That was Rell’s gamble — and it paid off.
The girl who rode with him in chains wasn’t Lirah.
It was the owl, wrapped in illusion magic — thin but potent, stretched across a soul-tethered disguise. Even when touched, the spell held. Barely.
Rell’s thought: She better make it to Umbwe… or this whole plan’s ash.
A few hours earlier…
They crouched behind a merchant stall long abandoned, shadows warping under the moonlight.
Lirah trembled as Rell gently tucked the egg-shaped tracking bead into her pouch.
“Forest. South slope. Past dead root cave. Owl wait.”
She looked up. “What if I get caught?”
He didn’t lie. “Then you scream.”
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She nodded, eyes hard despite the fear. He offered a quick pat on the shoulder — not comfort, but a push — and watched her vanish into the alley’s gloom.
Now, as guards pulled him toward the church’s gated sanctum, Rell kept his head down, conserving focus to maintain the illusion around his disguised companion. Every breath was a thread. Every doubt threatened to unravel it.
The owl said nothing. Her posture mimicked Lirah’s almost perfectly. A masterwork of mimicry, helped only by the soul-tether running between them.
Behind them, Thessia walked with arms folded, brow furrowed. Her gait was sharp, measured — like a blade deciding whether to strike.
She suspects, Rell thought.
But she wasn’t acting on it. Yet.
Meanwhile…
Thessia’s Thought:
Something’s off. She walks like a soldier, not a scared girl. She hasn’t cried. Not once. Even thieves cry when they’re caught.
But more than that, it was the boy.
The one everyone kept calling “beast.”
He didn’t shrink. He didn’t rage.
He simply was — like a wall that hadn’t decided if it wanted to fall or fight.
What the hell are you…?
They passed through archways carved with false scripture — golden-lined inscriptions of peace painted over marble laced with old ash.
The scent of incense clung to every breath, fighting the darker smell underneath.
Rell’s nose twitched.
Blood. Under incense. They clean the walls, not the floors.
It was worse than he imagined. This wasn’t faith. This was rot dressed as divinity.
A slow dread crept up his spine — not from fear, but memory.
Places like this exist everywhere. Even back home.
They turned another corner. A priest stepped out from a curtain of hanging glass beads, staring directly at them.
The priest’s eyes paused on “Lirah,” then on Rell. His expression unreadable.
“You,” he said flatly to Thessia. “He goes to Cell 9. Escort him. The girl waits.”
“Understood,” she replied, voice clipped.
They moved again. As they passed beneath an ornate window of cracked stained glass, Rell caught his reflection — wild hair, bruised face, false chains on his wrists.
When they reached the inner sanctum, a guard coughed behind him.
“They say jungle-blood can’t lie,” he muttered to his partner. “Let’s find out.”
Rell didn’t flinch.
The owl didn’t blink.
And with that, the heavy door shut behind them.
[End of Chapter 1]