Ch. 5: Part 1— Shadows Over Flame

The city did not celebrate its victory.

Banners did not rise. Bells did not ring. Instead, whispers choked the streets like smoke after a fire. Soldiers patched wounds in silence, their eyes shifting nervously whenever they glanced toward the barracks. Civilians gathered in tight knots, muttering—some with hope, more with fear.

All of it centered on one man.

Arata lay unconscious in the infirmary, bandages wrapping his burned arms, his chest rising and falling with slow, ragged breaths. His katana, cracked and scorched, rested beside his bed like a silent guardian.

Civilians pressed at the gates outside the infirmary, voices colliding.

“He’s our savior. ”

“He saved our children. ”

“He burned our homes. ”

Every word a blade, every whisper a fracture in the wall of trust.

Inside, Aris sat at his bedside, her saber propped against the wall. Her uniform was torn from battle, her arm still wrapped in bloodied bandages. She hadn’t slept, hadn’t left.

Her eyes never left his face.

“You burn everything you touch, ” she whispered, voice quiet enough to be swallowed by the walls. “And still—I can’t imagine this city without you. ”

For the first time since the siege, her gaze softened—not with command, but with something closer to truth.

Then the door creaked.

A messenger slipped inside, pale, trembling. He bowed low. “Commander—the council demands your presence. They’re they’re debating his fate. ”

Aris rose slowly, her hand brushing the hilt of her saber. Her eyes sharpened once more.

“—Then let’s remind them who they’re alive to argue about. ”

Far in the ruins, black fire whispered.

The Crowned Demon watched, golden eyes alight, shadows curling around him like snakes. At his side knelt a cloaked figure—another agent, silent and poised.

“Go, ” the demon murmured. “Slip into their city. Spread your whispers. Break them fully. The flame must stand alone—before we snuff it out. ”

The agent bowed and vanished into the dark.

The Council Chamber shook with fury.

Maps lay forgotten on the table, reports of the siege scattered like ashes. Every voice was raised, every hand slammed against steel.

“He nearly burned half the market with his fire. ”

“He felled three generals single-handedly—no one else could have done it. ”

“He is not human. He is the threat we should be fighting. ”

“He is the reason this city still stands. ”

The arguments tangled like blades in a storm.

At the head of the table, Aris stood rigid, her eyes sharp as drawn steel. She let the chaos run, then struck through it with her voice.

“Enough. Without him, you would all be corpses rotting outside the walls. ”

Her words cut, but not deep enough.

One governor sneered, leaning forward. “And when his flame finally turns on us? What then, Commander? Will you still defend him as he burns our homes to ash? ”

The chamber erupted again, voices rising higher.

Outside, the city stirred with quieter chaos.

In the market, a cloaked figure moved through the crowd. He whispered softly, leaning close to frightened civilians, to weary soldiers. His voice was smooth, disarming, impossible to ignore.

“You saw him. The fire doesn’t save—it consumes. How long before it consumes you? ”

His words slithered, planting seeds. Each whisper spread like infection. A soldier repeated it to his comrade. A mother repeated it to her neighbor. A merchant repeated it to his customers.

Soon, the same words echoed on every street:

The flame consumes.

Back in the chamber, Aris gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white. “If you exile him, you sign this city’s death warrant. The demons will strike again, stronger. And you will not survive without him. ”

Some eyes lowered. Some glared sharper.

The divide deepened.

The infirmary was quiet.

Torchlight flickered against stone, shadows swaying across Arata’s bandaged form. His breath was shallow, but steady. For a while, it seemed he slept still.

Then his eyes snapped open.

“—He’ll turn on us. ”

“—He’s the reason demons come. ”

Arata lay still, jaw tight, every word burning into him. His thin smile didn’t rise. Not this time.

“—Tch. So that’s your game, ” he muttered.

He pushed himself upright, ignoring the pain tearing through his chest. His katana glimmered faintly beside the bed, cracked but alive. He reached for it, gripping the hilt. The flame inside pulsed, restless.

Aris stepped in, fatigue heavy in her eyes but her stance still sharp. She froze when she saw him awake. “—Arata. ”

He let out a small, lopsided smile faintly, though it was bitter. “Guess I missed the party. Let me guess—the council’s debating whether to chain me, exile me, or just cut my head off? ”

Arata’s Draconic Eyes narrowed, the whispers still gnawing. “—It’s not just fear. They’re being fed lies. Demons are in the city, twisting them against me. ”

Aris’s gaze hardened. “—Do you have proof? ”

Arata gave a dry tilt of the mouth faded completely. His voice was raw. “—I hear it. Every damn whisper. Every poisoned word. You think I’m unraveling? Fine. But if you ignore me, you’ll find out the hard way. ”

The flame in his chest burned hotter, sharp and unstable.

And in that moment, to Aris’s eyes, he looked less like a savior—

And more like the very monster the city feared.

The Council Chamber was tense when Arata entered.

He walked slowly, crimson coat tattered, katana strapped across his back, shades hiding the faint glow of his Draconic Eyes. Soldiers lined the walls, hands close to their weapons—not for demons, but for him.

The governors and generals sat rigid, their eyes sharp with suspicion. Aris stood at the side, arms folded, her face unreadable.

Arata stopped in the center, a tight half-smile faint but heavy. “—So. What’s today’s verdict? Chains? Exile? Or public execution for dramatic effect? ”

Murmurs spread like fire.

“Listen to how he speaks—”

“He doesn’t even deny it anymore—”

“He’s mocking us. ”

One governor leaned forward, voice sharp. “You claim demons walk our streets. Yet no one else sees them. No one else hears them. Only you. Why should we believe you aren’t simply unraveling? ”

Arata tilted his head, let the corner of his mouth quirk curling sharper. “—Because I don’t need you to believe me. The truth burns whether you want to see it or not. ”

The room erupted with voices, some shouting for exile, others demanding his power be bound.

Aris’s voice cut in, colder than steel. “Enough. He’s not lying. ”

All eyes shifted to her.

She stepped forward, gaze unwavering. “I’ve fought beside him. If he says demons are here, I believe him. ”

The chamber buzzed with fury. “Then you’re blind. ” “You’re compromised. ”

Arata chuckled low, bitter. “—Guess I’m not the only monster in the room. ”

He shifted toward the council, voice dropping raw. “You want proof? Fine. Keep ignoring me. But when the walls fall from the inside, don’t say I didn’t warn you. ”

The chamber filled with shouts. Soldiers shifted, hands on hilts.

Then the ground shook.

Screams tore through the city outside. Smoke curled against the windows.

A guard burst through the doors, pale with terror. “Commander. The market—demons. Inside the walls. ”

Silence strangled the chamber.

Every eye angled to Arata.

His thin smile curved sharp and deadly. “—Told you. ”

The market square became a furnace.

Arata’s katana blazed, every swing a storm of molten arcs. Infiltrators screamed as their disguises burned away, their bodies unraveling into smoke. Each strike was clean, precise—he cut only them, never civilians.

But to terrified eyes, fire was fire.

From the shadows, it looked the same: stalls collapsing, flames devouring walls, bodies falling amidst the chaos. Salvation and destruction blurred until no one could tell the difference.

“He’s saving us. ”

“He’s destroying us. ”

The voices tangled, louder than the clash of steel.

Aris fought at his side, saber flashing, cutting down infiltrators who slipped past his blaze. Sweat streaked her brow, blood ran from her arm, but her focus never broke.

Her eyes, though, caught what his didn’t—the soldiers watching from the alleys, the civilians peering from shattered windows. Their gazes weren’t filled with hope.

They were filled with fear.

Even now—even as he saves them they only see the fire.

Her jaw tightened, her blade cleaving another infiltrator. How much longer before they turn completely?

Arata roared, flames erupting in a final arc. The last infiltrator shrieked, its stolen face melting, its body unraveling into smoke. The square fell silent, save for the crackle of burning stalls.

Arata stood at the center, coat scorched, blood dripping from his arms, his katana cracked but blazing faintly. His wry smile curved, sharp and alive. “—That’s that. ”

But no cheers rose.

Only whispers.

“—He burned them all. ”

“—No,he burned everything. ”

“—We can’t trust him. ”

Arata’s grin faltered, though his eyes stayed hard. He sheathed his blade with a sharp click.

“—Figures. ”

Aris looked at him, then at the crowd, her chest heavy. They fear him more than the demons. If this continues—they’ll destroy him before the enemy ever can.

And somewhere in the shadows, the cloaked demon infiltrator smiled, slipping unseen into the night. His whispers had taken root.

The flame burned brighter.

And the city stepped further into shadow.

The trial chamber was overflowing.

Not just governors and generals this time, but civilians too—merchants, soldiers, mothers clutching children, all crammed into the hall, their voices a storm of fear and anger.

“Exile him. ”

“He’ll destroy us all. ”

“We’d be dead without him. ”

The shouts clashed like steel, echoing off the walls until the room shook.

Arata stood at the center, crimson coat scorched, katana strapped across his back. His shades hid the faint glow of his Draconic Eyes, his let the corner of his mouth quirk faint but sharp.

“—Feels like déjà vu, ” he drawled. “Lemme guess—the options are still the same? Chains, exile, or chop my head off and call it justice? ”

The crowd roared.

Aris stepped forward, her saber at her side, her voice sharp as steel. “Enough. He is the reason you’re alive to shout at all. ”

But her words only split the crowd sharper—half shouting agreement, half hurling curses.

A governor slammed his fist on the table. “Every time he fights, more of our homes burn. Every time he saves us, more of us die. You call that protection? ”

Another shouted back, “Without him, we’d already be ash. ”

The chamber fractured, voices colliding, unity gone.

Through it all, Arata stood calm, thin smile steady, though his chest burned heavier with every word.

“—Guess it doesn’t matter what I do, ” he muttered low. “Save ‘em, they curse me. Burn ‘em, they curse me. Funny world. ”

His Draconic Eyes flared—glowed faint crimson-white behind the shades. He could hear it all—not just the shouts in the chamber, but the whispers spilling from the streets outside.

He’s not human.

The poison was everywhere now.

In the shadows of the city, the cloaked infiltrator smiled, his work nearly complete. Soon, the city wouldn’t need demons to kill Arata.

It would do it itself.

The trial chamber never reached a verdict.

The governors shouted until their voices broke, generals slammed fists until the steel table bent, civilians screamed from the galleries. No side won. No voice carried.

The only truth was division.

Arata stood in the center of the storm, crimson coat torn, his katana resting across his back. He let out a small, lopsided smile faintly, though it was tired, bitter.

“—Figures. Can’t even decide how to kill me. ”

The crowd roared louder.

“Crown him. ”

Aris’s voice cut once, sharp as steel. “Enough. ” But this time, the chaos drowned her out.

Arata tilted his head, shades reflecting torchlight, his Draconic Eyes faintly aglow. He let the noise wash over him, then shifted for the doors.

“—Talk all you want. Demons don’t wait for votes. ”

He pushed them open and stepped into the night, the voices chasing him like flames.

Outside, the city seethed. Crowds filled the streets, some reaching for him with trembling hands, others throwing stones, spitting curses.

Arata walked through them, gave a tight half-smile sharp, eyes hidden, the flame in his chest restless. Every step burned heavier, every whisper cut deeper.

But he didn’t slow.

He never slowed.

Far beyond the walls, the Crowned Demon watched through black fire, golden eyes glimmering with cruel satisfaction.

“Perfect, ” he murmured. “Let them tear themselves apart. Soon, they will turn on him not because we strike—but because they fear him more than us. ”

The shadows writhed in laughter, the fire roaring higher.

The city simmered like a pot about to boil over.

The words tangled in the air, following him like chains.

In the Council Chamber, the arguments hadn’t stopped.

“We can’t survive without him. ”

“We won’t survive with him. ”

Aris stood at the head, her jaw tight, her voice sharp as steel. “Every day you waste debating his existence is another day the demons tighten their noose. If you can’t decide, then I will—I’ll keep him where he belongs. On the front lines. ”

Her words silenced some, enraged others. The fracture deepened.

And beyond the walls, in the ruins lit by black flame, the Crowned Demon prepared his deadliest gambit yet.

Before him knelt a monstrous figure, cloaked in shifting smoke, its form changing with every breath. One moment a soldier. The next, a mother. Then a child. Its eyes burned crimson, its voice a chorus of whispers.

“Go, ” the Crowned Demon commanded. “Take his face. Take his fire. Let them believe he has turned at last. ”

The shapeshifter bowed, dissolving into black mist.

The Crowned Demon’s golden eyes glimmered with cruel delight.

“Let humanity condemn their only flame. ”

The screams began in the western district.

By the time soldiers arrived, the streets were painted red. Bodies lay scattered across cobblestones, homes smoldered, and survivors clutched one another, trembling.

And every shaken voice told the same story.

“The flame—he slaughtered them. ”

“Silver hair, crimson coat—he laughed as he burned them alive. ”

The words spread like wildfire, faster than any demon blade.

In the eastern quarter, Arata leaned against a wall, cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers. His katana rested beside him, untouched. He hadn’t moved all night.

But when the first soldiers stormed into the street, weapons raised, their eyes burned with fury.

“There he is. ” one shouted. “He’s still here—covered in blood. ”

Arata exhaled smoke, his wry smile faint, tired. “—Tch. Let me guess. Someone else decided to play dress-up? ”

The soldiers didn’t lower their weapons.

“You murdered civilians. ”

“You burned homes. ”

Arata’s shades hid the glow of his Draconic Eyes, but his voice was sharp. “If I’d done it, there wouldn’t be survivors left to tattle. You think I play half-measures? ”

The accusation didn’t fade. If anything, it grew louder. Civilians gathered at the alleys’ edges, whispering, pointing, spitting curses.

“—No, destroyer. ”

“—He’s turned. ”

The poison spread, and Arata could feel it crawling beneath his skin.

From the rooftops, the cloaked shapeshifter watched, its form flickering—Arata’s silver hair, his crimson coat, his mocking grin. Blood still dripped from its claws.

It melted into smoke, vanishing into the night.

And below, the city began to believe the lie.