Only a deep, endless silence and the steady flow of blood remained.
------------------------
The noonday sun hung lazily in the sky, casting soft golden rays over Elowen's half-built church.
On the steps leading up to the modest framework, Riku sat cross-legged, a bottle of chilled citrus drink pressed against his forehead. Beads of condensation slipped down the glass, catching the light like tiny stars.
Beside him, Lila sprawled out on the warm stones, arms stretched overhead in exaggerated exhaustion.
"Phew!" she groaned. "I thought sowing fields was bad... but hauling stone? This is punishment!"
Riku chuckled, swirling his bottle. "Think of it as building your own slice of heaven."
"I'd rather build a bakery," Lila muttered, grinning up at the sky.
They clinked their bottles together — a quiet celebration of work done well.
For a brief moment, everything was perfect.
But then—
A soft chime echoed in Riku's mind, low and urgent.
[System Alert: Unrest detected.
Significant deviation in the Village Harmony.
Potential threat to peaceful life detected. Recommended
Action suggested: Immediate Investigation — Doctor Orlen's Residence.]
Riku straightened subtly, his relaxed posture sharpening into alertness.
Lila, catching the shift in his expression, blinked and sat up. "What's wrong?"
"Not sure yet," Riku said, rising to his feet and brushing dust from his trousers. "But something's off."
He glanced eastward, toward the cluster of cottages where Doctor Orlen lived.
"You up for a little walk?"
Lila scrambled up, brushing straw from her skirt. "Always."
Together, the two set off, the empty bottles forgotten on the sun-warmed steps behind them.
------------------------
When Riku and Lila reached the square outside the meeting hall, the crowd had thinned but the air was thick with unease.
Doctor Orlen stood stiffly near the entrance, speaking in low, urgent tones to Barou, Gnord, and a few others.
The blood had been cleaned up — but the heavy scent of death still lingered.
Barou was the first to spot Riku.
His face — normally steady as stone — betrayed a ripple of shame.
"Riku," he said quietly. "You should know... there's been an incident."
As Barou haltingly recounted the events — the arrival of the strangers, the discovery of the Dark Temple mark, the fear, and finally the suicide — Riku's face darkened.
He listened silently.Didn't interrupt.
Only when Barou finished — eyes heavy with regret — did Riku speak.
His voice was soft. Too soft.
"Tell me something, Barou," Riku said, stepping closer. "When a man lies bleeding at your gate, do you first check his banners before you bind his wounds?"
Barou flinched.
Gnord opened his mouth, then shut it.
"Are we savages?" Riku continued, sweeping his gaze over them — the leaders, the thinkers, the very people who had boasted of Elowen's kindness.
"Or are we just cowards hiding behind superstition and rumor?"
A ripple of discomfort spread through the crowd.
"It's easy to help a friend," Riku said, his voice gaining strength. "It's easy to help someone who looks like you, speaks like you, prays to the same gods."
He paused.
"But true kindness," he said, tapping his chest lightly, "is what you give when you gain nothing. When the world says you should turn away."
The villagers shuffled their feet.Some looked down.Some clenched their hands.
"You let fear make you monsters," Riku said, softer now. Sadder. "You let fear steal your humanity."
Barou bowed his head. "We… we were scared. We've heard tales—"
"Tales!" Riku snapped. "Tales told by those who benefit from division!"
He looked directly at Lysaria then, his gaze neither accusing nor pleading — but heavy with meaning.
Lysaria stepped forward, voice trembling with conflicted emotion."Riku… you don't understand. They — the Dark Temple — they practice black magic. Dark arts that corrupt the soul. It's not just stories. It's real."
Several villagers nodded along grimly, finding comfort in her words.
Riku tilted his head slightly, studying her — studying all of them.
"And tell me," he said softly, his voice razor-sharp beneath the gentleness,
"Did any of you see this old man casting spells?"
A hush fell again.
"Did you see this girl weave curses or summon demons? How can you assume that someone is guilty, when there is no proof of their guilt? Where is the basic right that every person should have - Innocent until proven guilty?"
Barou shifted awkwardly. Gnord grunted but said nothing. The villagers shuffled uncomfortably under his gaze.
"No," someone muttered finally. "But… but the mark—"
"The mark!" another villager snapped. "The symbol alone! It proves they were guilty!"
Riku let the accusation hang in the air for a heartbeat.
Then — without warning — he lifted his hand.
A small black flame flickered into life above his palm. It crackled softly, oddly mesmerizing — not angry, not malicious. Just… pure, simple power.
A few villagers gasped.
Even Barou took a half-step back, tension visible across his broad shoulders.
"This," Riku said, holding the black flame steady, "is what you fear?"
His eyes were calm, patient — not accusing, but challenging.
Lysaria stared, mouth parting slightly, unable to speak.
Riku let the flame dance a little longer before letting it dissipate into harmless mist.
"It's not the magic that's evil," he said quietly. "It's the heart that wields it."
He swept his gaze slowly across the villagers, locking eyes with every man, woman, and elder brave enough to meet it.
"Power, magic, strength — they're tools. Nothing more. What matters… is the choice of the one holding them."
He stepped forward, his shadow cutting across the dusty stones.
"If you judge someone not by their deeds, but by the tools they might wield," he said, voice rising just slightly, "then you would condemn every farmer for owning a scythe… every mason for carrying a hammer, as they could easily kill someone with it"
He pointed toward the now blood-washed meeting hall.
"You let fear pass judgment today. Not justice."
The words hung heavy. Like the toll of a bell after a funeral.
Barou closed his eyes briefly, the weight of Riku's words sinking in.
Gnord scowled — not at Riku, but at himself.
Lysaria clutched the edges of her sleeves, her face pale and drawn.
Behind them Lila stood, not uttering a word as well but still looking down as she internalized Riku's words from earlier.
"Innocent until proven guilty..." Barou muttered softly. "Looks like our way of looking at things had always been incorrect..."