Author's note: I thank you all for reading my volume so far. We still have a bit to go until it's done, around fourty-ish chapters.

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And enjoy the chapter as it's one of my more favorite ones!

*** Cyrus nodded silently. His mind churned with unpleasant thoughts as he fell into step behind her. But before Dílis turned on the brass handle of the exit, she paused and turned to him, her expression filled with concern.

"You know, you don't have to watch this," she said softly. "No one is going to think less of you."

Cyrus was surprised by her consideration. He stared at her quietly as he formed his words.

"No need. I want to," he muttered, his gaze never quite locked with hers. "I want to see... what kind of person who willingly wishes to ruin another's life."

Lilie cast one final, meaningful look at Cyrus before opening the door. And forward they went. They stepped out to the plaza a few minutes later, where Leal and Blake greeted them.

Above them were also four canaries who circled around them. As three canaries flitted about playfully, the lone Bird caught sight of Cyrus and gracefully alighted on his shoulder. Seeing this, the other canaries followed suit, each landing on their partners. Scáth and Tuuli settled on Blake and Lilie while the purple canary perched on Leal's finger.

Blake had mentioned Scáth's name to Cyrus earlier, though the latter felt no need to mention the memory shard.

Leal extended her finger, and her companion hopped onto it. "This is Amy."

Chirp!

Blake's smile widened at the sight of the little purple fluffball. "Don't you mean Amethyst, Team Leader?" Chuckling, he turned to Cyrus. "Our other member, Atlas, was so lazy that he shortened it, and it sort of stuck despite Team—" Suddenly, Blake choked mid-sentence as Leal's gaze landed on him. "—never mind."

Cyrus faked a smile. "Your Amy is beautiful." To appear friendly, he playfully wiggled his fingers at the bird. "Isn't that right?"

Chirp!

As Amy chirped happily, Leal's stern countenance softened into a grateful nod before she switched her gaze toward the city's center.

"In an hour, the execution begins," she said in a low tone. "Let's get going and make sure everything proceeds smoothly."

The other members of Team Breeze nodded while Cyrus remained silent. With that, the group moved forward as they passed checkpoint after checkpoint expressly set up for the event. Beside them were mobs of people that congested the streets and alleyways, all heading in the same direction. Weren't for Dílis' special status, Cyrus would have doubted that they would have even reached the plaza in the first place.

Soon, they arrived at the Guardsman headquarters. There, they saw hundreds, if not thousands, of spectators, their voices blending into a cacophony of wrath and hate. There was too much noise. So much so that the chaos frightened the canaries to take flight and follow Team Breeze and Cyrus at a distance as they pushed through the dense throng.

There are so many people. Cyrus thought as the group pushed forward. Did they all come here to watch the execution?

It was such a shock to him. Were all people like this?

Thankfully, the mob remained contained. They were unable to breach the heavily barricaded line loaded with guards. And for good reason, too, for they appeared ready to shred a man into pieces.

Despite this, Cyrus and Team Breeze pushed their way through, which proved challenging against the volatile crowd. Those who were disturbed shot hateful glares—glares that swiftly shattered upon recognizing the group as Wayfarers. This was the situation until they pushed through the crowd and into the barricade. With Leal's confirming nod, Dílis stepped forward and addressed the defending guardsmen under the roar of the enraged mob. And it was enough. However, once on the other side, Cyrus held his breath.

There it was. Six empty guillotines were perfectly aligned on a raised platform. Their sharpened and black blades shimmered with a gray and green light. No doubt some enchantment to deal with those who were... extra durable.

With the exception of Leal, the others wore a solemn expression at the sight.

"Hang them!" A voice from behind the barricade caught Cyrus' ear.

"Light them on fire!" Another.

"Drown them!"

"This is too merciful!"

"You can feel the hatred in their voices," Cyrus murmured quietly as he turned to meet the guard line behind him.

But a sudden tap compelled Cyrus to swivel his attention. It was Leal.

"For good reason, Cyrus," she flatly stated, her gaze then looking onto the mob. "These aren't people, but pestilence. Let's go."

Under the guard's protection, the group was escorted to the closest building that watched over the plaza. Due to the event, many rooms were left empty, offering plenty of options to watch the spectacle. In the end, they chose a room on the second floor.

After entering the room, Blake quickly approached the closest window and slid it open. He was greeted by the angry mod's loud bellowing, but remained undeterred.

"Scáth!" He yelled out before whistling a command tune.

The next moment, the four canaries swiftly answered his call and entered the room, fluttering inside to perch atop their partners.

"There you are." Blake addressed Scáth with a grin. "Did you think I'd forget about you?"

Chirp!

There was still time before the event. So, Dílis, Blake, and Cyrus amused themselves with the canaries during that time. Cyrus himself tossed small bits of fruit in the air, which Bird scooped up like some hawk on the hunt.

Yet something felt amiss. Cyrus found himself repeatedly drawn to Leal. The woman stood near the window like a silent sentinel, watching not the platform but the angry mob pressing against the barricade.

Of everyone present, she seemed the most invested in the execution. Why?

Shaking his head, Cyrus set Bird aside and approached her.

"Are you searching for someone?" He asked, following her gaze.

Leal remained as stoic as stone, her gaze not once breaking from the crowd.

"I'm on overwatch for any additional members of the Theatrum," she eventually responded.

Cyrus frowned. "Do you suspect that more of them are hiding out there?"

The question seemed redundant, as Cyrus had no doubt that Actors were waiting to cause trouble if given the chance, but he asked nonetheless. Why? Because maybe Leal would offer information that Dílis withheld from him.

"The previous Dúndraíocht allowed Avalorn to languish under uncaring leaders for two centuries." Leal momentarily glanced at Cyrus before returning to her hunt. "The Spectres were defunded while The Wayfarers were mere delivery boys. Only now, under His Stewardship's rule, are we seeing arrests and executions." Her gaze swept over the large mass, and her following words were softly spoken. "Huh. This crowd is much larger than the last one."

"Do you anticipate any attempts to disrupt the execution?"

Leal shook her head, devoid of emotion. "I doubt it, but I hope they do. Then His Stewardship can simply capture them and add another guillotine to the execution." —Her gaze swept over the crowd— "And perhaps I'll find another pest."

Cyrus observed Leal through his peripheral vision and noted the intensity of her eyes.

She truly despises the Theatrum.

Cyrus shared her disdain, although nowhere near her intensity. In the future, he'll have to factor in the possibility of someone targeting him. 'Friends' or 'partners' and even 'enemies' must be heavily scrutinized lest he fall into some sort of 'play.'

She was just the beginning, and there would always be more. Cyrus shifted his thoughts with a shake of his head and began searching himself. Where are there Actors down there? No doubt. Could he spot one out? Of course not.

Wait. Cyrus frowned as he spotted someone in the crowd. He looks familiar. But where have I seen him before?

Standing dazedly in the crowd was a young man around his age who wore a fine-tailored suit. His hair was slicked back and proper, and he wore circular-rimmed glasses on top of a Nubian nose. The man appeared to be of the status of a noble. But instead of appearing strong and proud, he was slumped and shaken, not even caring for the rabble who touched his person.

Those black eyes. Cyrus closed his eyes and sifted through his memories.

There. On the day of the incident, Cyrus had watched over a market. More importantly, he had bumped into someone who was very displeased by the unwanted contact.

And Leal caught this recognition. "Did you spot something?"

Cyrus shook his head. "No. I spotted someone familiar."

"A Friend? Do you want to call them up?"

"No, he's stranger. Tied to some bad mem—" a trumpet sounded out.

And it were as if a dam of emotion had broken out. A flood of people pushed against the barricade in anger, nearly overwhelming the guard line. The air shook under the roars and thrown fruit aimed at the Guardsmen headquarters.

"It's time," Leal murmured. Her gaze shifting toward those grand doors with the others following in tow.

Then, the swung open. The first man who came out was Seum Liam, the head of The Guard, clad in full splint armor. He marched forward, soon followed by an entire platoon of guardsmen in bright, gleaming armor shining in runic sigils. Forward they went, their gazes fixed upon the crowd. But more importantly, were those they were leading.

Six individuals were clad in black chains and dirty but everyday clothing. Battered and beaten, all bore signs of torture as they weakly trailed behind.

A plumb chef woman. A guardsman with long, blonde hair and a soft-looking appearance. A man in a jumpsuit. A young adult, no older than seventeen, donning dirty overalls. An elderly woman in a simple gown who struggled to walk. And finally, a young and striking middle-aged noblewoman with... silvery embroidery of knot work snakes on her ragged black dress.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

These were the Actors. Followed by another platoon of armored men.

As they marched forward, the crowd fell silent, only to erupt in an uproar of wrath and hatred. Meanwhile, a swirl of emotions churned within Cyrus as the scene unfolded. Did their impending demise sadden him? Certainly not. Following the incident and the conversation with Lord Dílis, Cyrus understood that the Theatrum Umbrea and its members were forever 'foes.' Yet, was he jubilant? Hardly, for Cyrus still lacked the hatred and murderous intent toward this deranged group. But then the reason why he was feeling this way suddenly struck him.

I want nothing to do with this, Cyrus thought, silently clenching his fist.

All he wanted to do was learn some goddamn magic and explore the world. Was that so hard? Why had there to be monsters, lunatics, and entities waiting in every corner? Can't he just enjoy himself?

And the world kept revolving despite his inner turmoil. These things existed before him and would no doubt continue to exist long after Cyrus' death. So he kept watch of the six prisoners who were inexorably ushered toward the guillotine. Some wept, while others implored for aid and struggled against their restraints. Only the noblewoman remained composed.

As Seum approached the platform and ascended the stone steps. He swept past every device and made one last inspection before stoically nodding at the platoon below.

And then it commenced. One by one, the prisoners ascended the steps between a pair of guardsmen amidst the thunderous roars of the enraged crowd.

At the same time, Cyrus felt a shiver crawl up his spine at the scene. He couldn't shake the image of being shackled and paraded before a furious mob, trapped in an unescapable march toward his own demise. And in his heart, Cyrus silently reaffirmed that he would never acknowledge any affiliation with the Theatrum Umbrea.

Beside him were the silent Blake and Dílis. They kept their gazes fixed on the six prisoners. And Leal? She remained ever watchful as her gaze flickered between the condemned and the crowd.

One by one, each prisoner was forcibly brought to their knees, their heads secured within the lunette locks. And it was at this moment that they fought against their fate most fiercely.

Once all were restrained, Seum raised a hand toward the throng, catching everyone's attention. With the eventual silence came Seum's stern brown gaze sweeping over the prisoners before shifting to the crowd below. His voice, thunderous and commanding, resonated through the plaza, reaching even the second floor where Team Breeze and Cyrus stood with effortless clarity.

"People of Avalorn," Seum addressed the crowd, his voice projecting across the plaza through some unknown means. "For twenty years, we have witnessed a steady and miraculous transformation under His Lordship's rule." The crowd erupted into cheers, which the Guard Chief quelled with his hand. "Before His Lordship's arrival, what did you receive for your hard work?"

"Nothing!" The crowd roared.

"Correct!" Seum gestured grandly with arms wide open. "A mere pittance was your reward at the cost of your blood, sweat, and tears! Instead of protecting and nurturing the lifeblood of the city, those deemed 'noble' squandered Avalorn's chance to prosper and rather smother it to death for an extra cherry!" His brown, sharp gaze scanned the chaotic clamor of anger and praise. "There was no future for Avalorn, for what was a city without its people? His Stewardship knew this. He knew that if there was no change, Avalorn would be lost to the fog!"

A thunderous roar of approval rose from the crowd, with various words of insults and praises hanging in the air. But Seum's speech wasn't over as he stretched an open hand over the six condemned.

"However, even through all our efforts to save our city, to save you all, a festering rot hides in the shadows and roots, slowly killing it." There was a pause in his speech as Seum allowed the mob to vent their emotions, even ignoring the rotten fruit thrown at the six for a few moments before speaking again. "And now, we are here to show Avalorn its healing, that nothing will stop it from becoming what it truly meant to be! You. Will. All. Prosper!"

The masses erupted into a cheer that drowned out everything else, and even some guardsmen grew visibly shaken. Meanwhile, Dílis and Blake smiled at each other while Leal nodded, her eyes closed.

However, Cyrus remained calm and quiet. Instead, his attention was focused on the man he recognized earlier. The man had closed his eyes but could not hide the look of despair radiating off his shaking shoulders and clutched hands.

Was he planning something? Cyrus had already connected him with the noblewoman. Should he warn Leal? But what if he was mistaken? What if he was making a mountain out of a molehill?

But it was too late. Seum nodded to one of the guards, who walked over to the silent noblewoman and grasped the latch, ready to pull when ordered.

Yet they paused as a sudden and literal shift in the wind, carrying a desperate, pleading voice.

"Stop!" A moment later, a blue-eyed man with light brown hair donned in a silvery breastplate launched himself from inside the mob and landed over the barricade line. "That's my fiancée. Let her go!"

There was trouble, and the masses sensed it. Those at the front moved back slowly to avoid what was to come, causing a mass movement. Under the screams of the mob, the man began running toward the platform, blasting wind at guardsmen who moved to intercept him and hurling them meters away.

"A wind specialist," Blake remarked calmly, prompting Cyrus to glance at him. "His ability to launch people proves it."

"Should we go and help?" Cyrus asked, his gaze following the man making a fool of the guards who tried to intercept.

Leal shook her head. "No need. The department head is more than capable of taking care of this."

As if to prove her point, Seum hopped off the platform. And when he landed, both his person and armor shimmered with countless earth runes. The next moment, the cold, hard stone beneath his feet liquefied and climbed up his legs, then his body, encasing his entire body. Now appearing as a chiseled statue, Seum brandished his morningstar, a conglomeration of stone and steel, and charged toward the man at full speed.

The noble seemed aware of the inevitable outcome if a battle occurred between the two. Air shifting beneath his feet, he leaped into the air as a formless squall shifted in his palm. The noble then threw out his palm and unleashed a mighty gale.

But his target wasn't the statue heading towards him. Oh, no. His target was the platform itself. He was determined to free his fiancée and escape!

The blast was all-encompassing. It threatened to destroy the platform and allowed a chance not for him but for everyone of the condemned to escape.

"Enough." A familiar voice rang across the plaza.

The next moment, several roots broke through the stone flooring around the platform and shot upwards. Almost instantly, they formed a wooden dome, completely nullifying the specialist's attack. Simultaneously, dozens of root tendrils broke through the stone and shot toward him with the intention of capture. The noble seemed to realize this and maneuvered his body like an acrobat, using his aeromancy to bounce around the tendrils skillfully.

But it was no use.

It was as if he were caught in a web, as more tendrils shot toward him. The noble shot forward like a cannonball to escape, but like a curling whip, a tendril latched around his ankle.

And one was enough. The noble was left struggling. He pulled out a golden dagger and sliced at the tendril, but was left wanting from the results as more tendrils latched onto him as they slowly lowered him down.

"Where's Father?" Dílis asked, scanning the area along with the others.

There was no need to look. For the next moment, a man with bark-like skin separated himself from the wooden dome. Its skin shifts quickly, revealing the Lord Dílis himself.

"His Stewardship is before us," Seum announced as he knelt.

His booming words were like a wave of clarity among everyone. Everything was fine now. Soon, everyone knelt before The Dúndraíocht save for Team Breeze and Cyrus.

Lord Dílis acknowledged his men with a smile before his sharp gaze fixed on the struggling nobleman. Silence. With slow, weighty steps, he approached the noble and studied him.

"Sir Brighid," he began, his voice low yet dangerous. "I've personally told you who she was and what she stood for. There was no mistake that she had committed heinous crimes worthy of death." There was a heavy pause between the two. "We have a witness."

The young nobleman seemed to wilt at these words as if finding it pointless to struggle within the entwined roots.

Watching this, Lord Dílis nodded with satisfaction. He turned towards the dome and snapped his fingers, causing the dome to split apart and retract into the plaza. With it gone, the bewildered prisoners were exposed again. Save for the noblesse, they momentarily looked around before instantly resuming their pleas for help and proclamations of their innocence, some even screaming their lungs out.

Lord Dílis cared not for their cries. He ascended the platform with Sir Brighid, who was being held against his will by the tendrils woven around him. Once they were on the platform, the two lovers exchanged glances.

Their gazes carried many meanings. Betrayal and Love. Despair and Suffering.

However, they both stopped. Indeed, a mere glance from The Dúndraíocht instilled fear and silence into the prisoners. Slowly, deliberately, Lord Dílis fixed his gaze on each prisoner, uttering their name and occupation as he passed, his expression utterly devoid of emotion.

"Keely Rhona. Chef."

"Teegan Saoirse. Guard."

"Barry Graham. Factory worker."

"Lee Kevin. Thief."

"Grainne Enid. Seamstress"

"Maeve Íde. Maintenance Department officer."

Lord Dilis turned to the crowd as he gestured to the condemned. "These vermin walk among you, toying with your lives in their quest to bring about its end. Only when Avalorn is swarming with abominations will they be satisfied. What say you, my people?"

The mob erupted in fury at their lord's words, chanting in unison. "Death! Death! Death!"

Dílis sighed at the sight of her father. Tentatively, she closed her eyes and instead recalled the memory of a young girl holding her father's finger as they wandered through their gardens.

Yet a gentle hand resting on her shoulder woke her. Dílis turned to meet Blake's gaze, and the two shared a silent smile before spectating once more.

The ladder remained stoically quiet under the shouts of his fervent people. Now, when their anger was at its highest, they needed to vent.

Lord Dílis turned his attention to Maeve with an air of indifference. "Maeve Íde. Having been found guilty of committing acts of violence and spreading death among Avalorn's people, you are sentenced to death. Do you have any last words?"

Maeve, fair-skinned with black hair, silently regarded Lord Dílis with her sky blues before shifting her gaze to the angry, cursing mob. But they didn't matter. Rather, her attention quickly latched onto a young man. Their gazes locked for what felt like an eternity, sharing secrets that the two only knew of. In the end, the sister shifted her gaze toward the man who dared attempt to rescue her, to risk his life for hers.

"Please, Íde," Sir Brighid quivered a whisper, his gaze wide, filled with expectations and fear. "Tell them that you're not one of them. I know you. I love you."

But even that was too much for the woman. She closed her eyes and lowered her head—a bow.

"The show must go on."

Soft-spoken, yet nothing could hold more weight. And with Maeve's words, the others stopped their sniffling and turned placid as if everything before was a lie. But it was not just them. Sir Brighid's countenance mirrored someone who had just lost all hope, as his face grew pallid as a ghost. Slowly, listlessly, he lowered his head, unable to bear at the woman he once called his lover.

Lord Dílis was too affected. His expression grew colder as he stared quietly at the young woman. A hard snort escaping him.

And with a short nod toward the guard, the blade fell.

Then came the rest. One by one, the blade descended upon the prisoners. Yet each time, their parting words remained consistent.

"The show must go on."

"The show must go on."

"The show must go on."

"The show must go on."

"The show must go on."

There was no hint of regret. Those who had once shown fear and begged for mercy shed their masks in their final moments, revealing their true selves to the world—their final curtain call. When it was over, Lord Dílis turned to the crowd, his voice resonating like a triumphant champion who had secured victory for his people, arms stretched out and open.

"My people, while we work tirelessly to improve your lives, many have lost their own. I ask only that you remain vigilant against the pestilence that masquerades as people. And together, you shall prosper. We shall prosper!"

The crowd erupted into cheers as they chanted his name. "Lord Dílis! Lord Dílis! Lord Dílis!"

"It's over," Leal said wearily.

The others nodded. They began to ready themselves to leave. Well, except for Cyrus. No, he remained still, watching where the execution happened.

And what had happened today will forever remain in his memory.

His gaze then shifted toward the scattering mob as he searched the young man. The sudden appearance of the nobleman made Cyrus forget entirely about the other person of interest. However, the young man was nowhere to be seen. The idea of mentioning this to Lord Dílis came up again, but he soon dropped it. Why? If Lord Dílis had conducted an investigation, he must have cleared that man. With the thought thrown away, Cyrus momentarily glimpsed the bloody guillotines being washed by water mages before shifting to Sir Brighid, who was being escorted away by guards without resistance.

"What will happen to him?" he asked, voice low.

Blake stepped beside Cyrus and followed his gaze. "Oh, Sir Brighid? He will likely be sent to a cell for a few days before receiving professional help." He patted Cyrus' shoulder despite the ladder's slight cringe. "In the end, Sir Brighid is just another victim."

"It's going to get dark in a few hours," Leal's calm voice came from behind. "We should head back and prepare for departure."

And with that, it was time to go. Yet as Team Breeze passed through the door, only Dílis stopped and turned around.

"Cyrus, are you coming?" Dílis asked as the others exited first.

She watched in concern as Cyrus remained fixed on the window with an unreadable expression.

"Hmm?" Cyrus quickly turned to her with a masked smile. "Yeah, let's get out of here." Yet as he left the room without looking back, only one thought dwelt in his heart: I need to leave this place.

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