thief of fate-Chapter 49: The spread of chaos

The People Came

Their screams did not resemble the usual anger, but rather as if the earth itself had cracked open beneath their feet, exhaling generations of pain and bitterness. They emerged from the city fog, from the distant countryside, and the edges of the plains, with teary eyes and throats dry from screaming into a void that never heard them. They carried pictures of their children, scraps of cloth soaked in meaningless blood, and their faces were taut as if carved from rage.

They gathered before the academy gate a gate that was once a dream, a source of pride, but now looked like a stone mouth, sealed over a silent betrayal.

A man in the middle of the crowd cried out, his face full of scars, his voice wounded:

"Where were they when the traitors snuck in? Where were their eyes?!"

His words rang like whips against the walls. Behind him, stood a woman in a black dress fluttering in the wind, looking up at the highest towers with tired eyes. In her hand, a small silver pendant still held the blood of her son, who never returned. She said in a quiet voice that pierced through the crowd:

"They told us they’d be safe. They said the academy would protect them."

The crowd began to echo her words: "They told us... they said..." as if chasing an old lie now unraveling before them.

Inside, the academy’s administration was gathered. Headmaster Graeven looked more tense than ever, as if every strand of his beard carried the weight of a wrong decision. Beside him stood several teachers, their faces pale like those who had stared into the ghost of their own failure.

Teacher Alina, wiping sweat from her brow, said:

"We have to face them. We can’t hide like rats."

Graeven replied in a deep voice:

"And if we do, what do we say? Do we tell them we saw nothing? That we suspected no one? That their children died because we were blind?"

Silence fell. Only the sound of the crowd outside rose... and shattered the quiet.

In the courtyard, a thin young man stepped to the front. His name was Merol. He was not a leader nor a warrior, but a brother to a seventeen year-old girl one of the first victims. He raised his hand and shouted:

"My sister died without you even finding her body!"

His voice trembled, but his eyes did not tear up. There are no tears left in those whose souls have been drained. He continued:

"We sent them to you because we trusted you. We wanted them to learn, to become something. We didn’t know we were throwing them into the jaws of hell."

The crowd applauded him, but it wasn’t applause it was beating upon open wounds. Rage spread across the worn-out faces, now icons of collective pain.

Inside the academy, Selina watched from one of the windows. Her body was still, but her soul clenched. She knew every word said outside stabbed her personally. She remembered the investigation, how some still questioned her loyalty despite Raphael defending her. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

She whispered to herself:

"Maybe they were right to hate us... we weren’t strong enough."

Raphael appeared behind her, his face calm for once, his eyes watching the crowd not with fear but with a quiet sorrow.

"The anger is understandable. No one will forgive us easily."

She looked at him, then at the floor:

"But some died loyal. Some tried to save what they could."

He responded, hands behind his back:

"And some lived hidden in the shadows... traitors who were among us and we never saw them."

Outside the walls, the crowd began demanding answers. Some climbed the gates, throwing stones. A woman screamed:

"We want an investigation! We want the traitors’ names! We want to know who caused our children’s deaths!"

The academy stayed silent.

Suddenly, the gate opened.

Graeven walked out slowly, followed by several teachers. Alina stood beside him. They were unarmed, without armor only faces weighed down with betrayal.

Graeven spoke in a loud voice:

"We do not deserve to hide. What happened is a disaster, and part of our fault was believing in false security."

A woman from the back shouted:

"Liar! My children died while you did nothing!"

Graeven continued, his voice lowering slightly:

"We weren’t blind... but we weren’t cautious enough. There were those who betrayed us from within... who lived among us for years, and we never suspected them."

A man raised his hand. He was an old soldier, his left eye missing, his arm wrapped in an old bandage:

"What good is knowledge if it can’t protect our children? You’re powerful... but you didn’t see the traitors among you?!"

Elerian shook his head:

"Some of us saw... but fear, and doubts without proof, paralyzed us. Some screamed, others stayed silent. The result... was a tragedy."

A heavy silence followed.

Then Selina stepped forward. Step by step, her face pale as if walking on blades of glass. She didn’t speak at first, just stood before everyone, raised her hand and said in a voice mixed with pain and anger:

"I was the one put in the cage of accusation. I was humiliated, my name dragged through the mud, and I’m still here."

A man approached her, his eyes burning with hatred:

"And what proves your innocence? Who still trusts you?"

She answered sharply:

"I’m not here to ask for your trust. I’m here because I lost friends too. Because I fought for this academy, even when they doubted me. I don’t ask for forgiveness, but don’t throw all your rage at those who stayed... look at those who left."

Some in the crowd quieted. The rest were still angry, but doubt began to chip away at their fury.

Raphael finally said:

"We will reopen the investigation. All files, all immunity will be lifted, and names will be revealed. No more secrets. But we need time, we need your cooperation. If we want a new future, we must build it together."

A long silence.

Then Merol, the young man who lost his sister, said:

"If you lie again... you’ll have nothing left to protect you from us."

He turned his back.

The crowd slowly dispersed... not out of acceptance, but exhaustion. They did not forgive. They did not forget. But they left the academy to crumble in its silence, so something new might begin... or everything might end.

Days after the storm... the wind began to change direction.

Only three days had passed since the people confronted the academy, and everything had changed. No one could hide the truth under titles or ranks anymore. On a cold, sharp morning, the new administrative council gathered and declared openly: "No one will escape if they were involved."

Privileges were shattered. All missions were suspended. Classes were postponed. Independent investigative units from outside the academy walls were summoned. No respect remained for old names, no immunity for anyone regardless of their rank.

Graeven ordered the archives of past years to be searched: all missions, correspondences, movements, even the details of private lessons. Everyone was re-interrogated, from teachers to students anyone present in the academy at the time of the catastrophe.

A "Committee of Investigation" was formed a group chosen from the most neutral and specialized minds in tracing clues. They were led by a stern investigator named Alexen Thorn, a man whose face bore no readable expression. On his first day, he said:

"We’re not only looking for killers... but for everyone who stayed silent."

Fear spread into every corner. The students grew quieter, watching each other with suspicious eyes. Everything became suspect.

And yet... nothing was found.

All the files were missing in a precise manner. Every piece of evidence that might have led to a clue... gone, burned, or expertly forged. As if whoever sowed the ruin knew this day would come, and buried their tracks carefully.

The investigation council convened in a vast hall, usually reserved for high-level meetings. Alexen sat there, staring at the papers with tired eyes:

"We’ve searched under every stone. If there’s still a traitor inside, they’re unbelievably skilled."

Alina replied as she held an empty file:

"Or... they’re no longer here."

The outside wasn’t in a better state.

The people, who at first were angry, began to feel something deeper... a fear that hadn’t existed before. No one trusted the other completely anymore. In the markets, people spoke of the academy as if it were a myth.

"If the traitor managed to hide among them... what about us? Who’s to say our neighbors aren’t spies?"

In one village, a woman was kicked out of her home because her husband had once been involved in transporting supplies. In another city, a merchant’s house was burned down on rumors that he supplied rare herbs to the teachers.

Suspicion spread like wildfire through the mind.

People began watching each other. Every stranger became suspicious. Anyone who asked too many questions was accused of being an agent. Even the children... began fearing to speak aloud about their dreams if those dreams involved the academy.

The tragedy didn’t just kill their children.

It planted fear within them, fear that the enemy might be inside the house.

Only Raphael... watched in silence.

"In battles, the killer is clear. But in this... the enemy is invisible. And that is the worst kind of enemy."

And in one of the final reports, written in Alexen’s handwriting:

"The investigation yielded no direct traitors after the catastrophe. But their traces, their poisons... still fill the hearts. There isn’t just one traitor, but a legacy of betrayal passing through generations. The enemy withdrew... and left behind seeds of doubt that will kill us slowly if we don’t find a cure."

Ethan was sitting.

Before him, the city trembled quietly not an earthquake shaking its walls... but the inner fragility gnawing at its foundations.

He looked out onto the square that was once brimming with life. No voices, no laughter, no eager footsteps. Only the remains of shoes dusted in grime, and souls walking while doubting those closest to them.

He smiled faintly a smile not of joy, but a reminder of success.

"I planted nothing," he told himself. "All I did was remove the mask, and left them to face themselves."

He slowly re-tightened a black leather glove around his right hand, watching the investigation committee crossing the square, tired and stumbling in their search for a lost thread.

"They thought the enemy would blow up walls or assassinate leaders... they never imagined the real stab would be an idea... just a tiny doubt."

He sat on a stone ledge, legs dangling in the air, the wind whipping at his long coat.

"Trust..." he uttered the word like a note in a soft melody. "The strongest thing people have... and the weakest to protect."

Then he raised his gaze to a shifting sky:

"Betrayal doesn’t need a sword... just an opportunity. And a clever planner doesn’t attack the fortress he makes its soldiers doubt each other, and it collapses from within."

He closed his eyes, as if savoring the echo of collective downfall without anyone touching his fingers.

"Every great plan begins with a small crack in trust... and ends when a friend becomes an enemy without a single shot fired."

"The more trust there is among people, the more painful the moment of discovering betrayal becomes."