Kalem's body swayed with the gentle rocking of the wagon, but there was no comfort to be found. He sat propped against a bale of cloth, his limbs stiff and aching, his bandages stained where his wounds still wept. Beside him, the Garon's corpse loomed like a dark monument—its scales caked in dried blood and dirt, its massive frame spilling over the wagon's edges. Flies buzzed around it, drawn to the lingering scent of death.
The soldiers escorting the wagon rode in silence, their faces cold, their eyes flickering toward Kalem only when they thought he wouldn't notice. There was no camaraderie here, no shared victory. To them, Kalem was something else—a curiosity, perhaps even a threat.
He ignored them. His thoughts churned like storm clouds.
What awaits me?
Kalem's feat had ensured the city's survival—or at least postponed its doom—but he hadn't played by the rules. He had acted alone, defied orders, and wielded substances that were forbidden. The tools and methods he'd used, though effective, made him dangerous in the eyes of those who valued order above all else.
As the city's familiar walls finally rose into view, Kalem's stomach twisted.
The wagon rolled to a stop outside the massive city gates, their iron reinforcements gleaming under the pale morning sun. The usual noise of the bustling checkpoint was noticeably quieter, as guards and merchants alike paused to gawk. Whispers rippled through the crowd as more eyes fell upon the Garon's hulking corpse.
"That's the Garon…"
"It's bigger than they said."
"Who killed it? Was it a knight?"
When their gazes landed on Kalem, disheveled and scarred, confusion clouded their faces. Some shook their heads, unwilling to believe that someone like him—a miner—could have done the impossible.
The city's delegation awaited them. A small group of officials stood at the gate, cloaked in muted finery. Behind them, knights flanked the procession, their armor polished to a shine as though to emphasize the contrast between them and Kalem, who looked like he'd crawled from a battlefield.
One of the officials—a tall, thin man with a hooked nose and sharp eyes—stepped forward, his expression carefully composed. His hands were clasped behind his back, posture rigid with tension.
"Miner Kalem," the man said, his voice clipped and formal. "You've… accomplished a remarkable feat."
Kalem slid off the wagon with a grunt, his feet unsteady as they met the ground. He stood straighter than his body wished, refusing to look weak before these men.
"I did what needed to be done," Kalem replied, his voice hoarse but firm. "The Garon is dead. That's all that matters."
The official's lips thinned. "Is it? That remains to be seen. There are… circumstances we must discuss."
Kalem bristled. Circumstances. They didn't want to celebrate him—they wanted to scrutinize him. He felt their gazes sweep over him like he was a stain on their neatly kept records.
Another official, a rounder man with a graying beard, cleared his throat and gestured to the beast's body. "We will have the Garon taken to the city's study halls for examination. It is imperative that we learn everything we can about it." His tone was more measured, but his eyes narrowed slightly when they met Kalem's. "As for you… there are questions to answer."
The soldiers escorted Kalem through the city streets, not as a hero but as a man under watch. Around him, people stared, whispered, and pointed. Children clung to their mothers, peeking out nervously.
"That's him?"
"Impossible. How could a miner kill something like that?"
"He must have cheated… something isn't right."
Kalem clenched his fists as he walked, but he kept his head high. Each murmur jabbed at him, scraping raw nerves. There was no parade, no cheers—just distrust and disbelief.
He couldn't blame them entirely. The Garon had terrorized the city and its mines for so long that it had become more myth than beast. It wasn't something a man could defeat. And yet… he had.
Kalem was brought to a grand council chamber deep in the administrative district. The room was lined with banners displaying the city's crest, and a long wooden table sat at the center, surrounded by stern-faced officials. It wasn't his first time in this building; miners were often brought here to receive orders or reprimands. Today, however, Kalem wasn't sure which awaited him.
They seated him at the far end of the table like an accused criminal. He fought the urge to slump, straightening in his chair despite the ache in his side.
The official with the hooked nose—Councilor Raiven, Kalem now remembered—sat at the head of the table and cleared his throat. "Kalem. You've brought back the Garon's corpse. For that, the city owes you a debt of gratitude."
A murmur of agreement circled the table, though none of them looked particularly pleased.
"However," Raiven continued, his voice sharpening, "there are irregularities in your actions that require clarification. To start: you acted without orders. You put yourself and others in danger."
Kalem's jaw tightened. "Your orders didn't stop the Garon. People were dying. Someone had to do something."
Raiven's lips twitched. "Brash heroism is rarely without consequences, Miner Kalem." He gestured to the knight standing near the door. "Your weapon. The one you used to kill the Garon. Describe it."
Kalem hesitated. The room seemed to close in around him. He knew they'd ask this question, and he knew the answer would only deepen their mistrust. "It was… something I crafted," he said slowly. "A spear. I designed it to deal with the Garon's hide—grooves to stop it from getting stuck. And… I embedded fragments of volatile minerals."
Silence fell. Kalem felt every pair of eyes lock onto him.
"Volatile minerals," Raiven repeated flatly. "Illegal materials, I presume."
Kalem met his gaze head-on. "It worked."
"And the substances you used on yourself?" Raiven pressed, leaning forward. "The reports say you fought despite grievous wounds. Some claim you were… enhanced. Drugs?"
Kalem didn't answer.
Raiven's face darkened. "Do you realize what this means? Forbidden tools. Reckless endangerment. You think this city can tolerate such behavior? It sets a dangerous precedent."
Kalem's temper flared. "A dangerous precedent? I killed the Garon! I saved lives!"
Raiven's voice rose, sharp as a whip. "At what cost? Rules exist for a reason, Miner. Without them, there is only chaos."
Kalem slammed his fist on the table, ignoring the pain it sent through his arm. "Your rules weren't saving anyone."
The room fell silent, tension thick in the air. Councilor Raiven studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he leaned back in his chair.
"You will remain under supervision for the time being," Raiven said coolly. "The council will decide how to address this… situation."
Kalem's hands shook with frustration, but he said nothing. He knew that arguing further wouldn't change their minds.
As the guards escorted him from the chamber, Kalem's thoughts burned. They wanted to control him. To bury his victory under rules and bureaucracy.
But outside, whispers of his feat were already spreading.
The Garon is dead.
And a miner had done it.