[Third Era – Year 803 of the Divinity War, Sirithae (formerly known as Hopron), mountains of mist]

  Before they made it home, a drumbeat echoed through the mist, deep and heavy, a steady thrum that pulled the air taut. Gwyff felt its pulse in his bones as it beckoned the entire village together. A call to trial. He didn’t need to ask why. It was his fault. He could feel it, like a weight at the back of his throat, rising with each echo. He had been careless, reckless even, and now he would pay the price for causing such terror.

  The others trudged toward the gathering place as the sound of the drum carried them forward, pushing them toward their inevitable judgment.

  Gwyff couldn’t bring himself to cast a word. He walked alongside Ultorak, whose resolve was just as heavy. No one had dared to question the call, no one dared to ask why this trial had been summoned so suddenly. Trials were rare, after all, and they rarely involved the entire village.

  When they reached the square, the villagers formed a loose circle. The town square, of bare cut stone and moss-covered statues, was already filled with people. Some were sitting, others standing, waiting in quiet anticipation. At the center of the gathering stood the mayor, thin and pale, his eyes darting nervously over the crowd. And beside him, the magistrate, tall and immovable as a stone pillar. The magistrate’s eyes scanned the crowd, settling momentarily on each face, as if weighing them all.

  A hush fell over the assembly as the magistrate stood, his robes rustling in the heavy air. Gwyff feltl his gaze, cold and deliberate, sweeping over him.

  Then, the flash of light.

  It was bright, blinding even, bursting over their heads like a sudden flare. And there, in the air above them, the name appeared in shimmering light—an illusion woven with delicate precision, forming a symbol, a name. Rather than casting images of faces, it was polite to use the symbolic items that represented their names, especially in formal settings such as this.

  Gwyff felt his heart lurch as the symbol came into focus. His mind screamed for it to be over, to not see what he feared. But it wasn’t his name.

  Quiin.

  The girl Ultorak had stopped from being harassed outside the Hall of Enthrallment. But why her?

  And then the boy—the one who had accused her—Lume stepped forward.

  Gwyff’s lips pressed into a thin line. What sort of petty foolishness was this? The boy’s accusations were based on nothing more than fear and petty jealousy. And now, here he was, standing tall, his chest puffed out with self-importance as he moved toward the magistrate.

  Gwyff gave little attention to the farce unfolding before him. He wasn’t interested in the boy’s lies or the way the crowd watched, hanging onto his illusions as if they held weight. He only saw Quiin’s name, glowing faintly above them.

  Gwyff found his mind drifting back to Ultorak’s words. Perhaps once he had thought himself a hero. But he had ruined everything, at least here he had. But there, in his other life, he could still fight to save his brother. He still could inspire others to rise. He still could become a hero. What did he really want? He’d been so caught up in fixing one small situation. Maybe in the end he did want to inspire others.

  The magistrate stood to give the verdict “There is nothing to lay the blame to the accused.” Of course, what did Lume expect? This farce was over. How pointless.

  But for some reason, Lume was smirking. He cast his words high above them “Then I call upon the Shriven to pay the price.”

  There was an audible gasp from the audience. No one had called upon the Shriven for quite some time.

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  The mayor asked, “Who is the Shriven?”

  The boy pointed at Quiin, “She is.”

  That was right, she’d been the one chosen as Shriven all that time ago.

  “Quiin is the Shriven.”

  So that was why he smirked. He had gotten his way regardless of the outcome.

  They brought Quiin forward to be blistered. Gwyff should have been used to this by now, but he couldn’t get used to the idea that someone should be punished for something some supposed mist spirits had done.

  He flinched as they blistered her, using mist crystals to cast intense balls of light so bright that they burned her skin. In his mind, it was his brother there on the ground. He watched as Quiin was blistered and felt the shock of it through his skin as if watching a loved one, and that was so much worse than enduring it himself. He turned away, fuming. He was angry, so angry. He just wanted to do something, to show them how Quiin felt.

  Gwyff had to face it now, he’d never been a hero, except in his own mind. How many times had he watched this horror carried out and never done anything? He couldn’t stand by any longer.

  Gwyff stood forward and blotted out the scene with his words. “This is absurd and mad, blistering this girl just because you can’t find who is really responsible.”

  The magistrate stood forward and said “If we let the spirits of the mist go unpunished there will be no justice. It would cause disruption and chaos. The spirits of the mist would take us all, and society would break. There must be a Shriven or justice will be lost.”

  Gwyff was stunned by such mindless logic. “You cry for justice because you say you don’t know who spread the lie. But I know who attacked her. It was you. It was all of you. Only fools would blister someone they know is completely innocent and call it justice.”

  He looked into their faces and realized he had only angered them. A hero inspires.

  But he remembered one ancient rule, someone could only be the Shriven if no one would stand up for them.

  “I will stand up for her,” Gwyff cast “Quiin can’t be the Shriven because I speak for her.”

  “If you stand for her then she is not the Shriven.” The magistrate held out his hand to those executing the punishment.

  The blistering stopped, and Quiin lay there gasping in pain. But he had stopped it, at least.

  Gwyff felt a sense of exhilaration fill him, and he offered a mystic grin. He’d stood against the entire village, he’d saved Quiin.

  He watched as Quiin staggered away, and the sight broke his heart. He was crestfallen, he should have stopped them from ever hurting her. He should have acted sooner.

  “Come here, boy.” The magistrate beckoned. “I want to speak with you.”

  Gwyff came forward.

  “Tell us what you believe we should do?”

  “These fools crying for justice, they are their own offenders. They maimed themselves and would blame another. Seek to watch another suffer, as if spreading their own misery would make them feel better about themselves.” Gwyff turned to the people. “I would rather see you all beaten, or be beaten myself than stand by and watch what you are doing to this innocent girl.”

  They were timid, they looked at him with fear, as if they expected him to retaliate against the whole lot of them. Just how much had he terrorized them? How had he never seen or known? He couldn’t stop from seeing those eyes, that laugh. It had been like waking from a dream when he hadn’t even known he was asleep.

  The magistrate’s illusions were clear and bright. “We must choose the new Shriven.”

  Gwyff saw the panic in the eyes of the villagers. This had to stop. They didn’t want this, he had to make them see reason. “This is barbaric. There should be no such thing as the Shriven, and I will make sure there never is.”

  He saw some of their looks turn hopeful.

  “If someone stands up for the Shriven that person cannot be the Shriven,” Gwyff cast. “I will stand up for everyone, every single person in the village, so there can be no Shriven.”

  Gwyff was surprised to see bursts of cheering break out above them. Maybe he had done it. Maybe he had finally inspired them. One last push and they could end this barbaric practice once and for all.

  The magistrate cast a flash of light to draw their attention. “There must be a Shriven, no matter what you do. The spirits demand it. Justice demands it.”

  “There is no justice in punishing the innocent. If we stand, we can end this right now and forever.”

  “Bold words. But there is one person you can’t stand up for. Who will stand for you?”

  All was dim and silent.

  He tried to meet their eyes, but no one would.

  “It seems we have a new Shriven.”

  Abruptly, burning light erupted across his back before he managed to form another word. Gwyff fell to his hands and knees in agony.

  Gwyff was shocked to see how quickly they turned on him. Soon they were flashing blindingly scathing remarks, cracking in sparks of fire and blood. They were the words of all those he had terrified.

  Blistering sparks of illusion rained over him and he crumpled to the ground in a ball of pain. Even as gratitude arose to heal him.