The golden sigil slammed into Caius’s chest with the force of a physical blow, and for a moment the entire courtyard, the assembled soldiers, his father’s rigid stance, Isolde’s watchful eyes, all of it simply ceased to exist.
He was floating somewhere without dimension, without gravity, suspended in a void of shifting golden light while something vast and analytical picked apart the layers of his soul with clinical, merciless precision.
It didn’t hurt exactly.
It felt more like being read, every memory, every instinct, every fragment of who he was laid bare and cross-referenced against some impossibly ancient standard of divine order.
Caius had no way to fight it, no way to hide anything, and some distant part of his mind understood with sick clarity that if this evaluation dug deep enough, it would find memories of Earth, of a life that had no business existing on this continent at all.
‘Ashra,’ he thought desperately, reaching for the faint warm presence still lingering against his chest.
‘A little help would be appreciated right about now.’
The warmth pulsed once in response, and though no words came, Caius felt something shift, a subtle redirection, like a hand gently steering a wandering searchlight away from a particular corner of a room without ever announcing it had moved.
The golden analytical presence pressing into his soul paused, seemed to reconsider, and instead of driving deeper toward the memories of his old life, it settled instead on the System itself, the strange blue-tinted framework bolted onto his soul less than a week ago.
Caius felt the pressure intensify around that specific anchor point, and through the haze of the evaluation, he distantly heard Thessaly’s voice, distorted and far away, murmuring something that sounded almost like disbelief.
“This isn’t Heretical,” she said.
“This isn’t divine either.”
The golden void shattered abruptly, and Caius found himself back in the courtyard, stumbling half a step as his knees threatened to buckle from the sheer disorientation of it.
Thessaly stood before him, her hand still raised, her golden eyes wide with something that looked genuinely, uncharacteristically unsettled.
“Report,” Voran demanded immediately, his hand still resting near his greataxe.
Thessaly didn’t answer right away.
She lowered her hand slowly, her expression cycling through several emotions Caius couldn’t fully parse before settling into something carefully, deliberately neutral.
“The anomaly is not consistent with any known Heretical framework,” she said finally, choosing her words with obvious caution.
“It does not draw from Devil authority. It does not correspond to any registered divine bloodline mutation on record.” She paused.
“Its structure is entirely unprecedented in Council archives.”
“Meaning what, precisely,” Voran pressed.
“Meaning I cannot classify it,” Thessaly admitted, and something in the way she said it suggested this admission cost her considerably.
“Which means I cannot render an immediate verdict as instructed.”
One of the two flanking Enforcers, a broad-shouldered man with a shaved head and twin scars crossing his left eye, stepped forward with visible impatience.
“Thessaly, the Council’s directive was explicit. Unclassifiable anomalies default to containment protocol, pending extended evaluation at the capital.”
Caius’s stomach dropped.
Containment protocol.
That sounded exactly like the Temple’s quarantine, except backed by Saint-rank enforcement rather than a single Oracle’s polite request.
“I am also aware that default protocols exist for standard cases, and I have just personally confirmed this is anything but standard.”
“Which is precisely why containment is the correct response,” Ren snapped.
“An anomaly this unclassifiable represents exactly the kind of unpredictable variable the Council exists to neutralize before it becomes an active threat.”
“Neutralize,” Voran repeated, his voice dropping into something dangerously quiet, his massive frame shifting subtly to place himself more directly between the Enforcers and his son.
“You will find House Draxos considerably less accommodating if that word is intended literally.”
The tension in the courtyard sharpened instantly, soldiers on both sides tensing, hands drifting toward weapons, and Caius felt the fragile thread holding this entire confrontation together stretch dangerously thin.
“Enough,” Thessaly said sharply, raising a hand toward her fellow Enforcer before the situation could escalate further.
“I conducted the evaluation. The classification decision rests with me, per standard operational procedure, unless overridden by a ranking superior at the capital.” She turned back toward Caius, her golden eyes narrowing with focused, calculating intensity.
“Before I render any determination, I want direct answers. What is the true nature of this framework bound to your soul?”
Caius’s mind raced.
Lying to an Oracle was one thing.
Lying directly to a Saint-rank Enforcer who had just personally picked through the edges of his soul was an entirely different, far more dangerous proposition.
“I don’t fully understand it myself,” Caius said carefully, which was at least partially true.
“It appeared seven days ago. It’s given me limited combat abilities and some kind of internal progression tracking. I didn’t ask for it. I don’t know where it came from.”
“That is not an answer,” Thessaly said flatly.
“It’s the only honest one I have,” Caius replied, holding her gaze despite every instinct screaming at him to look away.
“I woke up seven days ago with no memory of how I ended up bonded to a Minor Goddess’s contract, and three days after that, this framework activated on its own. I’ve been trying to survive whatever this is exactly as much as you’re trying to understand it.”
It was, Caius realized as the words left his mouth, an almost complete truth wrapped around a deliberately vague omission, and apparently convincing enough that Thessaly’s expression shifted slightly, the sharp suspicion giving way to something more contemplative.
“Ashra petitioned sponsorship on your behalf,” Thessaly said slowly.
“A dying goddess, spending what little remaining divine authority she possesses, on a mortal vessel carrying an unclassifiable anomaly.” Her golden eyes narrowed further.
“That is either supreme foolishness, or she perceives something in you the rest of the Council has entirely failed to recognize.”
“Perhaps you should ask her directly,” Caius said, an idea forming with sudden, desperate clarity.
“She’s still bound to me. If her judgment carries any weight with the Council at all, let her make her case in person rather than through a rejected written petition.”
Thessaly considered this for a long, silent moment, the courtyard holding its collective breath around her.
“Divine testimony, delivered directly to a ranking Enforcer during an active evaluation, does carry additional procedural weight,” she said finally, almost reluctantly.
“Very well. Summon her.”
Caius closed his eyes, reaching inward toward the familiar warm presence still lingering against his chest, and felt Ashra’s ancient, weary consciousness stir in response.
‘They want to hear from you directly,’ Caius thought urgently.
‘Please tell me you can actually do this.’
The warmth pulsed once, steadying, and then the air around Caius began to shimmer with faint gray-orange light, ash motes swirling upward from the courtyard’s stone floor and coalescing slowly into a translucent, ember-lit silhouette hovering just beside him, vaguely humanoid, ancient and fragile and burning gently at the edges like a dying coal refusing to fully extinguish. Read the latest chapters at novelping.com.
“Enforcer Thessaly,” Ashra’s voice echoed softly through the courtyard, carrying the same weary, ancient weight Caius had felt in his bedroom days earlier, now audible to everyone present.
“I have watched over the Draxos bloodline for six centuries, and I tell you now, with what remains of my authority, that this boy is not the threat your Council fears.”
Thessaly’s golden eyes widened fractionally, clearly not having expected a physical manifestation, however faint, and the other Enforcer, Ren, took an involuntary step backward, his earlier aggressive posture faltering.
“Goddess Ashra,” Thessaly said, her voice carrying genuine formal deference now.
“Your testimony is noted. However, testimony alone cannot classify an anomaly the Council itself cannot identify.”
“Then allow me to offer more than testimony,” Ashra said, her ember-lit form flickering slightly, as though the effort of manifesting even this much was straining her considerably.
“I offer a binding oath. If this vessel’s anomaly proves to be a genuine threat to divine order at any point within the next year, I will personally sever my contract with him and surrender what remains of my authority to the Council for judgment.”
The courtyard fell utterly silent.
“That is an extraordinarily costly wager for a dying goddess to make,” Thessaly said slowly, studying the flickering ember silhouette with newfound wariness.
“Why would you risk what little remains of your authority on an unclassifiable anomaly you claim not to fully understand?”
Ashra’s ember form turned slightly, and though she had no discernible face, Caius felt the weight of her attention settle fully onto him.
“Because in six hundred years of watching mortals struggle beneath the weight of gods who have long forgotten what it means to actually endure,” she said quietly, “I have rarely felt a soul willing to run directly into a burning building for a stranger who never once thanked him for his kindness.”
Thessaly’s golden eyes flicked toward Caius, something unreadable passing behind them, and for a long, agonizing moment, the entire fate of House Draxos hung suspended in the tension of her decision.
“Very well,” she said finally.
“I accept the binding oath on behalf of the Council’s provisional judgment.” She turned toward her fellow Enforcer, whose expression had shifted from aggressive impatience into something considerably more subdued.
“Ren, log the oath formally. We return to the capital with a provisional classification, pending twelve months of continued observation.”
A visible wave of relief rippled through the assembled Draxos forces, and Caius felt his own knees nearly buckle from sheer released tension.
“However,” Thessaly added, turning back toward Caius with an expression that had hardened once more into something coldly professional, “provisional classification carries mandatory conditions. You will be enrolled at the Divine Academy under direct Council monitoring. A dedicated observer will be assigned to track your development personally, and any incident suggesting your anomaly poses genuine risk will result in immediate reclassification, oath or no oath.”
“Understood,” Caius said, relief nearly overwhelming him.
“One final matter,” Thessaly said, and something in her tone made Caius’s fragile relief freeze solid once more.
“The observer the Council is assigning to your case has already been selected, given the unusual circumstances of your evaluation.” Her golden eyes glinted with something that might have been the faintest trace of dark amusement.
“You will find her waiting for you upon your arrival at the Academy in two weeks.”
“Who is it?” Caius asked warily.
Thessaly’s expression remained carefully neutral, but her next words landed with the weight of an entirely new complication Caius hadn’t remotely prepared for.
“Seraphina val Lumen,” she said.
“First-ranked cleric candidate of this year’s incoming class, and personal ward of the Council’s Grand Inquisitor.” A pause, deliberate and pointed.
“She also happens to be the sworn future bride of the Vessel of Helion, by formal Church arrangement, since the age of six.”
The courtyard around Caius seemed to tilt sideways as the full weight of that revelation crashed down on him.
The Council hadn’t just assigned him a random observer.
They had assigned him the Protagonist’s own betrothed.