NOVEL NEXT Chapter 117: old
Healers led Zephyr out; Star limped but tail swayed. Fenna's tear-bright eyes met his; Aurora circled overhead in triumph. Muse bellowed somewhere outside, having sensed the outcome through walls.
Zephyr lifted his sword once to the roaring stands—not for vanity but promise. Emberkind is coming.
Yet the night would bring tribunal threats, bribes, and invitations slid under doors. The furnace of politics waited—but for a few breaths, in the quiet corridor smelling of balm and smoldering glass, a boy and his drake tasted hard-won hope.
Outside, bells rang in celebration while a tiny phoenix spark traced spirals under a slate-gray sky—guarding, guiding, lighting the path toward the next unknown.
The Forge-Arena infirmary sat beneath the south stands, a half-subterranean maze of basalt corridors made tolerable by rune-fans that recycled crust-warm air into cool, sage-scented drafts. Zephyr had visited once as a spectator; being wheeled in on a rune-sled felt vastly different.
Med-adepts slid Star onto a dragon-shaped cot carved from ash-oak and inlaid with heat-dissipating sigils. The young drake trembled but kept his chin high; when an orderly tried prying open a singed wing, he snapped—more warning than threat. Only when Zephyr took his paw did Star relax enough for salve-dowsing.
System Note
External healing accepted. Vital Efficiency 58 % → 70 % in 6 hrs.
Caution: deep fire-channels still stressed.
Across the aisle Basilisk medics fought a losing battle to cool Ayan's beast; even unconscious, the monster's core gurgled lava. A curtain of steam hid most of the work, but not Ayan's muffled curses each time healers prodded his broken jaw.
Fenna hovered at Star's flank, cleaning blistered plates with coriander-oil swabs. Aurora perched on a ceiling hook, heat-lantern bright, singing low croons that made charred scales knit faster. Luke and Mira unpacked tinctures while Uncle Arlen bullied orderlies into providing an extra cot ("Yes, the cow too—her calf-eyes prove emotional trauma!").
Muse wheeled in last. The cow's bell rang mournfully with each push. Inside the ward she enjoyed immediate celebrity; junior apprentices abandoned scrolls to scratch her chin—until she discovered triage herbs tasted better than salt blocks. Chaos followed.
Two hours later, a magistrate page in brass livery entered with scroll case embossed in molten gold:
Writ of Summons — Free-City Tribunal
Petitioner: Lady Lira Vaelor (on behalf of House Vaelor)
Cause: Alleged "reckless endangerment," "illegal bond concealment," and "assault upon a noble heir."
Respondent: Zephyr Valorian. Appearance required at seventh bell tomorrow. Failure = default guilty, 200-silver fine, rank suspension.
Zephyr read it twice, jaw pulsing. Lady Vaelor had struck fast—challenge lost, but political teeth bared.
Judge Varis arrived moments later, red robe flapping, and signed Zephyr's discharge forms personally. "Tribunal will be ugly," he said in hushed tone. "But the law saw the interference; many stand on your side." He pressed a sealed envelope into Zephyr's good hand. "Inside are copies of official hazard logs and crowd-ward sabotage records—use them."
Varis's eyes drifted to Star. "Heal him fully before daring the board again. The ladder waits, but a dead partner climbs nowhere." He bowed to Aurora (to the bird's visible delight) and strode out.
By late afternoon the group shuffled through Emberfall's spice-district, Star wrapped in char-salve bandages that glimmered like pewter ribbons. Street criers already bellowed headlines:
"SCION FALLS — RANK-F MIRACLE UNSEATS VAELOR SON!"
"SECRET BEAD OVERDRIVE EXPOSED!"
"HOLLOWBACK OR… DRAGON? OBSERVERS DEBATE."
Vendors hawked tin medallions stamped with Star's silhouette (tail exaggerated), while children mimicked Basilisk roar then pretend to topple.
Fenna's cheeks alternated crimson (pride) and chalk (anxiety) with each call. "If everyone wonders what he really is, we have to double disguises." She produced a black-felt cloak sized for half-grown hound. Star tolerated it—barely—huffing smoke that escaped like a faulty kettle.
They reached Arlen's shop at golden hour. The old apothecary closed shutters early, waved them to the courtyard, and beckoned Zephyr aside.
On Arlen's kitchen table lay four envelopes:
Silvergilt Guild (mid-tier equipment cooperative): "Name your signing fee; we covet your storage ability for joint expeditions."
Onyx Scale Consortium (beast brokers): "Sell breeding rights to your Hollowback for 300 silver per cycle."
Arena Sponsorship Office: free elite-forge practice passes if Zephyr agreed to five exhibition matches.
Anonymous — plain parchment, five platinum crescents inside, single line: "Deliver the drake for study; no questions."
Arlen wheezed. "Platinum, boy, platinum—first I've seen since coronation parade."
Zephyr shoved that envelope into the coals. "They can buy ashes."
Fenna fingered the Silbergilt contract. "Discount gear… tempting, but binding clause demands location pings on storage every week." She shot a pointed glance: secrets first.
Mira perked at exhibition detail. "Practice passes grant access to aether-chambers where time dilates—train four hours, body ages one." Luke's flute whistled an excited triad.
Zephyr pinched bridge of nose. "Tribunal first. We'll weigh offers later."
Aurora hopped across table, pecked Onyx Scale letter, set it ablaze with a sneeze of spark. Message clear.
They held war council in garden under pepper-tree lanterns. Judge Varis's packet revealed:
-tampering glyph matches Vaelor steward's mana-signature;
-double jade bead violates Overdrive Clause 12;
-audience ward sabotage endangered 3 000 spectators (Class-B felony).
"Tribunal could fine House Vaelor half a talent of gold," Luke whispered.
"Or bury evidence under gold," Mira countered.
They rehearsed testimony until moon rose high. Fenna's lines: she witnessed steward casting; Zephyr's focus on gauntlet boosts; Luke on medical risk; Mira on sabotage rune structure. Arlen would swear to pre-duel threats recorded by his shop scry-orb (he hurried off to copy that footage on glow-crystal).
Past midnight tension cracked. Muse sauntered from stable wearing a stolen silk kerchief around horns. The cow had discovered Arlen's neighbor's laundry line. She paraded like nobility until the kerchief caught fire from Star's body heat. She moo-screamed, dashed in circles, dove headfirst into the herb trough. Everyone—including bruised Zephyr—collapsed laughing. Even Star wheezed a smoky chuckle.
Relief, however fleeting, welded them tighter.
Morning bells tolled seventh when they reached Tribunal Hall, a basalt rotunda whose copper dome glinted sunrise crimson. Banners of major houses ringed the foyer; the Vaelor crest (phoenix over chains) drooped at half-staff in feigned humility.
Public gallery overflowed—betting on legal outcomes now outstripped yesterday's fight. Tib and Talla saved front-row seats, waving comp passes they'd bartered for with nut-vendor vouchers.
Inside the circular chamber, Magistrate Ivory-Robes formed a triad: High Justice Selene Myr (unflappable human), Scholar-Magus Peotar (owl-eyed gnome), and Guild-Factor Helga Stonehand (dwarf whose war-hammer doubled as gavel).
Lady Lira Vaelor glided in, black veil, crocodile tears. Her counsel, Barrister Throme, unfurled scrolls thick as ship rope. Zephyr's team sat opposite—no barrister, only truth (and Varis's file stuffed into Mira's satchel).
Crowd hush fell.
Throme thundered first: reckless use of unregistered drake, illegal hollowback disguise, assault of noble, trauma to paying spectators. He conjured illusions of Star's final blast, framed to look like Zephyr initiated pyroclasm. Murmurs bloomed.
Mira leapt up, activated Varis's logs onto holo-disk: energy signatures proved Basilisk's Pyroclasm preceded Infernal Ring. Crowd gasped again—momentum teetered.
Fenna testified to steward's emerald rune strike; Luke produced her burnt arrow retrieved from ward rubble, saturated with Vaelor mana on salvage.
Justice Selene frowned at Throme. "Explain sabotage glyph residue on your box dais?"
Lady Vaelor's nostrils flared. "An… overzealous retainer acting alone."
Helga Stonehand slammed hammer once—marble cracked. "Clan leaders responsible for retainers."
Peotar drummed quill. "We adjourn one hour to review arcane forensics. Any last submissions?"
Zephyr rose, surprising even his allies. Voice low but carried:
"Yesterday my beast fought injured. I fought corrupted money. We still fought by the rules. I request only fairness—for all tamers who stand without coin to bribe."
Silence, then a smattering of applause from commoners' tier before guards hushed them.
They retreated to witness lounge—Fenna pacing, Star curled protectively around Aurora. Arlen arrived breathless with glow-crystal proof but was told evidence window closed. He sank onto bench, cursing fancy law.
Just then a robed stranger—sigil of Verdant-Wing Guild (top 30) pinned at breast—approached.
"Zephyr Valorian?" Her eyes gleamed emerald like drake-scales. "Master Jun-Kao extends formal invitation: joint-training at Verdant Wing sky-yard, plus legal sponsorship. Free counsel, sealed storage vaults, rank-climb mentorship. In return, first refusal rights on any growth-shedding your Hollowback produces for three seasons." She slid a jade token across table.
Fenna stiffened. Luke whistled—deal of lifetime.
Zephyr picked up the token, weighed it, met the envoy's gaze. "If Tribunal rules fair, I won't need protection. If it doesn't—your guild can't stop what comes." He set the token back. "But… thank Master Jun-Kao. I'll decide after verdict."
She smiled like someone who expected refusal yet respected resolve. "Offer stands till next moon." She vanished into corridor.
Chamber reconvened. Judges returned stern.
Sabotage confirmed.
Illegal double boost confirmed.
Assault by Noble retainer confirmed.
Sentence: House Vaelor fined 1 000 silver; Ayan demoted two ranks and placed on probation; Steward remanded to prison-forge. Duel victory upheld; Zephyr's probation lifted entirely; caution note removed.
Gallery erupted—common folk cheered; noble boxes hissed.
Lady Vaelor's mask cracked. She hissed at Zephyr, "Enjoy triumph—storms brew." Guards escorted her out.
Tib shouted "Drinks on me!" then realized he'd lost every coin, borrowed from Talla, who smacked him.