SPIRITBINDER: The Boy Without A Mark -
Chapter 51: Silent Revelations
Chapter 51: Silent Revelations
Medas’s voice was sharp, his frustration clear. "You were tasked to do what?!"
Morvane stood frozen, the words caught in his throat. He couldn’t answer, not with Medas glaring at him, demanding the truth.
Before he could respond, footsteps echoed in the distance. A figure emerged from the shadows—Crimson, his deep red hair disheveled and his clothes stained with blood. His movements were slow, but there was a resolute strength in his stride.
"What’s going on here?" Crimson’s voice cut through the tension as his eyes swept over them. Despite his injuries, his presence was commanding.
Medas turned, his frustration briefly replaced with concern. "Crimson, you’re—"
"Injured," Crimson interrupted, brushing him off. "I’m fine. I asked what’s going on."
Morvane avoided Crimson’s gaze, guilt clawing at him. Before anyone could answer, Medas’s eyes shifted past Crimson to something on the ground. His expression darkened as he stepped closer.
Crimson followed Medas’s gaze, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. There, lying lifeless on the cold earth, was Drace.
A heavy silence fell over the group.
"Is that...?" Medas’s voice was barely a whisper.
Crimson stared at Drace’s still form, his expression unreadable. Finally, he said, "We need to go back to Katakwan." His tone left no room for argument.
The journey to Katakwan was tense and wordless. Crimson, despite his injuries, took the lead. Medas walked beside the stretcher carrying Drace’s body, his face a mask of conflicting emotions. Morvane trailed behind, his mind spinning with everything left unsaid.
When they entered the grand hall, the gathered rulers turned toward them, their expressions a mixture of shock and intrigue as they caught sight of Drace.
Vianna broke the silence with a scoff. "So, it’s true. He’s dead."
Crimson’s voice was sharp as a blade. "Show some respect."
Vianna shrugged, her tone cold. "Respect? For someone who brought us nothing but trouble?"
Dergo slammed his fist against the table, his voice a thunderous roar. "Enough! We need answers. What happened?"
Medas stepped forward, his tone steady but heavy. "What happened doesn’t matter anymore. Drace is dead. That’s all there is to it."
Levan tilted his head, his voice calm but pointed. "It matters if someone here is to blame."
The room fell into tense silence, save for the sound of Crimson’s measured breathing. He stepped forward, ignoring the pain in his side. "Drace made his choice. He used his powers to hurt others, even when it cost him everything."
The rulers murmured amongst themselves, their expressions a mixture of doubt and frustration. Medas glanced toward Morvane, his gaze sharp, and crossed the room to him.
In a low voice, he said, "You didn’t answer my question earlier."
Morvane flinched but didn’t respond.
Medas leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "We will talk about it after everything is settled here in Crimson’s kingdom? We will talk when we arrive to Ketamran."
Morvane kept his head down, his heart pounding as the weight of Medas’s words settled over him. He tried to appear calm, but his clenched fists betrayed the turmoil within.
Across the room, Levan’s gaze lingered on Drace’s lifeless form. His voice cut through the murmurs, steady but sharp. "We still don’t know who’s responsible for this."
The rulers turned to look at him, some nodding in agreement. Levan took a step forward, addressing the room. "Whoever did this may have saved us all from further chaos. Drace wreaked havoc and caused harm. I, for one, wouldn’t punish whoever was responsible. They might’ve done us a favor."
The room erupted into hushed whispers, some rulers murmuring their agreement while others looked uneasy.
"A favor?" Morvane’s voice was low, yet it carried across the hall. He stood tall despite his injuries, his piercing gaze locking on Levan. "You think killing a boy who never had a chance to control his power is something to applaud?"
Levan shrugged, his tone unbothered. "I’m saying it might’ve been necessary. You all saw what he was capable of. Or are we going to pretend his powers didn’t pose a threat to every one of us?"
Ikana stepped forward, her green eyes glinting with curiosity. "Necessary or not, it begs the question: who had the capability to take down someone like Drace?" Her lips curled into a sly smile as her gaze flicked between Crimson and Medas. "Because let’s be honest, there are only a few of us here who could’ve managed it."
Vianna tilted her head, her voice laced with mockery. "She’s right. And it’s not hard to guess who. Crimson, Medas—should we be looking at you two?"
Crimson’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent, his hands gripping the edges of the table.
Deus joined in, his voice calm but calculating. "It makes sense. Both of you are more than capable of neutralizing someone like Drace. And neither of you has explained what really happened out there."
Medas’s gaze darkened, but his tone remained steady. "If you want to accuse us, Deus, at least have the courage to say it outright."
Deus held Medas’s gaze, unfazed. "I’m not accusing anyone. I’m pointing out the facts. Drace is dead, and no one has given us a clear explanation as to how or why."
The tension in the room was palpable, the air heavy with suspicion and unspoken accusations.
Morvane’s breath quickened as he felt their attention shift toward him, even if only for a moment. He clenched his fists tighter, willing himself to stay calm. The last thing he needed was for the rulers to turn their suspicions toward him.
Ikana smiled, her tone playful yet cutting. "Well, Medas? Crimson? Are we going to hear the truth, or should we just draw our own conclusions?"
Crimson finally spoke, his voice cold and steady. "Believe whatever you want. But accusing us without proof? That’s a dangerous game, Ikana."
Vianna chuckled softly. "Touchy, aren’t we? That sounds like guilt to me."
Medas’s voice cut through the chatter, firm and unyielding. "Enough. Drace is gone. You can waste time pointing fingers, or you can focus on what matters—figuring out how to prevent this kind of chaos from happening again."
The room fell into a tense silence, the rulers exchanging wary glances. Finally, Levan leaned back, his expression thoughtful.
"For now, let’s put this to rest. But don’t think this is over."
Medas nodded curtly, his eyes briefly meeting Morvane’s. The unspoken tension between them lingered as the discussion shifted to other matters, but Morvane knew it was far from over.
The tense atmosphere in the hall had settled into an uneasy silence. Just as it seemed the accusations might finally end, Vianna’s sharp gaze turned toward Morvane. Her lips curled into a sly smile, her voice cutting through the air.
"Morvane," she began, her tone almost playful, though her words carried an edge. "I couldn’t help but notice something... strange."
Morvane stiffened, but he forced himself to keep his expression neutral as Vianna took a step closer.
"Crimson’s bleeding. Medas, too. But you?" Her eyes narrowed, scrutinizing him. "You don’t have a scratch on you. How is that, I wonder? Did you just... hide while they fought?"
The room seemed to hold its breath as all eyes turned to Morvane.
He shrugged, his voice steady but dismissive. "Believe what you want, Vianna. I’m not in the mood."
Vianna chuckled softly, her amusement clear. "Oh, I’m not suspicious. Just curious. How someone so... unscathed managed to survive when others clearly looks they went trough a hard battle."
Morvane said nothing, his jaw tightening as he turned away. Crimson shot Vianna a glare, his voice cold. "Enough, Vianna. You’ve done enough stirring for one day."
She raised her hands in mock surrender, the smirk never leaving her face. "Fine, fine. I’ll let it go... for now."
.
.
.
The days that followed were solemn, though few would call them mournful. Drace’s funeral was a quiet affair, attended only by the rulers and a handful of their closest guards.
The sky was overcast, a gray blanket stretching across the horizon as Drace’s body was laid to rest. No grand speeches were made, no tears were shed. For most, Drace’s death was nothing more than the inevitable end to a troubled life.
But as the others stood silently, their faces blank or indifferent, Morvane found himself unable to look away from the freshly dug grave. A hollow sadness filled his chest, heavier than he expected.
He hadn’t known Drace well, but he understood him—understood the pain that had driven him, the loneliness that had consumed him. And now, in death, Drace was as alone as he had been in life.
Morvane clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He wanted to say something, to honor Drace in some way, but the words refused to come.
As the others began to disperse, Medas lingered beside him. His voice was quiet, almost gentle. "He deserved better."
Morvane nodded, his throat tight. "He did."
Medas studied him for a moment before placing a hand on his shoulder. "We’ll talk soon. About everything."
Morvane didn’t reply. He simply stared at the grave, the weight of his unspoken truth pressing heavier than ever.
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