_*]:min-w-0 !gap-3.5">The streets of Radiant Citadel overflowed with jubint crowds. Banners in gold and white—the colors of the Royal House and the Church—stretched between buildings, while flower petals rained from balconies. The air was thick with the scent of incense and roasting meats as vendors hawked commemorative trinkets bearing the hero's likeness.

  "The Demon Syer!" they cried. "Get your Kael Lightbringer medallions here!"

  Atop a white stallion draped in ceremonial cloth, Kael rode at the head of the procession. He waved mechanically, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. Three weeks had passed since their return through the Scar, and this was the fifth celebration he'd endured. Behind him rode his companions, each adorned with medals and luxurious new attire befitting their status as saviors of humanity.

  "The people love you," Marcus commented, guiding his horse alongside Kael's. The assassin looked uncomfortable in his formal clothing, his fingers constantly straying to where his daggers would normally be hidden. "Try to look less like you're marching to your execution."

  Kael forced his smile wider. "Is it that obvious?"

  "Only to those who know you," Marcus replied, his single eye scanning the crowd with professional wariness. "Something's been eating at you since the Blood Citadel. What is it?"

  Before Kael could answer, a group of children rushed forward, throwing flowers in their path. A small girl with honey-colored braids broke through the guards, running straight to Kael's horse.

  "For the hero!" she called, offering up a hand-woven crown of white daisies.

  The nearest Church Sentinel moved to intercept her, but Kael raised his hand. "Let her approach."

  He dismounted and knelt to accept the gift, pcing it atop his head with solemn ceremony. "I shall treasure this crown above all others," he told her, and meant it more than the words he'd spoken to the king the day before.

  The girl beamed, then whispered, "My brother was taken by demons st year. Did you see him in the demon realm? His name is Tomas."

  Kael's heart constricted. How many simir questions had he fielded since their return? Hundreds, perhaps. Mothers, fathers, siblings—all hoping their loved ones might somehow have survived in captivity.

  "I didn't meet Tomas," he said gently. "But now that the Demon King is defeated, fewer families will suffer such losses."

  It wasn't the answer she wanted, but she nodded bravely before being ushered back to her parents.

  As Kael remounted, he caught sight of Era further back in the procession. The Saintess rode in an open carriage, her white-gold hair cascading over shoulders draped in cloth-of-silver. Unlike at the Blood Citadel, where she had fought with fierce determination, here she sat with perfect poise, bestowing gentle blessings on the faithful who reached for her.

  Their eyes met briefly across the distance. Something in her gaze troubled him—a coldness that hadn't been there during their journey. She had been increasingly distant since their return, citing "spiritual obligations" that kept her sequestered with the High Clerics.

  The procession wound its way through the city, eventually arriving at the Grand Cathedral—a soaring structure of white marble and gold, with stained gss windows depicting the victories of past heroes. As pnned, Kael and his companions dismounted to climb the hundred steps to the cathedral entrance, where High Priest Darian waited.

  The ancient cleric leaned on his crystal-topped staff, his many-yered vestments immacute despite the summer heat. His smile didn't reach his eyes, which remained as calcuting as Kael remembered from their first meeting seven years ago.

  "Behold the heroes of the realm!" Darian procimed, his voice magically amplified to reach the crowds below. "Through divine grace and righteous strength, they have vanquished humanity's greatest threat!"

  The roar of the crowd was deafening. Kael gnced at his companions. Thorne was drinking it all in, his broad dwarven face split in a grin. Vivian maintained aristocratic dignity, though he could tell she enjoyed the adution. Zephyr seemed uncomfortable with the attention, his elven sensibilities offended by the excess. And Marcus...Marcus was watching the Church Sentinels with narrow-eyed suspicion.

  "Something's off," the veteran muttered. "There are twice as many Sentinels as there should be."

  Kael had noticed it too. The white-armored guards were positioned throughout the crowd in unusual numbers. Their faces were concealed behind their ceremonial helms, but their hands never strayed far from their weapons.

  High Priest Darian was still speaking, his words washing over Kael without registering. His attention was drawn instead to an alcove near the cathedral entrance, where several high-ranking clerics huddled in conversation, occasionally gncing in his direction.

  One of them—Archcleric Thaddeus, if Kael remembered correctly—made a subtle gesture. Immediately, Era excused herself from the line of heroes and glided over to join their concve.

  "—and so we decree seven days of celebration!" Darian was saying. "Tonight, our champions will feast at the king's table. Tomorrow, they shall receive the kingdom's highest honors!"

  More cheers erupted. Kael maintained his smile, even as unease coiled in his stomach like a serpent.

  The feast that night was as extravagant as promised. The Great Hall of the Royal Pace had been transformed into a wondernd of exotic flowers, ice sculptures, and gilded serving ptters. Nobles from across the kingdom vied for positions near the heroes' table, while minstrels composed spontaneous odes to their bravery.

  King Aric, a handsome but weak-willed monarch who had inherited the throne during Kael's absence, offered numerous toasts. With each cup of wine, his speech grew more slurred, his compliments more effusive.

  "You musht—must know," he said, leaning conspiratorially toward Kael, "the people are calling for you to be named Royal Champion. A new position. Created specially."

  "I'm honored, Your Majesty," Kael replied diplomatically, "but I'm a simple man. I did my duty, nothing more."

  The king ughed, spilling wine down his ermine-trimmed robe. "Modest! So modest! That's why they love you." He lowered his voice to a whisper that was anything but discreet. "Some say you should be king!"

  A hush fell over the nearby tables. From the corner of his eye, Kael saw several Church representatives stiffen.

  "Those people speak treason, Your Majesty," Kael said firmly. "You are the rightful king, ordained by divine providence."

  King Aric beamed, mollified, and soon turned his attention to Vivian, whose low-cut gown had captured his interest.

  Kael seized the opportunity to scan the hall for Era. She sat at a table with the highest-ranking Church officials, her back rigid, her food untouched. As if sensing his gaze, she looked up. For a brief moment, her mask slipped, and he glimpsed something like sorrow in her eyes.

  Then she was rising, making her excuses to her tablemates. Instead of approaching Kael, as he had hoped, she slipped out a side entrance.

  "Trouble in paradise?" Thorne asked, nudging Kael with an elbow that nearly knocked him from his chair. The dwarf had been drinking steadily since their arrival, his cheeks flushed beneath his beard.

  "She's been different since we returned," Kael admitted.

  "The Saintess has many responsibilities," Thorne said, suddenly serious despite his intoxication. "And the Church keeps her on a short leash. Always has."

  Kael nodded, remembering the strict protocols that had governed their interactions during the early years of their quest. Only after facing death together countless times had Era begun to shed the formal persona the Church had constructed for her.

  "I'm going to find her," he decided, rising from his seat.

  "Bad idea," Marcus cautioned from across the table. "Too many eyes watching."

  "Let them watch," Kael replied. The days since their return had been so full of ceremonies and appearances that he'd barely had a moment alone with any of his companions, least of all Era. "I'll be back shortly."

  He made his way through the crowd, accepting congratutions and deflecting requests for tales of his exploits. The pace was a byrinth of corridors and antechambers, but he had a good sense of where Era might have gone. During their brief time in the capital before embarking on their quest, she had shown him a small chapel tucked away in the east wing, where she went to pray away from public scrutiny.

  As he approached the chapel, hushed voices drifted through the partially open door. He slowed his steps, a lifetime of combat instincts making him move silently despite the fine boots he'd been given for the festivities.

  "—cannot be certain without examination," Era was saying, her voice tense. "The signs are inconclusive."

  "You were closest to him, Saintess." The second voice belonged to Archcleric Thaddeus. "Surely you noticed changes after extended exposure to demonic energies?"

  There was a pause. Kael held his breath.

  "He experienced... moments of unusual perception," Era finally said. "Once, in the Writhing Depths, he sensed a demonic ambush before any of us could detect it. And he understood fragments of their speech without transtion."

  "As we feared," Thaddeus replied gravely. "Corruption has taken root."

  "That isn't what I said," Era protested, but without her usual conviction. "Kael is a good man. His heart is pure."

  "Even the purest vessel can be poisoned, child. You know this." Shuffling footsteps approached the door. "The Divine Sword must be purified immediately. As for the hero... observation will continue. The High Concve will make the final determination."

  Kael backed away, ducking into an alcove as the chapel door swung open. Archcleric Thaddeus emerged, followed by two other clerics he didn't recognize. They moved past without noticing him, their faces set in grim lines.

  He waited until they turned the corner before approaching the chapel again. Through the doorway, he could see Era kneeling before a small altar, her head bowed in prayer. Candlelight glinted off silent tears tracking down her cheeks.

  "Era," he said softly.

  She startled, rising swiftly and wiping her face. "Kael! You shouldn't be here."

  "What was that about?" he asked, entering the chapel and closing the door behind him. "What 'corruption' is Thaddeus concerned about?"

  Her eyes widened. "You were listening?"

  "Enough to know the Church has concerns about me." He moved closer, searching her face. "Do you share them?"

  "Of course not," she said, but her gaze slid away from his.

  "Then why tell them about the incidents in the demon realm? Those were moments between us—things I shared because I trusted you."

  "I am a servant of the Church," she replied, a defensive edge entering her voice. "And the clerics have access to knowledge we don't—histories of past heroes and the dangers they faced."

  "What dangers?"

  She hesitated, then sighed. "There have been... instances of heroes returning from prolonged campaigns against demonic forces with... changes."

  "Changes," he repeated ftly.

  "Enhanced perceptions. Unusual abilities. Dreams that proved prophetic." She wrung her hands, a nervous gesture he'd rarely seen from her. "The ancient texts call it 'resonance contamination'—exposure to powerful demonic energies creating sympathetic vibrations in the human soul."

  Kael thought of the strange vision he'd experienced when touching the Demon King's throne—seeing himself through the eyes of his enemy. He had told no one, not even Era.

  "And what happens to these 'contaminated' heroes?" he asked, though part of him already knew the answer.

  "The Church helps them," she said, too quickly. "Through purification rituals and spiritual counseling."

  "And if that fails?"

  Her silence was answer enough.

  Kael ughed bitterly. "So this is my reward? After seven years of fighting, bleeding, and watching friends die for the cause? Suspicion and surveilnce?"

  "It's just a precaution," Era insisted, reaching for his hand. "The clerics are being overly cautious. I told them you're fine."

  "But you're not sure, are you?" He pulled away from her touch. "I can see it in your eyes, Era. You have doubts."

  "That's not fair," she whispered. "I love you, Kael. I've loved you since that night in the Silvershore when you stayed by my side through the blood fever."

  "Love and trust aren't the same thing." He moved toward the door, suddenly needing air, space, distance from the hurt in her eyes. "When did they approach you? Was it immediately after we returned, or have you been reporting to them throughout our journey?"

  "Kael, please—"

  "Answer me!"

  She flinched at his tone, then drew herself up, the Saintess's mask sliding back into pce. "I have always had a dual responsibility—to our mission and to the Church. You knew this."

  "I thought our experiences together might have shifted that bance." He shook his head. "I was wrong."

  He turned to leave, but her next words stopped him cold.

  "They've requested the Divine Sword for 'routine consecration,'" she said urgently. "Don't surrender it, Kael. Not until we understand what's happening."

  He looked back at her, confused by this sudden shift. "Why? If it needs purification as Thaddeus cimed—"

  "I don't know," she admitted. "But something isn't right. The High Concve has been meeting in secret since our return. The ancient archives have been sealed—even I cannot access them now. And there's talk of..." She hesitated.

  "Talk of what?"

  "A new prophecy," she whispered. "Or rather, an old one rediscovered. It speaks of a hero who sys the Demon King only to become..." She couldn't finish.

  Kael felt ice form in his veins as the Demon King's final words echoed in his memory: We will meet again... when you stand... where I stand now.

  "Keep the sword close," Era continued. "Trust no one until I can learn more. Not even me, if you must."

  A knock at the chapel door interrupted them. Without waiting for a response, Marcus entered, his face tight with tension.

  "Sorry to intrude on your reunion," he said grimly, "but we have a problem. The Divine Sword is gone from your quarters, Kael. Royal Guards are tearing the pce apart looking for it."

  "That's impossible," Kael said. "I left it locked in the ceremonial case." A case only he could open, supposedly.

  "Well, it's not there now." Marcus gnced between them. "What's going on?"

  Kael briefly expined what he'd overheard.

  "Damn priests," Marcus spat. "Never trusted them. No offense, Saintess."

  "None taken," Era replied, her face pale. "This confirms my fears. Kael, you need to leave the pace. Now."

  "And go where?" he demanded. "I'm the kingdom's celebrated hero, remember? My face is on medallions being sold in the streets."

  "The Hanging Cities in the Scar," Marcus suggested. "I have contacts there. We could lie low until—"

  "Until what?" Kael interrupted. "Until I'm branded a deserter as well as potentially corrupted? I've done nothing wrong. I won't run like a criminal."

  Era stepped forward, pcing her hands on either side of his face. "Your integrity will not protect you if the Church decides you're a threat, my love. Their judgment is swift and final, and even kings bow before it."

  The chapel door burst open. A squad of Church Sentinels filled the entrance, their white armor immacute, their expressions hidden behind their helms. At their center stood Archcleric Thaddeus, his wrinkled face set in stern lines.

  "Kael Lightbringer," he announced formally. "The High Concve requests your immediate presence for spiritual assessment. Please surrender any weapons and come peacefully."

  Marcus shifted subtly, positioning himself between Kael and the doorway. His hand moved toward the ceremonial dagger at his belt—the only weapon he'd been permitted to wear at the feast.

  "Stand down, Marcus," Kael ordered quietly. To the archcleric, he said, "I'll cooperate, but I want to know what's happened to the Divine Sword."

  "The sacred bde has been secured for examination," Thaddeus replied. "Concerning anomalies were detected in its aura."

  "What kind of anomalies?"

  The archcleric's lips thinned. "That is for the Concve to discuss with you. Now, come."

  Kael gnced at Era, who gave him a barely perceptible nod. Py along, for now, her eyes seemed to say.

  "Very well," he agreed, stepping forward. "Lead the way, Archcleric."

  As the Sentinels surrounded him, Kael caught a final glimpse of his companions. Marcus looked ready to fight despite the overwhelming odds. Era's face was a mask of careful neutrality, but her hands were clenched into tight fists at her sides.

  The celebration of victory, it seemed, had been premature. A different battle was just beginning—one fought not with swords and spells, but with secrets and suspicion. And Kael couldn't shake the feeling that, despite defeating the Demon King, he had somehow already lost.