Elian knelt beside the injured boy, his white-and-silver robes folding like silk as he extended a hand over the child's brow. The boy, still dazed, whimpered softly as his father gently cradled him.
The crowd held its breath.
The Vestarch began to chant — not loudly, but in a tongue older than the common tongue, each syllable laced with a cadence that vibrated faintly in the bones of those nearby. His voice sounded like embers crackling under snow, and the runes stitched into his cuffs began to glow faintly.
Then — a pulse.
A halo of golden light blood around the boy's body, soft and radiant, like sunrise after a bitter winter. The light didn't burn, it ward. It pulsed once, then again, slowly fading into the skin.
The boy gasped.
The gash on his forehead vanished — not simply sealed, but gone as if it had never existed. The pallor in his cheeks flushed pink again. His eyes fluttered open and focused on the man above him.
A ripple of gasps swept through the square.
"He's... completely healed," soone whispered.
"I've never seen healing like that," muttered a rchant at the back. "Not even in the Temple Halls."
Even a few of the nobles, once skeptical of church authority, exchanged glances of stunned approval.
But Lysaria's expression remained unreadable.
Elian then looked in the eyes of the young boy, who was still speechless, and reached into his robe. He pulled out a small, embroidered pouch and placed it gently into the man's trembling hands.
"There are ten gold coins," he said quietly. "To aid your recovery. Rest well, and buy your siblings so more treats."
The young boy, unsure of what to say, looked at the Vestarch before speaking in a voice barely above a whisper.
"Thank you,"
A few murmurs of admiration echoed around them. One woman even bowed her head, whispering a brief prayer.
Elian stood slowly and faced Lysaria again.
"There. He is healed. Compensated. And respected. Shall we let the matter rest?"
But Lysaria did not move. Her eyes narrowed.
"Justice is not only about compensation," she said coolly. "These n acted with violence and arrogance. They used the na of the divine to push children to the ground."
Her voice cut like steel wrapped in silk.
"Sure, the matter this ti was accounted for, but we need to set an example for all the others who dare to abuse their authority."
The Deacon flinched. The two attendants shrank behind him.
But before Elian could answer—
The boy stepped forward, still holding the pouch of gold.
"Lady Vestal," he said in a timid manner, "with all due respect... we're grateful. Truly. You defended us when no one else dared."
Lysaria turned to him, her eyes softening just slightly.
"But we're... we're not important people," the boy continued. "This is enough. We don't want to bring trouble on our heads."
He bowed deeply, hugging one of his siblings close. "Please. Let this end here."
Lysaria looked at the boy again, and sighed.
"I only ask," she said softly, "that if it happens again — to you or anyone else — you speak up."
The boy nodded. "I swear it."
Only then did Lysaria step back.
"...Very well," she said. "But I still expect a report filed at the Central Council and the Order of Ascended Fla."
Elian inclined his head slightly, his expression unreadable.
"You'll have your report," he said. "And my seal to match it."
Then he turned to Riku.
"I apologize for the disruption. Your stall, it seems, draws more than custors."
Riku, who had said nothing during the entire exchange, offered a soft smile, his anger now diminished. "As long as it's not a mob, I'll take it."
Elian chuckled — light and low.
"Then I wish you all the very best. Just rember, that no one can stand against the light. It is best to embrace that as soon as possible, lest the divine unleashes it's wrath."
"I will keep it in mind, thank you." Riku said,
And with that, Vestarch Elian turned, his silver robes whispering against the wind as he walked away.
The Deacon and his aides followed, heads bowed, faces pale.
And the people... stood in silence, unsure if they had witnessed a miracle, or sothing far more dangerous.
---------------
The Deacon trailed behind Elian, walking quickly to match the man's asured steps. His robes still clung with dust from the cobblestones.
"My lord Vestarch," he whispered nervously, "I... I apologize. I didn't realize she was present. Had I known—"
Elian didn't look at him.
"Next ti," he said evenly, "you'll be more careful. You cannot go against people without knowing who they are."
The Deacon bowed his head lower. "What about Lady Lysaria...? She humiliated us publicly."
Elian's voice was calm — too calm.
"I'll handle her. The Inner Fla doesn't burn without pruning its own embers now and then."
"But the money—" the Deacon said hesitantly. "Ten gold coins, to peasants? And we lost face in front of the entire city"
Elian halted mid-step and turned slightly, just enough for his silver eyes to catch the Deacon in full.
"You think I give coins for sympathy?"
The Deacon swallowed. "Then... why?"
A slow smile curled across Elian's lips.
"When I healed the boy," he said softly, "I left sothing behind. A seed."
"A seed...?"
"A delicate spell," Elian continued, voice barely above the breeze. "One that will blossom in two days. Over ti, it will grow worse — fever, fatigue, and eventually coughing blood. Within a month, the dead shall line the streets."
The Deacon's eyes widened.
"A plague?"
"An example," Elian replied.
His voice grew colder.
"The people will rember this not as a miracle, but a warning. Let them choke on their sweetness. Let them realize what the consequences are for doubting the divine."
He smiled wider.
"...they'll beg for our help next ti. They will beg us to take action against that street vendor who refused to listen to us. Who do you think will have face then? "
Behind them, the other clergy from the Deacon's party laughed quietly, already mounting their horses. One of them snorted, "A month, was it? Best they enjoy their little cart while it lasts."
Elian mounted his own horse, brushing a speck of dust from his robe.
"And this ti," he said, almost idly, "let's not forget who truly holds the right to distribute 'blessings.'"
And with that, their horses turned, hooves echoing against stone as they disappeared into the Vintross streets — leaving behind a bright square basking in afternoon sun... and a storm none of them could yet
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