Gavin, finding his balance at the edge of the tall wooden stage-like platform, stared down silently at the clear bubbly yellow smokey liquid in the large poorly crafted iron pot below the platform.

He squinted, his eyes dull and void-like as usual, observing solemnly as numerous bubbles formed at the bottom and rose with speed to the top overflowing the rim of the pot and spilling hot oil onto the mash-like ground, scorching any living thing that got close enough.

"This people are something..."

He murmured slightly but still caught the notice of the attentive guard beside him, who wasted no time in grabbing the back of his neck and shoving him to the ground ruffly, almost pushing him down from the platform and onto the damp and dirty soil.

Gavin sighed softly, his face expressionless, even as the guard enthusiastically helped him back up by clutching his bangs and some of his middle hair , and pulled, nearly ripping off a chunk of it in the process, he remained unmoved almost relaxed as blood trickled down the side of his head and into his eyes and ears.

The devoted guards beside him glanced at his face for a moment, searching keenly for any trace of fear, eager to catch a glimpse of the results of their two week long poking and prodding, but seeing nothing but the dead-like abyss staring back at them, they painfully turned their heads back, returning their focus to listen to the young man standing at the center of the platform, speaking loudly to the crowd that had gathered a safe distance away from the boiling pot of oil.

The young man at the center of the platform, dressed in an ornate red robe adorned with gold thread, was the Imperial Judiciary, he raised his hands, commanding silence from the murmuring crowd. His voice rang out, sharp and authoritative.

"Today, we cleanse this land of its poison. Today, we purge the darkness that has plagued our people for far too long!"

The crowd murmured in unison, a blend of fear and approval in their tones. Their eyes flicked between the bubbling pot and Gavin, who remained still as stone, his bloodied face tilted slightly downward.

The speaker pointed an accusatory finger at Gavin. "This traitor, this blight, dared to defy the sacred traditions that bind us together. For weeks, he has mocked our ways, spat in the face of our gods, and challenged the order we hold dear!"

A roar of agreement erupted from the crowd, but it was tinged with unease. Many avoided Gavin's gaze, their faces pale and anxious.

Gavin tilted his head slightly, his dull eyes now fixed on the speaker. His lips twitched, as if he were about to smile, but the expression never formed.

The speaker faltered under Gavin's stare, his voice momentarily catching. Clearing his throat, he continued, louder this time, as if to convince himself as much as the crowd.

"But the gods have spoken! The sentence is clear! This man will be judged by the flames of the holy oil. Should he survive, it will be a sign of their forgiveness. If he burns…" The speaker paused, letting the words hang ominously. "…then his wickedness will be cleansed forever."

The crowd erupted again, their cheers a chaotic mix of zealotry and dread. The guards seized Gavin by the arms, dragging him closer to the edge of the platform. The heat from the bubbling pot was almost unbearable now, the stench of scorched earth and oil thick in the air.

Yet Gavin did not struggle. He did not cry out or plead. Instead, as they positioned him over the boiling pot, he spoke for the first time, his voice quiet but sharp enough to slice through the cacophony.

"Do you even know why the gods are silent?"

The guards froze momentarily, and even the speaker hesitated. The crowd's noise dimmed as Gavin raised his head, his hollow eyes meeting the speaker's once more.

"You burn the innocent," Gavin continued, his tone calm but carrying an undercurrent of something dark and ancient, "and call it faith. You offer nothing but fear, and call it devotion. The gods are silent because they've turned their backs on you."

The speaker's face twisted in anger, but it was clear Gavin's words had unsettled him. The crowd whispered amongst themselves, doubt creeping into their voices.

Before the speaker could respond, Gavin smiled—not the hollow smirk they might have expected, but something genuine and unnervingly serene.

"You should be afraid," he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. "Because they're watching now."

A low rumble echoed through the ground beneath their feet, sending tremors through the platform. The boiling oil hissed violently, spewing thick plumes of smoke into the air. The crowd gasped and stumbled backward as a sudden gust of wind tore through the square, extinguishing torches and flinging dust into their eyes.

Gavin, still held by the guards, looked up at the sky, his blood-streaked face bathed in the eerie glow of the now-spitting flames.

"They're watching," he repeated, his voice barely audible over the growing roar of the pot. "And they're angry."

Almost unnoticeable was the subtle flick of his fingers behind his back and the slight flicker of light in his eyes.

'Damn I'm one hell of an actor!'