Lucian woke to hushed voices and the taste of copper in his mouth.
"—completely irresponsible! Years of hiding, and for what?" The words drifted up through the floorboards, muffled but unmistakably angry.
"He saved lives, George." That was Mrs. Henderson, firm as her festival bread. "Your son among them."
"And brought the Vigil down on all our heads! You know what they do to unregistered Shapers. You know what they do to towns that harbour them."
Lucian tried to sit up. The world spun lazily, and his stomach threatened rebellion. Every muscle felt like it had been wrung out and hung to dry. His hands, when he raised them, trembled with fine tremors that had nothing to do with suppressed power. The reservoir was empty. Drained.
"Easy." Mira pressed a cool cloth to his forehead. "You've been out for six hours. Keeren said you're lucky you didn't burn out your channels completely."
"The children—"
"Are fine. Alive. Thanks to you." Her voice carried fierce pride mixed with worry. "Emma's been by three times asking when her 'Guardian' will wake up."
"And everyone else?"
Mira's silence spoke volumes. Through the gap under his door, he could see the warm glow of multiple lanterns. Too many for the pre-dawn hour. The entire village was awake, and from the sounds of it, they were deciding his fate.
"How bad?" he asked.
"There are maybe thirty people downstairs. Elder Molnar's trying to keep order, but..." She wrung out the cloth in a basin of water that smelled of healing herbs. "Some want you exiled immediately. Others think you should be celebrated. Most are just afraid."
"Of me."
"Of what comes next." Mira met his eyes. "The Vigil doesn't ignore displays like yours. Someone used the emergency crow. They'll be here by dawn."
Lucian absorbed this, trying to feel something beyond the hollow ache where his power usually resided. He'd known this moment would come eventually. He'd just imagined having more time. More control. More choice in how it happened.
"Father?"
"Hasn't said a word since he carried you up here. Just sits at his workbench, staring at nothing." Mira's jaw tightened. "I may have thrown a chisel at George Millstone when he suggested Father should have 'dealt with' your condition years ago."
"Mira—"
"Did you hit him?"
"Centre of the forehead. He'll have a lovely bruise."
Despite everything, Lucian smiled. "That's my sister."
A particularly loud voice rose from below—one of the town guards arguing that harbouring an unregistered Shaper was treason against the Concord's laws. Lucian's smile faded. These people had known him his entire life, and now they spoke of him like a disease to be cut out.
"I should go down," he said.
"You should rest."
"They're deciding whether to bind me for the Vigil or drive me out with torches and pitchforks. I should at least be present for the verdict."
Mira helped him stand, though she clearly wanted to argue further. His legs held, barely. The simple act of pulling on a clean shirt left him breathless. If another ephemeral being appeared right now, he'd be defenceless as any normal person.
More defenceless, actually. Normal people hadn't drained their life force dry.
The stairs creaked under his weight, and conversation died as he descended. The main room of his family's house had been transformed into an impromptu court. People packed every corner—sitting on barrels, standing against walls, crowding the doorway. At the centre, Elder Molnar sat in Father's good chair, still wearing his torn ceremonial robes.
All eyes turned to Lucian. The weight of their stares was physical, pressing against his exhausted body like hands trying to push him back upstairs. He recognised every face. Had helped with their harvests, fixed their roofs, played with their children.
Now half looked at him like a stranger. The other half couldn't seem to decide whether he was hero or threat.
"Lucian." Elder Molnar's voice cut through the tension. "You should be resting."
"So should all of you." He managed to keep his voice steady despite the tremor in his legs. "It's been a long night."
"One that would have been longer without you," Mrs. Henderson said firmly. Several parents nodded agreement.
"Or one that might never have happened at all," George countered, sporting an impressive purple bruise. "How do we know his presence didn't attract those creatures? Uncontrolled power draws them like blood draws sharks."
"That's not how it works," Keeren said from his corner. The old soldier had his arm in a sling but stood straight. "The Veil was already weakening. Anyone with sense could see the signs."
"And you would know, wouldn't you?" George's eyes narrowed. "Always taking special interest in the boy. Training him. Preparing him. You knew what he was."
"I may have suspected. Suspicion isn't knowledge."
"Semantics! You helped hide a Shaper from proper registration. That makes you complicit in—"
"In what?" Jonas stepped forward from the crowd. "In teaching a young man to defend himself? In preparing him for a moment like tonight when he'd have to choose between secrecy and saving lives? I for one am grateful Keeren gave him the skills to make that choice."
"Easy for you to say. You don't have a family here anymore. When the Vigil—"
"The Vigil enforces registration to prevent untrained Shapers from hurting themselves or others." Elder Molnar raised a hand for silence. "Lucian demonstrated remarkable control for someone self-taught. That speaks well of his character."
"He lied," someone called from the back. "For years."
"To protect you," Mira shot back, moving to stand beside her brother. "Do you think he wanted to hide? Do you know what it cost him to suppress his nature every single day?"
"We're not the ones who asked him to carry that burden," George said. "Julian should have—"
"Should have what?"
Every head turned. Julian Ashford stood in the doorway to his workshop, wood shavings still clinging to his clothes. His face was carved stone, but his eyes burned.
"Should have what, George? Turned in my son? Sent him away like my father was sent?" Julian stepped into the room, and people moved aside. "Forty years ago, almost to the day. The Vigil came for him because someone—" his gaze found George's father in the crowd, "—someone reported seeing lights in our workshop. They tested him, found minor Shaper potential, and took him for 'training.'"
The room was silent. This was old history, but rarely spoken.
"We got one letter," Julian continued. "Said he was serving at some Veil fortress. Said he was well. Said he'd visit when he could." His voice cracked. "That was the last we heard. My mother died wondering if her husband still lived."
"The Vigil protects us all," someone ventured weakly.
"The Vigil protects the Veil. Everything else is secondary." Julian looked at his son. "I've spent years afraid of losing you the same way. Maybe that fear made me a coward. But I won't apologise for trying to keep my family whole."
"A touching story," George said, though with less venom. "But it doesn't change the facts. The boy is a Shaper. An unregistered one who just gave a display visible for miles. The Vigil will come, and they'll want answers. What do we tell them?"
"The truth," Lucian said quietly. "That I hid what I was. That the village didn't know. That when lives were at stake, I acted." He met George's stare. "I'll face whatever consequences come. But I won't let any of you suffer for my choices."
"Noble words," Elder Molnar mused. "But the Vigil isn't known for accepting simple explanations. They'll question everyone. Test the children for latent abilities. Search for evidence of conspiracy."
"Then we give them nothing to find," Mrs. Henderson declared. "We're not conspirators. We're a community that just survived a nightmare attack thanks to one of our own."
"She's right," another voice added. Emma's father, Thomas Fairweather, stepped forward. "My daughter lives because Lucian acted. Whatever he is, whatever comes next, I won't forget that."
The mood in the room shifted slightly. Parents who'd remained silent began to nod. The saved children's families formed an implicit bloc of support. But others remained unmoved.
"Gratitude won't shield us from Vigil justice," George insisted. "We need to think practically—"
A child's voice piped up from the doorway. "Mister Lucian?"
Emma stood in her nightdress, clutching something in her small hands. Her mother rushed forward. "Emma! You should be in bed!"
"I couldn't sleep. I made something." She wiggled free and approached Lucian with the determination only a seven-year-old could muster. "For you."
She held out a painted river stone. The colours were crude but heartfelt—swirls of every shade in clumsy imitation of what she'd seen him create. In the centre, she'd drawn a stick figure with a bright smile.
"It's a protection stone," she explained seriously. "Like you protected us."
Lucian's throat tightened. He knelt despite his protesting muscles and accepted the gift with the gravity it deserved. "It's beautiful, Emma. Thank you."
"Will you stay? Mother says you might have to go away."
The room held its breath. Lucian felt the weight of every eye, every fear, every hope.
"I don't know," he said honestly. "But whatever happens, I'm glad I could help."
Emma threw her arms around his neck. "You're the best Guardian ever."
Over her shoulder, Lucian saw faces soften. Even George looked away, conflict clear in his expression. Fear was powerful, but so was the image of a child embracing her saviour.
"Enough," Elder Molnar said gently. "Emma, back to bed. The rest of you—we've talked in circles for hours. Dawn approaches, and with it, the Vigil. We must decide: do we stand together, or do we let fear divide us?"
"What are you suggesting?" Thomas asked.
"I'm suggesting we remember who we are. Oakhaven has weathered storms, droughts, plagues, and now a Veil breach. We survive because we support each other." The Elder's gaze swept the room. "Lucian is one of ours. Whatever judgment comes, it should find us united."
"Pretty words," George muttered. "But unity won't stop Vigil interrogators from—"
"From what?" Keeren interrupted. "Testing children? Questioning citizens? They'd do that anyway after a breach this severe. At least this way, they have a clear target for their attention. One who's volunteering for judgment."
"You're saying we should throw him to the wolves?"
"I'm saying the wolves are coming regardless. Better they find a community standing with one of their own than cowering in division."
Debate erupted again, but Lucian found himself too tired to follow the threads. He slumped into a chair, Emma's painted stone warm in his palm. The colours she'd used were wrong—too bright, too simple—but somehow that made them more beautiful. They were what a child saw when she looked at him: not a threat or a liar, but light pushing back darkness.
"Lucian?"
He looked up to find his father standing before him. The crowd had pulled back slightly, granting them an illusion of privacy.
"I'm sorry," Lucian said. "For bringing this to our door. For—"
"For saving lives?" Julian's mouth quirked in something almost like a smile. "Your mother would box my ears if she heard me scolding you for that."
"But your father—"
"Was a good man who got caught in bad circumstances. Like you." Julian sat heavily beside him. "I've spent so long fearing the past would repeat that I... I forgot to see who you've become. Not my father. Not a weapon for the Vigil to claim. Just... you."
"I'm still me," Lucian said quietly. "The power doesn't change that."
"No. But it changes everything else." Julian was quiet for a moment. "When the Vigil comes, they'll offer you a choice. Service or punishment. I know which you'll choose—you've got too much of your mother's heroism in you. But Lucian... be careful. The Vigil saves lives, yes. But it also consumes them."
Before Lucian could respond, Keeren's voice cut through the debate. "Quiet! Listen!"
The room fell silent. In the distance, carried on the pre-dawn wind, came the sound of hoofbeats. Many hoofbeats, moving in perfect synchronisation.
"They're early," someone whispered.
Elder Molnar stood. "Everyone not of this household, out. Now. Let them find us going about our morning business, not huddled like conspirators."
People filed out quickly, fear lending speed to their movements. Some squeezed Lucian's shoulder as they passed. Others avoided his gaze. Within minutes, only his family, Keeren, and Elder Molnar remained.
"Should I..." Lucian gestured vaguely at his exhausted state.
"Stay as you are," Keeren advised. "Let them see what the display cost you. The Vigil respects power, but they respect control more. Show them you're drained, not dangerous."
The hoofbeats grew louder. Through the window, Lucian glimpsed the first edges of dawn painting the sky. Fitting. His old life had ended at dusk. His new one would begin at sunrise.
"Whatever happens," Mira said fiercely, "we're family. That doesn't change."
"Nothing changes that," Julian agreed.
A horn sounded outside—clear, commanding, impossible to ignore. The Vigil had arrived.
Elder Molnar moved to the door. "Ready?"
Lucian stood on unsteady legs, Emma's painted stone still clutched in his hand. He thought of the children he'd saved, the village he'd protected, the family who stood with him despite everything.
"Ready."
The door opened to reveal the new day. And with it, judgment.
The Vigil contingent filled the square with militant precision. Two dozen riders in silver and grey, their mounts moving in perfect formation. Each wore the distinctive armour of their order—plates that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it, inscribed with wards against ephemeral influence.
But it was the two figures at the formation's head that drew every eye.
The woman dismounted first, and the ground seemed to acknowledge her presence. She stood tall and broad-shouldered, with prematurely grey hair woven into complex braids. Her armour bore the distinctive markings of an Aegis—one of the Vigil's elite. When she moved, it was with the controlled power of an avalanche choosing not to fall.
"I am Aegis Lyra Stonehand," she announced, her voice carrying easily across the square. "By authority of the Adamant Vigil and the Concord of Free Cities, I claim jurisdiction over this Veil breach and all matters arising from it."
The second figure remained mounted, studying the scene with cold grey eyes. Younger than the Aegis, perhaps early to mid twenties, with the kind of sharp features that could cut glass. His hand rested on a leather journal, and Lucian could see him already cataloguing details.
"Vigilant Marcus Cole," Lyra continued, gesturing to her companion. "My assessor and recorder. Elder Molnar, I presume?"
The Elder stepped forward with admirable composure. "I am. Oakhaven welcomes the Vigil's protection, Aegis Stonehand."
"Protection." Marcus spoke for the first time, his voice clipped and precise. "An interesting word choice, considering this village harboured an unregistered Shaper."
"Unknowingly," Molnar replied calmly.
"So you claim. Yet the Aetheric resonance suggests years of suppressed power. Someone knew." His gaze found Lucian with unerring accuracy. "You would be the anomaly."
Lucian stepped forward on legs that wanted to buckle. "I am."
Lyra studied him with eyes that seemed to see more than just the physical. "Name?"
"Lucian Ashford."
"Age?"
"Nineteen."
"Training?"
"Self-taught. Mostly suppression techniques."
"Mostly." She moved closer, and Lucian felt the weight of her presence like increased gravity. "Yet you manifested constructs of remarkable complexity during the breach. Witnesses describe shields, weapons, area effects. That speaks to more than suppression."
"I... practiced. In private. Small things." The half-truth tasted bitter. "I didn't want to hurt anyone."
"Intent is admirable. Results are what matter." Lyra began to circle him slowly. "By law, all Shapers must register with either the Vigil or the College of Hues by their sixteenth birthday. Failure to do so is a criminal act. Are you aware of this law?"
"Yes."
"Yet you chose to violate it."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Lucian met her gaze steadily. "Because I was afraid."
"Of the Vigil?"
"Of leaving home. Of being forced into a life I didn't choose. Of becoming a weapon." He swallowed. "My grandfather was taken for training. He never came back."
Something flickered in Lyra's eyes—understanding, perhaps, or simple acknowledgment. Marcus made a note in his journal.
"Fear is not an excuse for lawbreaking," Marcus said. "Nor does heroism erase past crimes. You displayed unregistered power in a public space, caused significant property damage, and potentially attracted the breach through your uncontrolled emanations."
"That's not true!" Mira stepped forward. "The breach started before Lucian acted. He saved lives!"
"You are?"
"His sister. And I'll swear before any truth-seeker that my brother hid his power to protect us, not himself."
"Admirable loyalty." Marcus's tone suggested he found it anything but. "Also irrelevant. The law is clear—"
"The law serves order," Lyra interrupted. "Order serves life. When the two conflict, wisdom must prevail." She stopped her circling, facing Lucian directly. "You acted to save innocents. That speaks well of your character. You also lack proper training, which makes you dangerous to yourself and others. That cannot be ignored."
"What happens now?" Elder Molnar asked.
"Now, we assess." Lyra gestured, and two Vigilants dismounted, carrying a crystalline device between them. "This is a Resonance Calibrator. It will measure the subject's Aetheric capacity, affinity spectrum, and control index. Based on these readings, I will determine whether he's suitable for Vigil training or... other measures."
The unspoken alternatives hung heavy in the air. Lucian had heard whispers of what happened to Shapers deemed too dangerous or unstable. Binding. Imprisonment. Sometimes worse.
"When?" Julian asked, his carpenter's hands clenched into fists.
"Traditionally, we allow a day for subjects to prepare. But given the severity of the display and the breach..." Lyra studied the damaged square, noting burn marks and shattered stone. "Marcus?"
"Immediate assessment would be within regulations," the younger Vigilant said. "Article Seven, subsection four: 'In cases of extreme manifestation or public endangerment, field assessment may proceed without standard waiting period.'"
"Your memory for regulations remains impeccable." Something in Lyra's tone suggested this wasn't entirely a compliment. She turned back to Lucian. "However, I see a young man who can barely stand after defending his home. Power without control is dangerous, yes. But power with exhaustion is merely sad."
She made a decision. "Assessment at noon tomorrow. That gives you time to recover and... say goodbyes, should they prove necessary." Her expression softened fractionally. "I suggest you use that time wisely."
"And until then?" Keeren asked.
"The subject remains under village authority, with the understanding that any attempt to flee will be met with extreme prejudice." She paused. "You trained him."
It wasn't a question. Keeren nodded.
"Former military?"
"Third Regiment. Served at Bastion Greentide until an ephemeral took my knee."
"I know Greentide. Ugly business." Lyra's respect seemed genuine. "Your training may have saved his life. Untrained Shapers who manifest that strongly usually burn out their channels. Or worse."
"He's a good lad," Keeren said simply. "Whatever you decide, know that."
"I'll keep it in mind." Lyra turned to address the square where villagers had begun to gather. "Citizens of Oakhaven! The Vigil acknowledges your recent trials. A full investigation team will arrive within days to strengthen your Veil anchors and ensure no lasting corruption remains. Until then, go about your business. The immediate danger has passed."
She mounted her horse with easy grace. "Noon tomorrow, Lucian Ashford. Come prepared to demonstrate your full capabilities. Based on what I observe, I'll determine whether you join the Vigil as Initiate... or face judgment for your crimes."
The contingent wheeled with military precision and departed, leaving only dust and dread in their wake. Lucian stood in the morning light, surrounded by family and neighbours, feeling the weight of twenty-four hours pressing down like mountains.
"Well," Elder Molnar said into the silence. "I suppose we should prepare for tomorrow."
"How does one prepare for that?" Julian asked.
Keeren's smile was grim. "The same way you prepare for any battle. Rest, planning, and hope the odds favour you." He clapped Lucian's shoulder. "Come on, lad. If you're going to impress an Aegis, we'd better make sure you can stand upright when the time comes."
As the crowd dispersed, Lucian caught sight of Marcus Cole taking notes from his saddle, grey eyes missing nothing. Whatever tomorrow brought, the Vigilant would be watching, recording, judging.
Emma's painted stone grew warm in his pocket. Protection, she'd called it. He hoped she was right.