Chapter 35 - Chapter 35- Cael Vathiel

As Helios gasped for air, one of the women he had freed rushed down the hall to see what was happening. Her eyes widened, the tunnel walls were shattered, and the slaver he'd fought lay motionless on the ground. She ran to Helios, trying to lift him, but he was far too heavy, anchored to the earth like stone. Two of the freed men sprinted over, and children peeked from behind the corners, watching as the men threw Helios's arms over their shoulders to hold him up. "Bring him with us," Helios rasped, pointing weakly at the unconscious slaver. "I want to do something to him before I bring you all somewhere safe." They carried Helios out of the tunnel, dragging the bound slaver behind them. When they stepped into the open, the air was cold and clean, the first breath of freedom for most of them. The people gathered close, their eyes flicking between Helios and the man tied in chains. Once Helios caught his breath, his tone hardened. "I told this slaver I'd make him pay for what he did, to you, and to me. So… would you like to hear his punishment?" The crowd nodded, smiling faintly through their exhaustion. They didn't need words. When the slaver came to, he blinked at the sight of the freed people, men, women, and children eating the food that had once belonged to their captors. Rage twisted his face. "You filthy hidewalker! Get your disgusting hands off me!" Helios stepped forward, grabbed the man by the hair, and yanked his head back until his neck creaked. "Don't try anything," he said coldly. "I can tell, you've burned through your mana." The slaver spat, his voice cracking. "You think killing me makes you better, beast?" Helios threw him into the open field. "I told you before our duel I'd kill you for what you did to these people," he said, his voice steady, terrifyingly calm. "But I think I'll let them have some fun first." The slaver's breath hitched. His eyes darted from Helios to the crowd closing in. "Wait, wait! No!" Helios looked down at him. "If I were you, I'd start running. Maybe you'll buy yourself a few seconds before you die." The slaver tried to run, but with his wrists and ankles bound, he could only stumble and hop, a pathetic, writhing figure in the dirt. The first freed man caught him by the shoulders and slammed him down. Then the rest descended like a wave of vengeance. The air filled with screams, rage, agony, relief. Fists slammed into flesh, clubs broke bones, torches seared skin. The slaver's cries for mercy were drowned by laughter and sobs. They dragged him to a tree, drove nails through his wrists and ankles, and branded his chest with the same iron he'd once used to mark them. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, thick and suffocating. Helios watched in silence. His face was emotionless, but his eyes burned. The mob beat the man until he was barely breathing. Then they stepped aside, making a path for Helios. The slaver's body was twitching, his head hanging forward. Helios knelt down, grabbed his chin, and forced him to look up. "Do you regret it now?" Helios shouted. "Do you regret attacking these families?! My village?!" The slaver whimpered. Helios grabbed a burning torch from one of the freed men and pressed it against the side of his face. The man's skin sizzled, blistering and melting, the smell of charred flesh mixing with the night air. Helios's expression didn't waver. When the screams died down to whimpers, Helios tore the man off the tree, nails ripping through skin and muscle, and threw him to the ground like garbage. The slaver tried to crawl away, dragging what was left of his limbs through the dirt, but it was useless. Helios stepped on the back of his head, pressing his heel down hard. "Die," he hissed, voice shaking with fury. "Die, you spawn of demons!" He pressed harder until the skull caved in with a sickening crunch, blood and bone splattering the dirt. The man's eyes burst free, rolling into the grass. The field went silent. Only the crackle of the torches and the shallow breathing of the freed remained. Helios stood over the corpse, his foot still planted on what was left of its head. His hands trembled, not from fear, but from everything boiling inside him. He lifted his foot at last and turned to the crowd. Their faces were lit by firelight, some horrified, most relieved, all free. Helios exhaled slowly. "It's done." The night wind still carried the stench of burnt flesh as Helios led the freed men, women, and children through the open fields. The stars hung pale and distant above them, and far ahead, the faint glow of a village flickered like a dying ember on the horizon. The group moved slowly, limping, leaning on one another, clutching the few scraps of food or cloth they had managed to scavenge. When they reached the outskirts, a few villagers stepped out with torches raised, suspicion sharp in their eyes. An old man called out, voice rough from years of labor. "Who are you people? What's happened here?" Helios stepped forward, cloak torn and face streaked with soot. "Slaves," he said. "Freed ones. They've got nowhere to go. Just let them rest here for one night." The old man studied him for a long, quiet moment, eyes scanning the exhausted faces behind Helios. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Bring them in. We'll find them food and blankets." The villagers moved quickly, doors opened, lanterns flared to life, and warmth flooded the cold streets. Mothers wrapped children in spare shawls, men fetched water and bread. For the first time in years, the freed slept under real roofs instead of chains. A woman stepped forward, bowing her head deeply. "Thank you," she whispered. "For giving us back our lives." Helios only nodded. "Keep them safe," he said quietly before turning away, hiding the exhaustion pulling at his eyes. He didn't rest. He ran, through dark fields, across the stone bridge, and into the silent streets of Sanctus, until the inn came into view. Inside, the lamplight flickered low. Bow sat at the table, arms folded and head bowed, while Halo leaned against the wall, cloak still damp with rain. When Helios entered, both looked up. "Helios," Bow said, standing. "You're alive." "Barely," Helios muttered with a tired grin. "What about you two?" Halo exhaled slowly. "Southern encampment's gone. Freed hundreds. They're hiding in a cave near the valley." "Good work," Helios said, nodding. Bow rubbed his neck, his voice low. "The western camp's nothing but ash now. Freed them all. I brought the survivors to a village a few miles out, they'll be safe." For a long moment, the three of them stood in silence, the air heavy with exhaustion and quiet triumph. "Then we finish it," Helios said finally. "No one deserves to hide in a cave. Let's bring Halo's people somewhere better." By dawn, they had gathered supplies and headed south. The cave was damp, its walls blackened by old soot. When the freed saw Halo returning, Helios and Bow behind him, the air erupted with shouts and tears. A man stepped forward, holding something wrapped in cloth. "You left this with us," he said quietly, unwrapping Halo's sword. "You told us to protect ourselves. We kept it safe… for when you came back." Halo accepted the blade with reverence, bowing his head. "Thank you," he said. "You kept your promise. Now keep your fire burning. Never let anyone take your hope again." Hundreds of voices whispered their gratitude as the three warriors turned to leave, the rising sun spilling over the horizon. When they returned to Sanctus, the city was too still, its silence unsettling. Inside the inn, Bow finally allowed himself to collapse into a chair, closing his eyes for the first real rest in days. Helios stood by the door, watching the dawn light spill across the empty streets. "I need to see someone," he said. Halo looked up. "The praying man?" Helios nodded. "Yeah." He pulled his cloak tight and stepped into the cold morning air. The faint chime of cathedral bells drifted over the rooftops, and incense smoke carried on the wind. Every step Helios took toward the prayer field quickened. He couldn't explain why, but something in his chest ached with reverence for the old man's faith, his calm, his unwavering belief in Elyndor, the Mother of the Sun. When Helios reached him, the horizon was already blazing gold. The holy man knelt in the grass, his robes rippling gently in the wind, his voice whispering prayers as the first rays of sunlight broke through the clouds. "Is that you, Helios?" the man asked softly without turning. Helios smiled faintly. "Yeah. It's me." The old man rose slowly, eyes still closed as he spoke. "Then tell me, child of Elyndor… what brings you here today?" Helios crossed his arms, jaw tense. "I've got news. And it's bad." The holy man waited, silent. "My friends and I discovered what Cardinal Belanor's been doing," Helios said. "He's been buying slaves, thousands of them, for a ritual sacrifice." The holy man's shoulders stiffened. For a long moment, there was nothing, no words, no breath, only the quiet sound of the wind. Then, finally, he whispered, "I… don't know what to say to that." Helios's gaze softened. "I'm sorry to tell you. But you had to know. You've treated him like a man of faith, a visitor, a friend. But he's been using your words, twisting your sermons to control the people of Sanctus." The old man turned, tears glinting in the light of dawn. "Helios… I must tell you the truth." Helios frowned. "What do you mean?" The man lifted his face to the rising sun. "My name is Cael Vathiel… the Seventh Holy Priest. The fault is mine. I let the rot take root here. I let men like Belanor rise while I turned away, thinking others could lead better than I. I was arrogant, and blind." Helios's eyes widened. "You're the Holy Priest?!" Cael nodded slowly. "Once. But that title means little now. Belanor took my council, my faith, and fed it to his greed." The morning wind rolled gently across the endless fields, carrying the scent of dew and soil. Sanctus loomed far in the distance, its ivory towers glinting under the rising sun like silent witnesses. Helios stood beside Cael Vathiel, the holy man kneeling in prayer, hands clasped, eyes closed. The old priest's voice trembled through the still air. "Elyndor, Mother of the Sun… guide your children through shadow." Helios watched in silence. The light caught in Cael's robes, gold and white dancing with the dawn. For a brief moment, Helios forgot the blood, the chains, the screams. Here, there was peace. Until the sound came. A faint twang, too sharp, too far, too deliberate. Before Helios could blink, the arrow streaked from the horizon, cutting through the golden light. It struck Cael in the side of the head with a sound like cracking stone. His prayer ended mid-syllable. His body lurched, collapsing to one knee as blood darkened his temple and stained the grass below. Helios's breath caught. He rushed forward, catching the priest before he fell. "Cael!" he shouted. The old man's eyes flickered open, unfocused but still burning with that same unwavering faith. From the walls of Sanctus, more flashes flared, archers positioned along the ramparts, releasing volleys into the sky. Somewhere beyond the plains, explosions echoed; smoke began to rise from distant towns. Faction leaders, Belanor's rivals, the ones who questioned his motives, were being slaughtered at the exact same moment. The purge had begun. Helios pressed his palm against Cael's wound, blood soaking through his fingers. "Stay with me! Please, stay with me!" Cael's hand found Helios's wrist, weak but steady. His voice rasped through the pain, each word carved with the weight of a lifetime. "Helios… listen well. The world will tell you to be gentle, to be harmless, to keep your claws sheathed and your fire dim. But that is not virtue, my child. True virtue is to become a monster… and learn to control it. To stand at the edge of wrath and choose restraint, that is strength. Perseverance is not born from peace, but from pain. I have screamed until I lost my voice… wept until no tears remained. I have grieved so long that my heart turned to stone, and yet I moved forward. Love, hate, duty… they all fade. But perseverance endures. When this world burns your faith, when the gods stay silent and the sun turns cold… smile. Not because it's over, but because you endured it. Because you still can. Your smile, Helios, it means you've conquered despair itself." Helios's eyes trembled. The words dug deep, deeper than the wound itself. "Cael…" he whispered, voice cracking. "Don't go. Please." The priest's hand slipped from his arm, but his expression never changed. There was no fear, only peace. The wind passed gently over his body, bending the grass as if bowing to him. Helios knelt there for a long moment, staring at the motionless body of the man who had believed in light more than the gods themselves. Then he stood. His cloak whipped in the wind, his eyes locked on the distant spires of Sanctus. From there, the assassins still lingered, small shadows against the morning light, watching their handiwork. Helios's voice came low, trembling with rage. "Belanor…" The air thickened, rippling with his mana. The grass bent outward from where he stood. The sunlight seemed to bend around him, gold turning red, calm turning fury. He looked down one last time at Cael's body. "I'll make them pay. All of them." Then, without another word, he turned toward Sanctus. And the wind followed him, not as a whisper of prayer, but as the roar of vengeance.