Forge of Fate

The council chamber was a cage of marble and gold. Stained glass windows filtered sunlight into fractured patterns on the polished floors, their beauty at odds with the coldness of the room. Kalem stood in its center like an intruder, the grime of the tunnels and the blood of the Garon still clinging to him, staining the air with a faint metallic tang. Around him, the city's officials perched in their high-backed chairs, their robes pristine and expressions poised.

Kalem crossed his arms, his posture defiant even as his body protested. The questions came quickly, their sharp tones like knives seeking to carve him apart.

"Where did you acquire the materials for your weapon?"

"Did you act alone, or were others complicit in this… unauthorized endeavor?"

"Are you aware, Miner Kalem, of the laws you've broken?"

Kalem's patience wore thin with every word. He stood before them having killed the unkillable, dragged its carcass back through sweat and blood, and now they looked at him as if he were the monster. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, his breathing heavy.

Finally, he raised his chin. "I broke your laws to save your city."

A murmur rippled through the chamber, half outrage, half disbelief. Kalem pressed on, his voice louder, stronger, fueled by the bitterness clawing at his throat.

"You sat in your safe halls and sent us miners to die. You knew the Garon was down there, and still, you handed us picks and torches like lambs to slaughter. And when the beast clawed its way to the surface, when your walls trembled, you fired on your own people." His voice cracked with anger. "Don't you dare lecture me about what's right."

The silence that followed was suffocating. Councilor Raiven, seated at the head of the table, stared at Kalem with an expression that teetered between rage and calculation. A few other officials shifted uncomfortably, their earlier confidence fractured by Kalem's words.

Finally, Raiven spoke, his voice low and controlled. "Your emotions, though understandable, do not excuse your actions." He gestured to the knight standing near the door, as if to reinforce his authority. "Laws exist to maintain order. Without them, this city would fall to chaos. Your methods—illegal weapons, dangerous substances—cannot be overlooked."

Kalem's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. What was the point of arguing with men who clung to rules like lifelines, too afraid to face the world as it truly was?

Raiven continued, his gaze cold. "However… your actions, reckless as they were, have delivered us from a great threat. For that, we cannot deny your accomplishment."

Kalem narrowed his eyes, his gut twisting. There was something rehearsed about Raiven's words, as though the council had already decided his fate before he stepped into the room.

"You will be stripped of your mining license and all privileges associated with it," Raiven declared, the finality in his voice like a judge delivering a death sentence. "Furthermore, you are to be exiled from the city immediately."

The words hung in the air, followed by the soft scratching of pens on parchment as other officials recorded the decision.

Kalem felt his stomach drop, but his face remained stone. Exiled.

For a moment, no one spoke. It was as though the council waited for him to lash out or beg for clemency—anything that would reaffirm their power over him. But Kalem did neither. Slowly, deliberately, he turned toward the door.

"You can have your city," he said, his voice flat. "It's not worth dying for anyway."

The insult lingered, unspoken but understood, as Kalem's boots echoed against the chamber floor. No one stopped him as he left.

Outside the council hall, the world felt impossibly large. The air was thick with the murmurs of city folk who had gathered, their eyes hungry for news. The Garon's body had been paraded through the lower districts like a macabre trophy, and now the people turned to Kalem, expecting a hero's return.

Instead, they saw a man alone.

Kalem strode past them, his expression unreadable despite the ache in his chest. He heard fragments of their whispers—

"Is that him?"

"They say he killed it alone."

"Why does he look so angry?"

"They're exiling him… after all that?"

He ignored them all. A child tried to follow him for a moment, clutching a small wooden sword and looking up at Kalem with something like awe. Kalem stopped long enough to meet the boy's eyes. "Go home, kid." His voice was softer than he expected. "There's nothing to see here."

The boy froze and watched him walk on, his admiration dimming to confusion.

Kalem's feet carried him toward the outskirts of the city—the edges where the stone gave way to dirt roads and low houses. The place he had once called home. His modest belongings were packed and left waiting by a cart, a clear message that the council's decision had been swift and uncompromising.

Old friends and miners watched him from doorways and alley corners, their faces uncertain. Some avoided his gaze; others nodded faintly in silent respect. A handful muttered curses against the council under their breath.

"Damn fools… turning him out like this…"

Kalem hoisted his pack onto his shoulder, wincing as his ribs protested. For a moment, he turned and looked back at the city—its towers and walls rising against the horizon, a place that had taken everything from him and given nothing back.

A bitter smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Let them have their walls.

The road stretched out before him, empty and uncertain. Somewhere beyond the hills and fields lay something new—whether opportunity or death, Kalem couldn't say. But as he walked away from the only life he'd ever known, he didn't look back.

The wind carried whispers through the city as the gates closed behind him.

Kalem, the man who had killed the Garon, was gone.

But his story was far from over.