CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

The Heart She Hid

The primary road lay in ruin, a vast scar of blood and broken stone stretching through District 98's heart. Smoke curled from smoldering barricades, the air thick with the stench of iron and charred flesh. Bodies sprawled across the cobbles, chainrunners, guards, and civilians alike, their eyes empty, weapons clutched in stiff hands. Shouts echoed, not of battle now but of victory and surrender, as chainrunners pushed forward, their sub-artifact blades glinting through the dust. The council's forces had crumbled with Norman Highrow's fall, and the district trembled on the edge of a new order.

Few chainrunners had survived a decade in the fog, but Gustav was one, his body a map of scars, his eyes hard with the weight of countless brushes with death. He'd faced Norman, a enhanced warrior, and won, claiming Bloodreaver despite his wounds.

I'd weakened Norman, my frost venom slowing him, but Gustav's spear had ended it—a human triumph, not mine. When he raised the axe, screaming, he'd collapsed, blood pooling from cracked ribs and torn flesh. Chainrunners carried him from the fray, Bloodreaver cradled in his arms, their faces grim with awe. I felt a flicker of pride, not for my part but for letting Gustav's will grow.

The council's miracle unraveled fast. Their Artifact Holders, those few nobles wielding true power, fled, scrambling for alleys as they hoped to reach other districts. Their strength could brave the fog, but their absence gutted the council's lines. Without them, guards and civilians, despite their numbers, couldn't match our sub-artifacts. Chainrunners surged, relentless, their blades cutting through crude armor, their shouts fierce. Civilians in our ranks followed, wielding scavenged spears, their faces set with desperate resolve, driven by hope.

I walked the streets, boots crunching on shattered glass and blood-slick stone, the district's pulse uneven, like a beast gasping its last. Chainrunners moved in knots, securing corners, dragging surrendered guards to makeshift holds. A woman, her arm bandaged, hauled a wounded civilian to safety, her eyes hollow but steady. Another chainrunner, his sub-artifact spear glowing faintly, barked orders to clear a toppled cart blocking an alley. The streets weren't quiet; groans, cries, and the clatter of steel lingered, but the battle's roar had faded, replaced by the grind of aftermath.

Gorin found me, his shield in shards, blood crusting his face, none of it his. His eyes burned, not with a veteran's weariness but with a young man's fire, passion outweighing his inexperience. "This feels familiar, somehow," he said, voice low, gazing at the skirmishes still flickering, with pockets of guards fighting to their last or dropping weapons, hands raised. His words caught me, stirring memories of District 97's breach.

I paused, watching chainrunners drive back a final cluster of guards, their blades flashing, blood spraying as a man fell. "The ward didn't breach," I said, "but the fog slipped in." We'd become the chaos, tearing the district apart from within, just as beasts did beyond the walls. The realization sat heavy, mirrored in the blood pooling around a civilian's body, his crude club useless against our strength.

Gorin nodded, his jaw tight. "Our forces are elite now, in and out of the ward. I just hope whoever takes power sees the cost." His eyes flicked to me, sharp, knowing. We both knew who'd claim it—Lirien, her shadow looming even in her absence.

Her plan unfolded as we pushed to the district's center, the Obelisk's looming through the haze. There, amidst a plaza of cracked tiles and toppled statues, we found them—the four council seats, dead. Simon Rovind lay among them, his fine robes soaked red, throat slit. Elite guards, some wielding lesser artifacts, sprawled nearby, their bodies hacked apart, mana residue lingering in the air. Gorin stopped, stunned. "They should've faced trial," he said, voice shaking. "Who did this?"

I knew. Elina's book, On the Nature of Man, had taught me that public trials, followed by executions, cemented power shifts, showing the district justice was deliberate, not vengeance. These killings were rushed, sloppy, as if done in haste. Only one could've slipped past the war, bypassed elite guards, and struck so cleanly—Lirien. But why the rush? It felt like she was racing time, her motives hidden, her absence a gnawing void. I didn't answer Gorin, my frost humming, uneasy.

We pressed deeper, toward the reinforced building near the Obelisk, its stone walls thick, built to withstand beast breaches, a twin to the safehouse we'd surrounded in District 97. Its iron door loomed shut, but weak, mournful cries leaked through. "Get ready!" I called to the chainrunners behind me, a dozen strong, their sub-artifacts raised. My gauntlets flared, mana surging, and I drove my fist into the door. It buckled, cracks spiderwebbing, then collapsed inward with a groan, dust billowing.

Inside, no warriors waited—just people, crumpled on the cold floor, starved and broken. Their eyes, hollow with despair, blinked against the light. "What is this?" I asked, voice tight, frost creeping up my arms.

"Prison," came a voice, familiar despite its rasp, stripped of its usual jovial edge. Kael, the guard, slumped against a wall, his uniform torn, face gaunt. Mareth and Roran were there too, barely standing, their eyes meeting mine with weary relief. I rushed to them, kneeling as they spoke in halting whispers. Those who'd defied council orders, or tried joining us and got caught, were locked here, forgotten, left to rot while the district burned.

***

Most of the council's forces had been bought with Rovind's gold, not bound by loyalty. They were ordinary people, scraping by to feed their families, not zealots ready to die for a cause. When the battle turned against them, most threw down their weapons, heads bowed in surrender. But a stubborn few, eyes burning with defiance, refused to accept the council's fall. They'd never bend.

District 98 couldn't afford prisons. Resources were too scarce to feed the living, let alone guard the defeated in some locked cell. It was a luxury we didn't have. So the holdouts were given a choice: the fog. They were marched beyond the ward, into the gray where beasts waited. I watched one group go, their silhouettes fading fast. None made it far. The fog didn't forgive.

By noon, the district was ours. Streets once patrolled by council guards now answered to chainrunners. I walked through the center, my boots scuffing the cracked stone, Hazeveil shifting around me. Chainrunners glanced my way, some nodding silently, others snapping quick salutes, their hands trembling slightly. They saw the badge pinned to my cloak, knew what I'd done, what I was. A kid, barely fourteen, who'd walked out of the fog on top of the Frost Titan and artifacts gleaming in his hands. They whispered about me, about how the fog turned survivors into monsters. Maybe they were right.

The crowd thought the fight was over, their cheers still echoing from the victory. But I knew the real battle wasn't done. Not for me.

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Mana stirred in my bones, a sharp pull, like a beacon cutting through the district's haze. It was vast, heavier than any onyx beast could wield, pulsing with a crimson beast's weight. Lirien. She was calling me, and I couldn't ignore it.

I followed the trail, my steps deliberate, the cold in my veins steady. The Obelisk rose ahead. The door I'd sealed with frost lay shattered, chunks of ice scattered like broken glass across the threshold. She could've breached the ward any time, torn it down with a flick of her will. The mana surged from inside, thick and alive, drawing me in.

I stepped through, slow, cautious. Lirien was my adoptive mother, but I'd learned to tread lightly around her. With Norman and the council gone, I knew I would be the only opposition to her and also knew how she dealt with anyone who went against her. I also knew I couldn't allow this to keep happening.

She stood at the Obelisk's terminal, her back to me, unguarded. Runes glowed faintly on the console, their patterns a puzzle I couldn't read. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" she said, her voice calm, almost soft, like she was speaking to the air.

I didn't answer. My muscles tensed, waiting for the strike—a blade from the shadows, a flare of mana only a crimson beast could unleash. I could end it now. One lunge, my claws at her neck, or a shard of ice driven through her spine, and as close as she stood, even her power wouldn't stop me. Openings everywhere, and she didn't move, didn't turn. Was she baiting me? I scanned the room, senses sharp, the faint mist of my frost curling at my feet, ready to freeze anything that lunged.

Lirien's voice carried a softness I'd never heard, each word landing like a stone in still water. "I always came here when I was little," she said, staring at the Obelisk's glowing runes, her back still to me. "Always thought this place beautiful, a symbol of hope, of humanity's perseverance in the fog." She didn't seem to care that I hadn't answered, just kept talking, her tone open, unguarded, like she was sharing something true for the first time.

I stood frozen, claws twitching under Hazeveil. Was this a trick? Lirien didn't talk like this—never had. I forced my voice out, sharp and accusing, cutting through her calm. "The ingenuity's incredible. But why are you here? Planning to breach the ward after we've already won?"

She let out a small, rare laugh, warm and almost human. It caught me off guard, a sound I didn't know she could make. "No," she said, amusement fading into something quieter. "Not this time. Though I'll admit, it would've been easier—people unified in fear, the council dead all the same."

Her honesty stung, casual as it was. I'd waited a long time to face her, to call out what she'd done, and she just stood there, unbothered. "You're not even hiding it?" I snapped, my voice rising. "That you breached the ward in District 97?"

She didn't turn, her silhouette steady against the terminal's glow. "No," she said simply. "I wanted you to know. Made it easy, even—left no guards at the Obelisk so you could see it for yourself."

I blinked, her words sinking in. No deception in her voice, no shift in her stance. "Wanted me to know?" I repeated, disbelief tightening my chest. "Why? Did you think I'd just accept it?"

She paused, her fingers brushing the runes, slow and deliberate. "For the same reason I didn't adopt you right away when you came from the fog," she said, her voice softer now, heavy with something I couldn't place. "Even though you walked out like it was nothing. I couldn't put Tarin through that pain, that stress. But you… I saw what you could be. A gem, raw, needing refinement."

Her words pulled me back to those early days, full of district scorn, hunger gnawing at me, whispers calling me cursed. She spoke of it now like it was deliberate, like the pain was a forge to shape me. "The districts are the same," she went on, her tone steady but warm, like she was confiding a dream. "My family always saw what they could become—stronger, alive, not just surviving. I pushed you, Omen, because I knew you could take it."

I stood there, silent, her voice washing over me. This wasn't the cold, calculated Lirien I knew, the chainrunners' blade. She spoke of Tarin with a care I'd never seen, her words gentle, protective. "My father failed me here," she said, quieter now. "I got too attached. Losing people to the fog broke me in ways I wasn't ready for."

I'd always pictured her forged from the start, a weapon without warmth, no family softness to dull her edge. But this… she talked like they'd loved her, raised her with care, and it had left scars she'd hidden all this time. Her honesty felt real. Only then did I realize the speech she'd given days ago wasn't some recording from Camilla's. Back then, I couldn't believe she'd spoken with such heart, not after all the blood she'd spilled. But it was her, truly her, and I'd been wrong.

It shook me. The villain I'd built in my head, the monster who'd breached a ward, spilled thousands of lives—was crumbling. I took a step closer, drawn in, my guard slipping for a heartbeat. Then I caught myself, retreating fast, claws flexing again. This had to be a trick, another layer of her plans, bait to make me falter. She hadn't turned, hadn't moved, her back still open to me. Too easy.

Then I heard it, a sob, low and ragged, breaking the silence. Lirien was crying. The sound hit me like a blade, sharp and unexpected, pain blooming in my chest despite everything she'd done. I didn't trust it. I couldn't. Frost surged around me, ice blades shimmering into existence, a massive pillar hovering above her, ready to crush. "Cut the lies," I said, my voice hard, slicing through her act. "I won't fall for this. Lirien would never cry."

She didn't move, didn't flinch, even with my blades glinting near her. No bow in sight, no weapon I could see. Then her right hand lifted, slow, deliberate. Instinct took over, and I sent an ice blade at her arm, another at her hand, both sinking deep. Blood sprayed, but she didn't gasp, didn't cry out. Her hand opened, and something fell, fluttering to the floor.

I tensed, expecting an artifact, a hidden weapon capable of countering a crimson monster like me. But as it landed, I saw it: paper. A letter, nothing more. My breath caught, confusion tangling with my guard.

She stood there, arm limp, blood pooling at her side, still facing away. "I can't fault you," she said, her voice steady now, but human, soft, like it carried a truth she'd buried deep. "I can't."

"Stop the act," I growled, shoving down the warmth trying to creep in. I couldn't let her in, not now, not with her plans, her blood-soaked vision. My claws stayed ready, my mist thickening, cold enough to freeze bone.

Then she moved, turning toward me at last. I braced, mana flaring through my core, a rush so fierce my muscles strained, the air humming with power. I was ready, claws out, frost swirling, wielding everything a crimson beast could. But no attack came. Her face, once sharp and commanding, was ruined. Blackened, scarred, cuts leaking faint mana, like the fog itself had clawed her apart. Her eyes held me, steady, unbroken.

She stepped closer, her other hand rising. I reacted without thought—an ice blade shot forward, aimed to push her back. It struck her chest, blood bursting from her mouth. She didn't stop. I sent more, each one sinking deep, each one failing to slow her. Blood soaked her front, but she kept coming, her steps unsteady but sure.

It happened in seconds, but time stretched, heavy and slow. I couldn't move, couldn't lift my feet. Part of me didn't want to. She reached me, her hand finding my cheek, warm despite the blood, the ruin. "My fine boy," she said, her voice trembling, thick with love I'd never known from her. "The world's been harsh with you."

Her face was a wreck, twisted by mana, blood streaming, but her eyes burned with something real, a passion I couldn't deny. Her touch was soft, a mother's touch, more than I'd ever thought she could give.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice breaking. "I'm sorry it had to be this way. But you—you're the one I knew could endure it, become not what humanity wants, but what it needs. Do better where I failed." Her words faded as she collapsed, her weight falling into my arms. Her eyes, wet with tears and blood, held mine until the light in them dimmed, slipping away.

Lirien was gone. The long sleep claimed her, her rest final. I held her, my claws useless, my frost fading, the Obelisk's runes glowing faintly behind us.

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