Eight months had passed since Azel and Anna began their journey. The desert winds of Gazi whispered across endless dunes, carrying grains of sand that stung the skin and blurred the horizon.
This small nation in the southeastern corner of Elrem was nothing like the cold stone towns they had left behind. It was harsh, hot, and filled with watchful eyes.
Anna tugged at her black stockings, sweat glistening on her cheeks under the relentless sun. She had changed. Her clothes were no longer that of a dancer—they were more mature, formal, womanly.
A black torso hugging her form, thigh-high stockings, and a sheer wrap trailing behind her gave her an elegance that made every man in town pause. Azel had picked the outfit, not just for utility but... preference.
"You plan on staying in this hot place?"
"We won't stay long,"
Anna held his hand tightly, her fingers laced through his. Her other hand shielded her eyes from the sun as they entered the sandstone-walled inn at the edge of the market.
The innkeeper, a balding man with sweat-soaked robes, blinked as the two walked in.
"Room?"
He asked, eyeing Anna more than Azel.
"Yes, for me and my husband."
Whispers stirred behind them. Envious gazes followed them up the stairs, and Forbanna's laughter echoed inside Azel's mind like wind chimes.
"Look at them all. Jealous and lustful,"
Anna led the way into their room and dropped the key on the wooden table. The room smelled faintly of spice and old wood. She turned and faced Azel, raising an eyebrow.
"Lucky guy, aren't you?"
He cracked a rare smile.
"I am. You're attractive."
Her cheeks reddened slightly, but she stepped forward and pecked his lips.
"Wanna continue where we left off last night?"
"Those beasts were nuisances."
"aha! I know right."
* * * * * * * * * *
Meanwhile, in the capital estate of House Vladimir...
Ricardo hurled a glass against the wall. Wine splattered across ancient tapestry.
"I was humiliated! Me! Ricardo Vladimir!"
He paced the room, veins bulging on his temple. Eight months. It had been eight months since that cursed couple—that filthy demon girl and her little husband—had slipped through his fingers.
He had spent those months drinking, ranting, and spending, all while trying to convince the Church of Saint Heron to investigate. He had witnessed the cursed flame. He had seen the forbidden magic. Yet no one believed him.
The reason?
Ricardo is extremely selfish and egoistic noble. Just because of his petty revenge he has dragged church many times just to to fulfill his personal vendetta in the past deeming anyone he didn't like heretic or cursewright just to hang them.
The door creaked open, and one of his men stepped in.
"Well?"
"The Church has sent someone."
Ricardo stopped mid-pace.
"What?"
"A cleric. Said he'd hear your case personally and look into it. But..."
"But what?"
"If your information turns out to be false, you'll be required to pay 50,000 gold in damages for wasting the Church's time."
Ricardo's face twisted.
"Do they know who I am?! I'm the heir of House Vladimir! I—"
The man bowed quickly.
"He's waiting outside. His name is Clind."
Ricardo fell silent. Clind. He hadn't heard of the name before. But atleast someone finally listened.
"Send him in."
The door opened again, and in stepped a man who barely seemed alive. Thin—no, emaciated—his skin pale, lips dry and colorless. A long white cloak trailed behind him, and a silver cross was pinned over his heart.
His eyes, however, sparkled with something terrifying.
"Greetings, I am Clind, disciple of Archbishop Elisar and appointed cleric under the Third Tribunal of Saint Heron. I'm here to hear your testimony."
Ricardo's first instinct was distrust. The man felt... wrong. Too polite. Too smooth. Too clever. But it was all he had.
"I want revenge and I want that cursed bastard burned."
Clind smiled gently.
"Tell me everything."
___________
Clind finished writing.
"And you're certain the flames came from him?"
Ricardo nodded.
"Yes they were black flames. Curse magic. Forbidden."
"And the girl?"
"I have no idea. She didn't feel like she was related to neither holy nor curse magic."
Clind's eyes gleamed.
"Then I will report this to the Archbishop. We'll send someone appropriate."
He closed the book, stood up, and adjusted his robes.
"Wait for his statement."