CHAPTER SEVENTY

The Balance Tilts

I stood at the district's edge, staring at a shallow pond pooled in the road, its surface rippling from the last rain. "Home… finally," I muttered, my voice barely carrying over the wind. My reflection stared back—skin pale as ash, eyes drained of color, flecked with frost.

Beneath Hazeveil, my tentacles twitched, merged into my back but restless, a sharp reminder of what I'd lost. Humanity felt like a fading echo, carved away by the fog. I wondered what the people I cared about would think when they saw me now—a crimson beast, cold by nature, trailing a mist that could freeze flesh if I let it slip.

In District 97, they'd ignored my changes, or pretended to, thanking me for holding the barricades. But I'd seen their sidelong glances, the unease. Here, in District 98, it'd hit harder. I'd walked out of the fog years ago, a kid who shouldn't have lived. Now I was this—whatever this was. What would the people I loved think when they saw me?

A voice broke my thoughts, bright and warm. "Omen, you took too long." Meris rushed toward me, her steps light, her face alight with something I'd almost forgotten, a spark of life. Her eyes, vivid with the green of her Life Magic, sparkled in a way mine never would again. Where the fog had hollowed me, her magic filled her, every curve of her face glowing with humanity. She was my opposite, radiant where I was cold.

"Meris," I said, a tear tracing my cheek, warm for a moment before it chilled. Her arms wrapped around me, and for that instant, I wasn't a beast. I was just Omen, grounded, human again, tethered by her touch. The monocle pendant, tucked safe between fabric, hummed against my chest as whispers of the dead brushed my mind. I pushed them away, focusing on her, on why I'd fought, why I'd come back.

"I knew you'd come back," she said, her voice bubbling, soft but full of feeling, like she was pouring her heart out. "You always keep your promise, but, gods, Omen, you've gotta stop scaring me like that, staying out there so long!" She squeezed me tighter, half-laughing, half-scolding.

"It takes time," I said, mechanical, each word clipped but honest. "But I won't break that promise. Don't worry." My voice didn't carry the warmth I felt, but she'd know I meant it.

She pulled back, hands still on my arms, her brow furrowing as she studied me. "Omen, you're freezing! Look at you, aren't you cold? Winter's still here, you know, even if it's almost over. You need a thicker cloak or something!" Her worry was so real, so unguarded, it almost broke me. She thought I was shivering, caught by the last month of winter's chill. I'd hated winter once, its bite a misery. Now it was me—my skin, my breath, my nature. Suppressing the frost mist took focus, a constant effort to keep it from spilling out and harming her, harming anyone.

Every crimson beast I'd seen had an aura, some deadly pulse of magic that could kill or maim anything close. They were raw, built for slaughter, no ties, no mercy, only killing for killing's sake. That was their way. Suppressing my frost mist meant suppressing myself, weakening my power, leaving me open to hurt. It took focus, a strain I felt in my bones, but holding Meris, seeing her care, made it worth every second.

"I'm okay," I said, managing a stiff smile. "Really. Don't worry about me." But she would, like always, her heart too big to stop.

Around us, the crowd's fear began to fade. The Frost Titan stood at the district's edge, its icy bulk still as stone, towering over the road. At first, people had screamed, backing away from the monster we'd brought. But the chainrunners, armed with runic blades and armor that glowed faintly, moved without a hint of dread, their ease contagious. Voices murmured, uneven, tripping over each other. "It's not doing anything," a man said, hesitant. "They're not scared, look at 'em," a woman added, eyeing our ranks. "What's that thing even doing here?" another muttered, half to himself.

Norman's shout cracked through the noise, raw and angry, from the line of guards clutching weapons. "What in the hell is this about?" His face was flushed, eyes blazing as he strode forward, his men shifting behind him, unsure.

Lirien stepped up, her posture straight, radiating a fierce calm that demanded attention. "Like I said," she called, her voice smooth but carrying a razor's edge, "meet the newest member of our chainrunners. They call him the Guardian." She gestured to the Titan, her words claiming it, daring anyone to challenge her.

Norman's jaw tightened, his unease plain, but his guards started lowering their spears, catching her confidence. "You're telling me you control that thing?" he pressed, his tone sharp, skeptical.

Lirien's lips curved, not quite a smile—more a challenge. "Not me, exactly. My son does. He made it, after all." She nodded toward me, her eyes glinting with intent. I stiffened. She could've taken credit, kept it simple. Instead, she tied it to me, to the Blackthorns, boosting our name in one move. A power play, bold and open.

I leaned closer to Meris, voice barely a whisper. "A power play of some kind? Or maybe she knows I'm done with her lies." Lirien's secret, the breach she'd caused in District 97 and all that blood for her vision, still gnawed at me. I'd kept it quiet, let her reshape that district. But here, in 98, I wouldn't let her burn innocent lives for power.

Meris frowned, her nose scrunching. "Huh? What're you mumbling about?"

"Just thinking," I said, my smile softer now, real. "Don't worry."

The crowd pressed in, curiosity overtaking fear. A kid darted out, giggling as he poked the Titan's feet with a stick. "It's huge!" he squealed, before his mother dragged him back, hissing, "Get away from that!" Others gawked at the gear we carried, including swords, shields, and armor etched with runes that pulsed faintly. "Those can't all be artifacts, can they?" Roran's voice, rough and familiar cut through. "Look at how many there are," someone else said, awed.

Winter's chill lingered, and the faces around us looked worn, dry as the season itself. The food we'd brought months ago from my hunts, piled high, had filled tables and later stretched into rations. But without chainrunners, without batteries, it was long gone. The district's food production needed power to keep going, and they'd had none.

Norman pushed closer, his voice low, bitter. "You owe us answers, Lirien. We thought you were dead. You ran off to 97, no word, no approval, and left us starving, batteries dry. Your stunt crippled this district." His words were heavy, accusing, no trace of relief at our return, just a captain's anger at being sidelined.

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Lirien didn't blink. She turned slowly, scanning the crowd while their whispers built into questions, awe, and hope. Then she spoke, her voice ringing, fierce, like a blade drawn slow. "You see now what the chainrunners are worth. You need us—always have. We're back, and we've brought what this district's been bleeding for." She swept a hand toward the beasts tied to the Titan's legs, then to me, her gaze locking the crowd in place. "We're not just survivors. We're your strength."

I exhaled, pulling more beasts from my storage ring. Corpses hit the ground, a grim pile that'd take a day's work to haul. Wasteful, maybe, but Lirien wanted spectacle, and for now I'd give it. Change was coming, but I'd fight her on how we got there. No innocent blood this time. The crowd gasped, then roared, "The chainrunners are back!" Our unit answered, a bellow of defiance, the Titan's low rumble joining in, shaking the air.

***

Meris's warmth still lingered in my chest, grounding me, pulling me back to something human. I wanted to stay with her, to find the people I'd missed through those long months in District 97. But duty called, heavier now with the Artifact Holder title pinned to me. The council waited, a room full of faces who rarely left the district's heart, and Lirien wasn't one to keep them waiting.

We gathered what we needed, from reports to proof of our work, then headed to the council hall. On the way, talk among the chainrunners turned to what we'd missed. A guard unit, veterans, had set out for District 96 before winter, trading goods for batteries. They never came back. "Probably dead," Gustav muttered, his voice low.

The loss hit me; those were good fighters, and I was relieved Kael, Roran, and Mareth hadn't been among them. But it sank in slow: six months without chainrunners, then the guards' failure, had left District 98 limping. Batteries gone, food stretched thin despite my hunts. We'd proved our worth by surviving, but the guards' collapse only sharpened that truth.

At the Blackthorn estate, Tarin met us, his face lighting up when he saw us. He carried himself taller than I remembered, his shoulders broad from training. He'd stepped up while we were gone, managing every part of the family business, from trade deals to reserves, despite being so young. "I kept things together," he said, handing Lirien a stack of reports, his voice steady but eager, like he hoped she'd notice. "Had to dip into the reserves a few times, but it's all accounted for."

Lirien took the papers, her eyes skimming them briefly before she passed them to Dain without a glance. "Good," she said, her tone flat, already moving past him. Not a word of thanks, no nod to the weight he'd carried. Tarin's face flickered with hurt, quick and sharp, before he masked it with a tight smile. I saw it, though, the sting of her dismissal. She only valued those who braved the fog, and Tarin, for all his skill with a blade, wasn't there yet. His strikes were cleaner than mine, his form sharper, but Lirien's bar was impossibly high, and he knew it.

I paused as we passed, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Good job," I said, meeting his eyes. He blinked, surprised, then nodded, a real warmth breaking through. "Thanks, Omen," he said, quieter. Tarin was strong, stronger than most, and I respected him for it, for holding the family together when Lirien wouldn't even look at him.

The council meeting was a slog, more interrogation than discussion. Lirien stood at the center, her voice steady as she spun her version of District 97's breach—a desperate call for aid, chainrunners rushing to save lives, no time for council approval. Yet, she left out the most important detail, that she was the one responsible for it.

The council listened, but their eyes were wary, fixed on our numbers, armed with runic sub-artifacts, with the Frost Titan amidst our lines. "You've tipped the balance," Norman said, voice tight. They weren't wrong. With us gone, Norman had clawed his way onto the council, the only warrior leader left. Now we were back, and his seat looked shakier.

Norman sat across from us, his glare cutting. "You left us high and dry," he said, leaning forward, his words clipped but heavy with months of resentment. "No warning, no permission. We lost men trying to fill your place." Next to him was Simon Rovind, Lessa's father, who controlled the district's trade. Lessa was quiet, kind despite her family's wealth, but Simon was something else, arrogant, his voice booming, his frame massive in a way I hadn't seen much here. Food was tight, yet he carried weight like a badge.

Gustav, standing with us as a veteran chainrunner, caught my eye as Simon spoke, droning about trade losses. "Now I know where all the food's going," Gustav whispered, his grin wide, barely holding back a laugh.

I tilted my head, intrigued. In the fog, I'd fought a Droud, an onyx beast that hoarded fat to look slow, sluggish, a trap for prey. When attacked, it burned that fat in seconds, exploding into speed and power, shredding anything near. Was Simon's bulk like that, some hidden strength? The thought felt logical, but ridiculous; people didn't work like beasts. Gustav's low chuckle pulled me back, his hand covering his mouth to hide it from the council.

Hours dragged before the council let us go, grudgingly allowing us to resume operations at the headquarters. But I had my own plan. As night fell, I slipped away, heading for the Obelisk, the heart of the ward keeping District 98 safe. Hazeveil hummed around me, its shadows curling tighter since I'd evolved. I pulled the hood up, and the cloak's power flared, bending light, blending me into the dark like I was part of it.

Two guards stood at the Obelisk's only door, their voices low, casual. "You see that armor the chainrunners got?" one said, leaning on his spear. "Heard some guy got slammed into a wall, got up like it was nothing."

"Yeah, sub-artifacts or something," the other replied, scratching his neck. "But how're they gonna feed all those people? No funding for an army that size." He wasn't wrong. Lirien's force, our force, was strong, but without credits, it'd collapse. She had to move fast, or we'd crumble.

I didn't wait. Hazeveil cloaked me as I moved, silent, a blur of shadow. The guards caught a glimpse for just a second before my hands snapped out, striking their faces. They crumpled, unconscious but breathing. I dragged them down the street, propping them against a wall where they'd be found but not too soon. People passed nearby, their steps echoing, but Hazeveil kept me hidden, a ghost in the dark.

At the door, I pressed my hand to the metal, letting frost pour from me. Cold spread fast, ice crawling over the surface, thickening, mana weaving into it. The door became a solid block, frozen shut, walls glittering with frost. "Good," I said, stepping back to check my work. No one would get through—not for a few days at least.

"You'll need another way this time," I muttered, glancing up at the fog.

As the words left my lips, a sharp pang grazed my chest. My fingers brushed the monocle, its cord tangled where a tear had split my shirt, revealing a gash that hadn't been there moments ago. The pendant hummed, cold against my skin, and the voices came, soft whispers layered with growls, the ghosts trailing me through the veil. Their words slithered into my mind, a chant both riddle and threat.

"Stride… falter… bound in gray,

Twixt life and death you weave your way.

Deny the frost, the beast's true might,

Your mercy dims a darker light.

No change you'll carve, no world you'll mend,

Till self you break, and power bend."

The air grew heavy, their voices fading into a hiss that prickled my skin. I clutched the monocle, shoving it back beneath the fabric, my breath uneven. The ghosts' words clung to me, a warning I couldn't shake. But I wouldn't bend—not to their riddles, not to a path soaked in blood.

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