The congregation was silent. You could almost hear the weight of judgment in the air — thick, cold, and choking. Every gaze was fixed on Harold, bound by glowing chains that shimmered faintly with divine light. Even breathing too loudly might have been considered blasphemy in that hall.
Elder Nimo’s voice broke through, sharp and clipped. ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ 𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝✶𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮✶𝓷𝓮𝓽
"Is this a chamber for discipline," he asked dryly, "or for marital discussions?"
A low chuckle ran through the rows, but Harold only smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching like he found the question amusing. "Oh, discipline will come, Elder," he said, his tone dripping with mock reverence. "But not from you self-righteous fossils. My punishment," he grinned wider, "will be given by them."
He jerked his bound hands upward, gesturing toward the seven elders seated above. "Those old geezers who think they can play gods."
The entire room stiffened. Even Luther had to admit — the man had guts.
Then Harold’s eyes slid sideways toward the woman standing across from him. "But before that," he said softly, almost fondly, "I haven’t seen my wife in three years. Would it kill you all to let me savor this reunion for just a moment?"
Mariana’s response was a dry, humorless laugh. "If you missed me that much," she said, voice like thunder ready to split the heavens, "you shouldn’t have run off and left me stranded, you arrogant fool."
The crack that followed wasn’t from thunder — it was from the disciplinary staff, which Mariana snapped clean in half.
The sound echoed like a gunshot.
Luther instinctively ducked as a splinter shot past his head and embedded itself in the door behind him with a sharp thunk.
"...Well," he muttered, eyes on the quivering wood, "that escalated quickly."
The sword at his neck whistled appreciatively.
"Note to self," it said, voice dripping with amusement. "Never test her anger."
"Been there, done that," Luther replied, expression flat. "Didn’t end well."
The sword snickered in his mind, clearly enjoying the chaos.
Mariana slammed her broken staff down, her temper blazing. "Enough! Do the judged have any last words before his sentence is carried out?"
Harold tilted his head, his smirk turning cold. "I have only one."
The tension snapped tight — like a bowstring about to break. The elders leaned in. Father Seraphon rose slowly, his presence filling the hall with sacred energy.
"By the decision of the Seven Councils," he began solemnly, "the punishment placed upon Harold of the Third Seat, apprentice to the divine order who betrayed his oath..."
Luther yawned quietly into his hand, earning a glare from the sword.
"Don’t look at me," he whispered back. "I’ve heard better speeches from pigeons."
The sword chuckled. "Careful, saint-boy. You’ll get smited before lunch."
Seraphon’s mouth opened again — "We sentence Harold to—"
The shout split the silence like a blade. The doors burst open, and a guard stumbled in, panting, a rolled letter clutched tightly in his gloved hand.
Instantly, seven ice spikes formed mid-air, each pointed directly at the poor man’s neck. Every elder’s glare was enough to make him wish he’d stayed home.
"Blasphemy!" one elder barked. "You dare interrupt the Sacred Hall without permission?"
The guard trembled but didn’t lower his hand. "Forgive me, my lords! But— but this is urgent! From the palace itself!"
"From the palace?" another elder grumbled.
"What could possibly—?"
"The king," the guard blurted out, "has requested that Harold be brought to the capital at once. By royal order. The letter says... an escort will arrive shortly."
"Escort?" Luther muttered under his breath. "Since when does a traitor get a royal escort? What’s next, a welcome feast?"
The sword made a low hum. "You never know. Maybe they’ll give him a crown too. Traitors are all the rage these days."
Luther almost snorted.
Up front, Harold was grinning. That damned knowing smirk made Mariana’s skin crawl.
She clenched her fists, her aura flaring like a storm about to break loose.
"You planned this," she hissed. "Didn’t you?"
Harold only gave her a mock bow despite his chains. "Why, my dear Mariana, I’d call it divine timing."
"Divine my foot," Luther muttered.
The sword’s voice dripped with glee. "Oooh, you should say that louder. I like watching gods get offended."
"Tempting," Luther said. "But I’d rather not be turned into holy ash today."
Mariana slammed her palm down on the desk, the wind surging and whipping her golden hair around her face. "Take him to his room," she commanded, voice like iron.
"House arrest. Until further orders."
As the guards dragged Harold out, his smirk never wavered. "Try not to miss me too much, love," he said over his shoulder.
Mariana’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing. The chains glowed as he was taken away, the heavy doors closing behind him with a hollow boom.
The silence that followed was unbearable. Luther turned to find everyone — literally everyone — staring at him. The sword whispered in his mind;
"Uh-oh. They’re waiting for you to close the meeting, Saint Shiny."
Luther blinked. "What? Why me? She started it!" He gestured at Mariana, who only arched a brow.
The sword sighed dramatically. "You are the saint, remember? She’s a former candidate. You outrank her."
Luther groaned. "Oh for the love of sanity..."
He stood, scratching the back of his neck.
"Meeting... adjourned?" he said uncertainly.
To his dismay, the elders actually bowed.
The sword snorted so hard it nearly wheezed. "Look at that. You’re royalty now."
Mariana walked past him, her expression unreadable. "Follow me."
Luther hesitated. "Is that an order or—"
"Yes," she said flatly.
He sighed. "Right. Definitely an order."
As they exited, several guards exchanged amused glances. One whispered, "Poor saint. He’s in for it." Another stifled a laugh when Luther shot them a deadpan look.
"You find this funny?" he asked dryly.
"Good. You can take my place next time she’s mad."
The guard coughed and straightened immediately, face pale.
The sword chuckled in Luther’s head. "Oh, that was mean. I like it."
"Glad one of us does," Luther muttered.
They passed through the marble corridors in tense silence, the sound of Mariana’s heels echoing ahead of them. She led him through a walled gate into a secluded courtyard — a training ground for the guards. It was empty, save for a few shattered dummies and weapon racks.
Then Mariana stopped. Without warning, she screamed — a sound raw and furious — and unleashed a gust of divine wind. It tore through the air and obliterated a training dummy, splintering it into a hundred pieces.
The shards fell like rain.
"Damn you, Harold!" she shouted, her voice shaking.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Luther leaned against a post, watching the mess settle. The sword hummed thoughtfully. "Well. She’s mad."
"No kidding," Luther said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Think I should... say something?"
"Like what?" the sword asked. "’There, there, Master, at least you still look good when you’re angry?’"
Mariana turned slowly, her face still burning with rage but her voice low. "You saw that smirk, didn’t you?"
Luther nodded. "Hard to miss. It’s like his face was born to annoy people."
That earned him a small, unwilling snort of laughter. "You really have no sense of reverence, do you?"
"Reverence doesn’t work on people who deserve a punch," Luther said simply.
The sword laughed out loud this time. "See, this is why I like you."
"I’ll take that as a compliment"