But for Kieran, the moment was clear.
He looked to Selene, to Iris, to Veyra.
To Aleron.
And knew the war had finally begun.
Not of swords and fire.
But of truths too long buried—and fates no longer bound.