Silence clung to the council chamber like a tightening net.

  Pyrope stood frozen under the weight of a hundred feathered eyes, the King’s question echoing inside his skull:

  “Why was the boy the only survivor?”

  Rowan stepped forward immediately, voice deep with rising anger.

  “Your Majesty—Pyrope survived because he ran. Because I found him. Because he—”

  “Because he was lucky?” a captain cut in.

  “Or because the raiders let him live?” another whispered sharply.

  “Enough.” Rowan’s tone dropped, dangerous.

  But the murmurs grew louder.

  The Whispered Storm

  Captains exchanged hard glances.

  Tension spread like wildfire.

  “Mind-altered.”

  “Marked.”

  “He brought misfortune to their gates—look at the flames rising across the realms.”

  “What if he carries Severus’s influence inside him?”

  Pyrope’s breath hitched.

  Lira stepped forward, her voice trembling yet fierce.

  “Stop blaming him! He’s suffered enough—he lost his home! His family! Everything!”

  A captain turned toward her sharply.

  “And you? How do you know he isn’t being controlled? Based on your explanation, the raider members include various species, not just canines. This alone tells us they may be controlled. No one willingly joins the one who destroyed their home.”

  Lira recoiled, eyes widening.

  “That’s not—he’s not—!”

  Rowan planted himself between her and the captains, muscles tensing beneath his vest.

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  “You’re talking about a child,” Rowan growled.

  “A child who warned you. A child who helped us survive. Choose your words carefully.”

  Feathered armor rattled as two captains reached for their weapons.

  The chamber crackled with hostility.

  Harsh Interrogation

  One black-sashed intelligence captain stepped forward.

  “State your identity. All of it,” he barked at Pyrope.

  Pyrope lowered his head.

  “Pyrope. Snowsteps. From Havenroot.”

  “Havenroot… a nameless village no one has heard of. And now they are ash,” the captain snapped.

  “No bodies. No survivors. Except you.”

  Pyrope flinched.

  He had no answer for that.

  No explanation for his survival.

  No way to defend his existence itself.

  Another captain approached, eyes sharp as talons.

  “Look at me,” he demanded.

  “Look. Directly.”

  Pyrope obeyed.

  The captain hissed softly.

  “His eyes… they’re wrong. Too calm. Too still.”

  Rowan exploded forward.

  “Don’t you dare—”

  Four guardians stepped between them instantly, spears pointed at Rowan’s throat.

  The King’s Decision

  The Golden Pheasant King rose from his throne slowly, expression carved from stone.

  “Stop.”

  All captains froze.

  Rowan’s breathing thundered.

  Lira clung to his sleeve.

  Tidewhisper stood silent but sharp-eyed, watching everything with rising dread.

  The King descended the steps one by one.

  “Your information is valuable,” he said.

  “We will heed it. The warnings you bring will be acted upon.”

  Rowan said nothing—jaw locked tight.

  “But my kingdom…”

  His gaze swept over the trembling civilians outside the high slits of the chamber.

  “…this information alone places us on the brink of war. Fear is already suffocating the streets. I cannot risk further panic.”

  He turned toward Pyrope.

  The look was not hateful.

  It was heavy.

  Regretful.

  But absolute.

  “For the safety of the Rooster Kingdom…”

  “…you must leave.”

  Pyrope’s breath stopped.

  Lira gasped.

  Rowan’s fists clenched.

  Tidewhisper’s ears flattened in dismay.

  Even the captains went silent.

  The King finished quietly:

  “You will be escorted to the outer gates.

  You may not return.”

  Forced Out

  The expulsion was swift.

  The caravan was marched down the spiraling bridge under full guard.

  Civilians whispered from balconies.

  Some pointed.

  Some hid behind draping banners.

  Some merely stared, feathers bristling.

  Pyrope walked with his head down.

  Lira kept whispering to him:

  “It’s not your fault… it’s not your fault…”

  Rowan strode beside them like a storm barely contained.

  Tidewhisper muttered, “This kingdom is too afraid to think clearly…”

  Anatolian’s Panic

  At the lower platforms, Anatolian appeared—still in his timid, normal form—hugging the now-rested mount’s head.

  His eyes widened as he saw everyone being pushed out.

  “W-Wait—what happened?! What did you all do?!”

  He scampered after them.

  “I leave for ONE MINUTE and suddenly we’re EXILED?! Wha—why—WHAT?!”

  Rowan didn’t answer.

  Lira didn’t answer.

  Pyrope couldn’t answer.

  Anatolian flailed helplessly.

  “I don’t understand ANYTHING—!”

  But the guards shoved the caravan forward.

  The Closing Gates

  They were pushed past the outer walls.

  The giant reinforced doors creaked.

  Pyrope turned once—just once—back toward the towering skyline.

  Wind chimes rang softly in the tense silence.

  Tidewhisper whispered beside him, voice low, almost sorrowful:

  “…we didn’t expect this kind of reaction.”

  The gates slammed shut with a final, echoing boom.

  And the Skyward Bastion disappeared behind cold stone.