Heir of the Fog

60 - Whispers of Treason


CHAPTER SIXTY

Whispers of Treason

There was a strange comfort in manual labor, the kind that dulled the world's edges. Hauling beast corpses kept my hands busy, my mind focused on the next crate, the next step—simple, immediate. For a while, it pushed everything else back: the ward's flicker, the district's ruins, the weight of what I'd done. But no matter how many loads I carried, I couldn't ignore the Frost Titan. It stood out there, silent, a tower of ice waiting for me to decide its fate.

Time was slipping away. The ward's runes pulsed unevenly, a warning of another breach if we didn't act fast. People scrambled across District 97, dragging in the riches, mountains of beast corpses, their hides and bones worth more than gold.

Everyone worked side by side, carting meat to cold storage, claws to workshops, anything to secure it before the ward shrank. Gustav had said it plainly: with only twenty percent of the district left, they didn't need all that space. The outer edges were abandoned already, houses crumbled to ash, streets choked with debris. They hauled what they could inward, piling resources near the center where the ward would hold stronger.

I watched them from a distance, their shouts carrying over the dusk. A woman balanced a crate of scales, her face set despite the weight. Two men tugged a sled piled with tusks, cursing as it snagged on rubble. They weren't just saving supplies—they were rebuilding, piece by piece, stitching together what was left of their home.

The corpses weren't just wealth; they were survival, food to last years if preserved, trade for other districts when the time came. But every crate they moved brought the ward's reduction closer, and with it, my choice about the Titan.

I turned to it, my breath catching. Eighteen meters of frost gleamed in the fading light, its jagged shoulders spiked like blades, its chest a slab of ice veined with faint blue mana. It loomed over the broken streets, unmoving, tied to me by a thread I could feel but not explain.

Like Hazeveil, my cloak, it was part of me—born from my will, my mana, and something more I'd pulled from beyond. But where Hazeveil felt like a second skin, grown with me over time, this was different. Wulric's essence pulsed inside it, mixed with that ominous shadow I couldn't name. Did it obey me? I didn't think so. It had a mind, fractured maybe, but its own.

Could I control it? Should I? I hated the idea of using Wulric, or whatever this was, as a tool. Yet it hadn't turned on us. It could've crushed the district while I was out cold, leveled what little we had left. Lirien might've tried her Arrow of Pure Light, a blazing shot that could pierce anything, but if it didn't stop it, I doubted we'd have a second chance.

The Titan hadn't attacked, though. That was something. Wulric deserved trust for that, didn't he? Still, if the ward shrank and left it outside, it'd face the fog alone, crumbling in endless fights. I didn't want that either.

Night settled in, heavy and quiet. The cleanup crews thinned out; most weren't brave enough to linger near the Titan after dark. Their lanterns bobbed away, leaving only a few stubborn workers dragging crates in the distance. I'd gotten my artifacts back from Lirien earlier, Hazeveil included, carefully stored while I'd been unconscious. It draped over me now, stronger than before, evolved alongside my crimson core. Its shadows clung tighter, moved smoother, like it knew me better than I knew myself.

I found a dark corner near the Titan, away from the lamps' weak glow. No one watched. Good. I took a breath and let my tentacles unfurl, four of them, slipping from my back, passing through Hazeveil like it was air. The cloak's essence bled into them, threads of darkness weaving along their lengths, soaking up the faint light around us. They shimmered faintly, shadows curling like smoke, stronger now, sharper, just like Hazeveil itself. I didn't need to think hard; they moved with a flick of intent, fluid and sure, like extra limbs I'd always had.

I aimed them at the Titan's leg, their tips piercing the outer ice—not deep, just enough to grip. With a thought, they flexed, pulling me up fast. The air rushed past, cool against my face, my body swinging lightly as the tentacles coiled and stretched. I climbed with ease, each tentacle finding new holds on shoulder, arm, and chest that propelled me higher in smooth, arcing motions. The ice was slick but firm, glinting under the stars. I didn't slip, didn't falter. It felt right, natural, my tentacles weaving shadows as they carried me to the Titan's left shoulder.

I settled there, planting my feet, balancing on the jagged ridge. The district sprawled below, ruins and lanterns. I looked at the Titan's head, its hollow sockets dark now, no glow. "What are you?" I muttered, half to myself, half to it. I pressed a hand to the ice, cold biting my palm, and reached inward, searching for that thread between us.

The connection was there, faint but undeniable, like the thread I shared with Hazeveil. My cloak drew mana effortlessly—small and light, sipping from the air whenever it needed. This Titan was nothing like that. It was massive, a mountain of frost and will, heavy in a way that pressed against my senses. I reached out, my mind tracing its form, trying to understand how it held together. Deep inside, blood moved, slow and thick, not quite like mine but close enough to feel familiar, yet wrong.

Mana glimmered in its icy veins, caught in pulses that didn't flow freely, trapped without a center to guide them. There was no core—no crimson spark like the one in my chest, no beastly rhythm to cycle mana naturally. That was the issue. Hazeveil could move on a whisper of ambient mana; the Titan demanded torrents, each step a drain it couldn't hope to recover quickly. Even here, where the air hung thick with mana from the battle's scars, it wasn't enough. The cost of moving was too high, burning reserves it scarcely held.

I sat there, letting that sink in, my hand resting on its shoulder. It hadn't moved since the fight, not a twitch, not a groan. Now I saw why, it was guarding what little mana remained. A faint crack ran along its neck, barely visible. "You're tired, aren't you?" I said, louder this time, my voice carrying in the quiet.

The Titan shifted only a fraction, its neck tilting toward me, ice creaking softly. Not a word, but an answer. I nodded, understanding. "Yeah, I get it." My hand stayed on its shoulder, the connection humming stronger now, like a rope pulled taut. I didn't think; I just acted, letting mana rise from my core. It ached, still bruised from the fight, but I pushed anyway. A stream poured out, visible to me as a faint shimmer, sinking into the ice.

Minutes dragged on, maybe an hour. I kept feeding it, my chest tightening as my own reserves dwindled. The Titan took it in, greedy but slow, like a dry riverbed soaking up rain. I stopped when I felt hollow, my core flickering. I'd given barely a fraction of what it needed. "That's all for now," I said, slumping back. "It's what I've got."

Its sockets flared briefly, a dull white glow, then settled. No anger, no demand, only acceptance, like it knew I'd tried. I stared into those eyes, searching. This thing didn't eat flesh; mana was its fuel, every move, every breath. "Maybe you're a guardian after all," I murmured, the thought slipping out. I straightened, looking toward the district's center. "If you are, we'll need to get you to District 98. Home."

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I paused, frowning. "Wait. Can you even get through the ward?" My understanding was shaky; wards let me in, core and all, and Hazeveil passed fine. But this? I wasn't sure. Would it be blocked, marked as something too dangerous? I shook my head, shelving the question. We'd find out soon enough.

"Tell me," I said, leaning closer, "you want to go home?" Wulric had a life in District 98—perhaps a family, perhaps just a place. Did that matter to what he'd become?

The Titan's eyes sparked again, brighter, mana surging in its veins. A low rumble echoed from its chest, not a scream but a hum, steady and sure. I took it as a yes. "Alright," I said, pointing to the center, where lanterns clustered tight. "Move that way, closer in. It's safer there."

It turned, slow and deliberate, ice groaning as one massive leg lifted. The ground shook when it stepped, a dull thud rippling out. Shouts broke the quiet, workers in the distance, startled, some grabbing weapons, ready to fight. I almost laughed. They couldn't scratch it, but their nerve impressed me. Eighty percent of this place was gone, most of its people dead, but the survivors carried their will, stronger now, forged in loss.

"Like the fog demands," I thought, the words strange and fleeting, gone before I could chase them.

***

The night had passed too fast, leaving me staring at the Titan's silhouette. I'd decided a few things about Wulric while the district slept. First, he was a Guardian, built to protect rather than destroy. But his lack of a core was a problem. No steady mana flow meant he needed recharging, a slow drain even for my crimson core. Filling him would take days, weeks maybe, and he'd burn through it fast.

He wasn't a beast I could take hunting, either. His size would give me away, and what he killed, he crushed, leaving few remains to harvest, just waste. No, Wulric belonged in District 98, within the ward, but first, I'd have to face a fearsome beast, a battle so daunting that just thinking of it stole sleep from my night. "It's necessary," I told myself, but the thought didn't ease the weight. To bring Wulric home, I'd need to face Lirien and convince her to allow it. Would I survive such an encounter? I couldn't tell.

Morning broke over District 97, the same frantic pulse as yesterday. People swarmed the ruins, hauling beast corpses and salvage before the ward shrank. Crates of hides stacked high near the center, carts of bones rattled over cracked stone, and volunteers dragged sleds of meat toward cold storage.

The outer streets were already half‑lost, reduced to rubble and ash where homes used to stand. Chainrunners moved among them, our people, faces hard but proud. We'd lost two dozen in the breach, veterans included, their absence a quiet ache. Those left were veterans now too, hardened by what they'd survived. They worked with purpose, knowing these riches, food for years and trade for other districts, were their lifeline.

I spotted Lirien in the thick of it, overseeing the chaos with Dain at her side. Her posture was all angles, sharp and commanding, directing workers like pieces on a board. Dozens moved under her gaze, loading crates and sorting claws, shouting updates. I edged closer, steps careful, my badge glinting on Hazeveil. My tentacles twitched under my cloak, ready to spring, but this wasn't that kind of fight. My mouth felt dry, words already tangling in my head. She'd sense me coming—she always did, but I hoped catching her early might soften the blow.

She turned before I reached her, eyes locking on mine. I froze mid-step, expecting her usual steel. But her face was different—looser, almost warm. "Good morning," she said, voice lighter than I'd heard in weeks. "Came to watch?"

I blinked, thrown off. She was in a good mood? My plan hinged on her being stern, predictable. Now I fumbled, my carefully rehearsed opening lost. "I—good morning," I managed, cursing the stumble. "Yeah, watching. But I'll help soon, too."

"No need," she said, a small smile tugging her lips. "You did your part flawlessly, I'll add. Take the rest you've earned."

That smile unnerved me more than a glare would've. She was never this easygoing. I glanced at Dain, hoping for a clue, but he just stood there, arms crossed, watching crates roll by. My request sat heavy in my throat, like asking to keep a puppy that could crush a district. Her mood was a gift, but one wrong word could sour it. I'd seen Jharim do this once, easing Elina into a favor with small talk. Maybe I could pull it off.

"Thanks," I said, forcing calm. "I'm feeling better. Still a bit drained, but it's coming back fast." My core ached faintly, a reminder of last night's effort, but I kept that to myself.

"Good," Lirien said, nodding. "Your recovery's something else." Her eyes flicked past me, toward the Titan's silhouette in the distance. "I noticed you moved that ice beast last night. Some cracked pavement, a few walls knocked loose; nothing unexpected."

My stomach flipped. She'd seen it. Of course she had. I swallowed, no turning back now. "Yeah," I said, voice thinner than I wanted. "About that… I plan to bring it home."

Lirien's head snapped back to me, her eyes narrowing. The air shifted, heavy with her focus. "Are you stating or asking?" she said, each word precise, testing me.

I faltered, heat creeping up my neck. "Stating?" It came out like a question, weak and wobbling.

She stared, unblinking, like I'd tried a bad joke. Dain coughed, hiding a grin behind his hand, and I wanted to sink into the ground. This was the battle I'd feared, her gaze cutting through me, my words crumbling before they landed. I braced for a lecture, or worse, a flat no. But then her mouth twitched, almost amused. "I never planned to leave it here," she said, calm as if discussing the weather. "That Guardian, as they're calling it, belongs to District 98. You moving it saves us trouble. It's a logistical nightmare, mind you, it might cost lives to haul, but it's coming with us."

I stood there, mouth half-open, the tension I'd built up unraveling like a cut rope. She'd already decided? All my worry, my sleepless night, for nothing? Dain didn't look surprised, just nodded like it was obvious. Of course she'd want it; Lirien never left power on the table. "So… you're fine with it?" I asked, still catching up.

Her eyes gleamed, sharp again. "Fine? I'd be mad to abandon it. It's a living weapon, Omen. Those beast corpses out there, beyond what we could handle, littered with wounds only that thing could've made. You think I'd let it rot here? My only question was whether it could be controlled."

A living weapon. The words hit like cold water. She saw the Frost Titan as a tool, something to aim and fire. I shifted, uneasy. "It's not just a weapon," I said, slower this time. "It's Wulric."

Lirien's breath caught, a rare crack in her composure. "Wulric?" Dain cut in, leaning forward. "You mean the Chainrunner? The new guy?"

"Yeah," I said, meeting their stares. "It's him."

Lirien's eyes widened, thoughts racing behind them. "You're saying Wulric's that thing?" she asked, voice low, like she was piecing it together. "You brought him back. How? Can you do it again?"

I shook my head, quick to shut that down. "It's Wulric, yeah, but not only him. I don't know exactly how it happened; things got messy out there. I'm not trying it again." My tentacles twitched under Hazeveil, a reflex I hid. I wasn't ready to explain the rest, the ominous shadow woven into the Titan, the way my mana had sparked something I couldn't control.

She didn't let it go. "Tell me everything," she said, stepping closer, voice firm. I sighed and walked her through it, the orb, the Titan rising. I mentioned my changes too, skirting the worst details. Her face tightened when I described the tentacles, a flicker of unease, but she stayed focused, hungry for more. She pressed on the Titan's limits, how I'd recharged it. "Like a battery," she muttered, satisfied.

By the end, she straightened, a decision made. "This is better than I thought," she said. "If it's Wulric, he'll know his duty. Even after death, a Chainrunner serves. His family's still in the ward, he'd want this."

Dain scribbled something, then paused. "Means we can move faster than planned," he said, glancing at her.

"Planned?" I asked, frowning.

Lirien's gaze locked on mine, weighing me. For a moment, I thought she'd brush it off. Then she exhaled, voice low. "We're taking control of District 98," she said. "The council's weak, squabbling over nothing while the fog's beasts get stronger every year. We can't survive on their caution. Change needs risks—big ones they'll never stomach. It's time to push them out of power."

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