The villagers erupted into chaos, their voices rising in a cacophony of fear and confusion. "What's happening?" one woman cried. "Is this part of the ceremony?"
Horas stumbled out of the barrel, his body trembling and his face contorted with pain. "You... you did this to me!" he screamed, pointing a shaking finger at Fenrir. "You'll pay for this!"
He lunged at Fenrir, his movements wild and uncoordinated. Despite being in a wheelchair, Fenrir moved with surprising agility, wheeling himself backward just in time to avoid the viscount's grasp.
"My lord, you're mistaken," Fenrir said calmly, his tone almost mocking. "This isn't my doing. It's the ceremony working as intended. The marks are proof of divine intervention."
"You liar!" Horas roared, his voice raw with desperation. He charged again, but before he could reach Fenrir, Lady Angelie stepped forward, her serene mask replaced with a cold, commanding expression.
