Chapter 7 - A Soul Put to Test

The Divine capital stood like a monument to history. Its alabaster towers gleamed in the bright midday sun, flawless stonework carved from ages long past. Banners rippled against the wind high above the walls, each marked with the crest of the Divine. Even the air seemed different here—clearer, sharper—like the city itself refused to be touched by the outside world.

Axl, Scarlet, and John reached the gates in a blur of speed, the wind still clinging to them from their journey. Divine blood made horses unnecessary; their steps carried them faster than any mount could dream, crossing the country in mere days.

A guard stepped forward, polished silver armor reflecting the sun. He raised his hand.

“Halt. State your business.”

Axl stepped ahead. “We seek an audience with the council. I need to speak with my uncle, Raymond. It’s urgent.”

Without hesitation, Axl rolled up his sleeve, showing the faint shimmer of his birthmark. Scarlet stepped forward next, revealing her own. The glow was softer but no less striking.

The guard inspected both carefully, nodding once. But then his gaze shifted to John. His lip curled.

“You may enter. However… this one cannot pass.”

Axl immediately moved, his body instinctively placing itself between the spearpoint and John.
“He’s with us.”

“He is not of the blood,” the guard said coldly. “Unless your elder grants him access, he remains outside the walls.”

For a long moment, Axl said nothing. His jaw tightened. He could feel John stiffen behind him, silent but wounded by the words. Axl wanted to argue—no, to force the matter—but the look in the guard’s eyes told him it would be pointless. Rules older than either of them stood in the way.

Finally, he turned to John, resting a steady hand on his shoulder.

“Wait here. I’ll come for you soon. I promise.”

John held his gaze for a heartbeat, then nodded. “Go.”

Reluctantly, Axl and Scarlet stepped through the gates, the massive doors groaning shut behind them. Axl glanced back once, catching John’s silhouette in the sunlight before it disappeared.

The Hall of the Divine was a cathedral of power. Its walls soared high, etched with murals of creation and war, each stone steeped in the weight of history. Golden braziers burned with smokeless flame, casting long shadows across the grand auditorium where eleven council members sat in their tiered seats.

Their voices were already raised in heated discussion when Axl and Scarlet entered. But the moment they were noticed, the chamber fell silent.

At the far end, Raymond rose to his feet. Gray hair framed a face lined by years of burden, his eyes stern but softened by the flicker of relief.

“Axl.”

“Uncle,” Axl replied, bowing deeply.

Raymond’s gaze shifted—and caught Scarlet. His composure broke for just a moment. A smile flickered, wide and unguarded, the kind a father wears after years apart. He stepped down from his seat before the others could protest, his hands gripping Scarlet’s shoulders with a warmth that startled the room.
“Scarlet. You’ve grown strong… your father would be proud.”

Scarlet’s lips trembled in the faintest smile, her voice steady despite the glimmer in her eyes.
“It’s good to see you again, Raymond.”

For a brief moment, the hall felt less like a chamber of judgment and more like a family reunited. But the weight of the council soon pressed back in. Raymond released her gently and returned to his place, regaining his solemn posture.

“You’ve come far. Tell me—what brings you here?”

Axl didn’t waste time. His voice carried across the chamber, sharp and unflinching as he recounted all they had uncovered: Damien, the plot to reconstruct the power stone, Alaric and Zadicus moving in shadow. Every word was measured, deliberate, but beneath his calm delivery his heart pounded.

When he finished, the council broke into a storm of whispers.

One elder, robed in silver, leaned forward, his tone biting. “Dire claims indeed. But why should we believe you?”

Axl stiffened. “Because it’s the truth.”

“Truth?” The man’s eyes narrowed. “You were once consumed by vengeance. During the Great War, you abandoned our ranks, hunted alone, striking without order or mercy. Many feared you more than they feared the enemy.” His voice cut sharp across the chamber. “Even now, you are known by a name that carries dread. The Reaper.”

The word struck like a blade. Scarlet stiffened at his side, but said nothing. Axl’s fists tightened. He felt the judgment in every stare, the weight of old sins pressing down on him.

His fists clenched at his side. “…I’ve changed.”

Another elder scoffed. “Men like you do not change.”

“I’m not the man I was,” Axl said, his tone almost desperate yet unwavering. “I don’t fight for hatred anymore. I’m fighting to prevent another war. To protect those who cannot fight for themselves. If you doubt me, then put me to the test. Judge me by more than my past.”

A murmur rippled through the council. Some scoffed, others whispered doubt. Raymond’s eyes lingered on his nephew, a glimmer of pride buried beneath concern.

An elder raised his hand. “Very well. You will undergo a trial. It will test your soul. If your heart carries no chains, it will show. If not…”

The silence finished the sentence for him.

Axl didn’t hesitate. “I accept.”

The chamber shifted. A healer stepped forward, robes trailing as she carried a polished stone wound with glowing herbs. The green light pulsed faintly, alive in her hands.

“You will fall asleep,” she said gently, her voice almost like a lullaby. “But what you face will be real enough. It will draw from memory, fear, rage… and truth.”

She pressed the stone to his forehead.

The world vanished.

Axl opened his eyes.

Cold bit into his skin. Snow stung his face. A blizzard howled around him, vicious and unrelenting.

He stood on a cliff. And below…

His heart lurched.

There he was. A younger version of himself, clutching the hand of a girl beside him—Haliee, the childhood friend he once trusted, before her father’s betrayal had brought Alaric to their door.

And below them, a lone figure faced the storm of enemies.

His father.

“No.” The word tore from Axl’s throat.

It played out again. Just as it had that day.

His father’s defiant stance. The enemies rushing forward. Steel clashing against steel, sparks flying in the snowstorm. The raw, desperate fight of a man who knew he could not win—but refused to yield.

Then the brutal strike.

The sight of his father falling.

Axl’s knees hit the snow. The pain ripped through him—sharp, unrelenting, a wound that never healed. His birthmark flared, glowing red, his vision tunneling with fury. His hands trembled as he pressed them into the frozen ground.

“Why?” His voice cracked, broken. “Why couldn’t I save you? Why was I too weak?”

The rage swelled, dark and suffocating. He felt it claw at his chest, the same rage that once consumed him, the rage that gave birth to The Reaper.

The snow thickened, blinding. His breath came ragged. The world tilted toward fury—toward violence.

But then—

“Axl.”

A voice. Calm. Familiar.

The blizzard faltered. Warmth pierced the cold.

The snow dissolved into golden light.

And there—standing just as he had the day he died—was his father. Strong. Serene. Proud.

“Dad?” Axl’s voice broke, barely a whisper.

His father’s eyes softened, the faintest smile on his lips.

“My son… you don’t have to carry this alone anymore.” His father stepped closer, extending his hand.