The scene of incident was deserted by the locals and a few royal knights stood guard around its perimeter. The shops and stones remained just as they had been left a day before, a little out of place but nothing extraordinary enough to call magic.
Alzack's eyes surveyed the ground and lo! he found what he had been looking for. It laid in plain sight — quite an amateur attempt at villainy to leave evidence around, one would believe— two identical looking coconuts in entirely opposite directions of eachother.
Alzack picked up one healthy looking shell and pried it open with his hands. A quick snap later he was touching burnt grass crumbled inside it.
"A smoke bomb," he whispered in observation, "No sorcery in this one. Pure evidence." He told to no one in particular. He pondered over yesterday's fight and remembered the familiar burn his insides had felt when the smoke was released. He was distracted by the instinct of saving others before himself and he was attacked from behind. A sword had slit open his side when he was trying to bring the Oriental Store owner out to safety.
He remembered sucking in a hard drag of the smoke, succumbing to the floor for a minute, out of shock, as the blonde guy jumped inside the shop to probably steal what he so desired. He remembered trying to follow the blonde guy, throwing a few punches at him and succeeding to slow him down. He remembered fighting in the forest, about to bite the dust.
Death was so close, he could feel its chills in those bloodthirsty blue eyes of the man who was about to deliver him.
Yet, when he woke up today he had no scars to justify his memories.
Had he conjured up a whole loss scenario of all things or had magic really occurred? And if it really was magic...how much good could it bring to the Kingdom?
Alzack ran to the place he last remembered and to his surprise, he was greeted by a dead patch of land. The grass was dead, the trees were charred, the soil was burnt black for as long as his eyes could see and an odd sense of heaviness dominated the air.
Alzack pressed a hand on his chest, unsure, only to realise that his heart was beating immensely fast.
"What happened here...? It feels like some God descended," he scoffed at his own words, voice wavering just enough to make him realise that he was afraid.
Had he died too... yesterday, along with everyone else? And somehow lived to see another day...?
His fingers clutched tighter around the coconut shell, involuntarily. Should he step inside the circle?
What if it really was sorcery?
No, who was he kidding? Maybe the Royal Soldiers burnt down the forest in their wild witch hunt and were avoiding blame?
This could all be a very superstitious trick and Alzack was not one for follies.
He raised his leg, about to step inside the grim circle—
"My sire!"
He instantly retracted his foot and turned to see a Knight jogging in his direction.
"Reporting, my sire! We have the Cordelia head of the household in custody. What are we to do with him?" The knight asked, panting a bit.
"I'll talk to him," Alzack said with a nod, "But let me just—" He grabbed the Knight by his arm and shoved him inside the circle.
It happened quick, so quick that was only a second, Alzack could have sworn on that. Almost, because it was too evident. The greying of the knight's hair, the drooping of his skin, the protruding hunch in his back—
Alzack lunged forward to pull the man back to safety but as soon as his hand entered the odd circle, he felt his bones weaken and his fingers lose grasp. An odd sense of weakness overtook his hand, and soon it felt as if it wasn't a part of his own body.
But he hand his feet in sense of his brain and his eyes that could see the Knight hunching closer and closer to the ground and his own fingers grasping at his chained armour. So, Alzack ran backwards, with all the sense he could push his feet to, and eventually tripped on a stone and fell to the ground. Panting and grasping as tingles of awareness shot up his recently numbed arm.
Away from the grim circle's range.
"Oh Holy Merlin! What was that?!" He shouted as the Knight coughed and rolled on the floor, his hair changing back to normal from what Alzack could observe at a distance.
"This is sorcery. Irredeemably, magic! This — I don't know what to say to this. We must...we must..." words died in Alzack's mouth. For the first time in quite a long while, he was out of words, thoughts or ideas. All he could do was breath in the air around him, greedily, grasping on the threads of life.
He was alive, he was living, he could feel his fingers. He could move them and wiggle them. He was able.
"Wha—t did yo-u do to m-me?!" The Knight gasped out, his voice scratchy and breathy. He too was getting high on the air he could breathe.
"Not a word about this, to anybody. Or I will shove you in that thing and no one will he able to pull you back," Alzack threatened.
As the evening bled its hues into view, the royal court was set and the nobels were screaming their demands. Within the opulent halls of the royal court, adorned with glistening tapestries and polished marble, nobles bustled in richly embroidered garments, their whispers echoing against the grandeur.
Guards stood at vigilant attention, their armor gleaming in the soft candlelight, creating an imposing presence at every corner.
"We want our daughters back, Your Majesty!"
"I want my niece alive! Bring her back! Give me justice, Your Royal Highness!!"
"Bring back all those we lost! Bring back our people!!"
"We demand justice!! We demand answers!!"
Alzack stood beside the Emperor's throne and clapped to demand silence.
The Emperor was a figure of commanding presence who ruled with an unwavering authority that permeated every corner of the empire. Cloaked in regal robes that flowed like liquid gold, his countenance bore the weight of wisdom and experience etched through the passage of time. His gaze, sharp as a falcon's, held the power to both inspire unwavering loyalty and instill fear in those who dared to cross his path.
Mr. Cordelia stood in front of the Emperor, his head bent and hands quivering with fear. Beside him, with her limbs chained to metal balls and her neck and hands encased in a pillory, was Tibetha Cordelia. Her eyes held hollow hopelessness, her face resigned to fate.
She sighed in acceptance of her mortality, as if the procedures of royal law were just a procrastinating hindrance to her eventual death.
As silence resonated, goosebumps of familiarity rose all over her body.
"Lord Cordelia, what explanations do you have for withholding such a gift from the Empire?" The Emperor's voice echoed off the bejewelled walls.
It's cold hostility ran shivers down Lord Cordelia's spine.
He succumbed to the floor, beside his daughter, spluttering words, "Y-your Highness, I-uh, I had no idea! We remained unaware! In the dark! Her mother and I never interrupted her curiosities. We loved her too much and gave her space. We too are victims, Your Highness, of ignorance and love for our child. I beg for mercy for my family as I surrender this child to you. All to you."
He shivered, his palms fisted the fabric of his robes. His jaw was clenched and his chest heaved with restrained emotions as he gave away the only child he ever had.
The Emperor's lips twitched into a small smile.
"Say, girl, what is the extent of your... manifestation?"
Small gasps resonated all over the room.
A manifestation was considered incredibly rare over history but not impossible. They were a testament to one's inner strength. It was when a strong soul rebels against circumstances and wills itself a way out, like magic. Though powerful, manifestations were never lasting; because when the host was out of the situation, the will to sustain the power would run dry.
They were like short-lived miracles.
The emperor acknowledging Tibetha's power as not sorcery but a manifestation meant he was directly mocking Lord Cordelia's words and taking her side.
But it derived no reaction from her. As her father squirmed beside her, she sat there stiff and wordless.
"Are you ignoring your Emperor?" There was a subtle hint of amusement in the coldness of his question. The emperor repeating his words for a criminal — what a scandal!
The girl remained unresponsive.
Knight ran up to her and pulled her by her hair. A pained shriek escaped her lips as she looked up with wide eyes.
"Your Emperor demands answers," the Knight seethed.
Her eyes narrowed at him, audacious in the face of death. When one has nothing to lose, they do tend to act recklessly. She understood that now.
"I don't want to give any. Funny, is it not? I did not like the way he asked."
A slap resonated.
Her frail body fell to the marbled floor.
She did not know why she was like this. Why was she so pathetic on the inside yet so bitter with her words. Why was she never good with her words? The world would be nicer if she was.
"Such blasphemy against the Empire!"
"Burn the woman! If her magic is just a manifestation then she is to no use of us!"
"Such treachery should not be forgiven!"
The nobels burst into words.
Alzack's hand tightened over his sword hilt. He understood that the woman's magic was beyond a manifestation. It was something more sinister than that. She was trying to get herself killed and it would be such a loss for the Empire. Would the strange magic circle die if she were to die as well? He wondered.
The Emperor held up a hand and the court fell into silence again.
"I'm curious still," he sighed and with a gesture of his hand the Knight behind Tibetha had his sword unsheathed and placed against Lord Cordelia's neck. "How do you like it now, girl, is my request tempting enough?" The Emperor asked, absolutely beaming in his throne.
His sadistic soul was estatic as Tibetha's face contoured into pain. She struggled to get up and the Knight only pressed the blade deeper by the moment.
"You look pained," The Emperor mused.
"He never loved me. I owe him no emotion," she deadpanned from the ground, her eyes singled on something behind the horrified face of her father.