Arlott’s eyes cut toward the church section.

Empty.

The High Cleric, the bishop, every official robe that had been seated there minutes ago, all of it gone. They had moved, and quickly, without a word to anyone around them.

That alone told him everything he needed to know about how bad this was about to get.

...

Back in the clearing, Leon was still locked with the shadows when the air shifted again.

White cloaked figures descended, five of them, moving with the kind of stiff, ceremonial precision that belonged to people who answered to institutions rather than individuals. The one at the center carried a large scroll, unrolling it with both hands as the others fanned out, forming a loose perimeter.

"Leonis Silford," the lead figure read, voice flat and official. "You have displayed power that has surpassed everyone’s expectations. However, you have not only blatantly insulted the royal family, you have displayed a strange and unrecognized form of power outside any acknowledged school of magic." He lowered the scroll slightly, eyes settling on Leon directly. "You are to come with us for interrogation."

He rolled the scroll shut.

"I would advise you to come without resistance. It would be a contribution to humanity."

Leon looked at him.

It wasn’t subtle. They weren’t asking. This was a captured first, explained second arrangement, and the politeness was nothing but window dressing on a decision that had already been made for him.

"Seize him," the leader said.

The white cloaked figures closed in.

The moment hands reached for him, Leon’s aura snapped outward, a sudden invisible pulse that rolled through the clearing and staggered every one of them backward several steps.

They stared at him, recalculating.

He still had that much left? He’d been visibly worn down minutes ago, breathing harder than usual, the dizziness clear in how he’d been moving against the shadows. That was exactly why they’d chosen this moment to strike.

Apparently that assessment had been wrong.

Leon moved.

"After him!" the leader barked, but Leon was already gone, a thin trail of frost the only evidence he’d been standing there at all.

He reappeared high above the central auditorium, hovering unsteadily, azure light flickering weaker than it had earlier in the day. Whatever reserves he had left, he was burning the last of them just to stay airborne.

The hunting festival had technically ended. But the auditorium below wasn’t empty yet, far from it, hundreds of people still filing out, gathering belongings, exchanging last reactions to everything they’d just watched.

Then someone looked up.

"Wait—is that—"

"That’s him. That’s the kid from the forest."

"He’s flying? Above us? Right now?"

"Why does he look like that, is he hurt?"

"Where did those cloaked people go, the ones that attacked him?"

"Someone get an adult—no wait, get the king, get ANYONE—"

"Is that really an E rank? Look at him!"

A woman near the front clutched her child’s shoulder, eyes wide. "Stay close to me."

Further back, a guild member who’d clearly seen real combat before muttered low to the person beside him. "Something’s wrong. He’s barely holding altitude."

The murmurs spread outward fast, rippling through the crowd exactly the way they had back in the ballroom, except this time there was no polite distance to keep, no pretending not to stare.

Everyone was staring.

Directly up.

At a white haired boy hanging in the sky above them, running on fumes, with no idea yet who, if anyone, was about to catch him.

Arlott had already found Lena, safe, accounted for, standing near the family’s reserved exit with the rest of the household. He hadn’t found Leon yet, and that was the only thing that mattered right now.

He’d meant to get out ahead of the crowd. The least he could do was reach his son before anyone else did, offer whatever protection a father could still offer to a boy who’d just spent the last hour proving he barely needed it.

But the commotion outside had pulled him along with everyone else, the crowd surging toward the open courtyard, voices rising in confusion and alarm.

He looked up.

And saw him.

White hair. Barely holding altitude. The azure glow around him flickering unevenly, like a candle in wind.

"Leon—"

The name caught in his throat before it fully left him, because his attention had already snapped downward, to the white cloaked figures standing below his son with a sealed scroll and the unmistakable bearing of men who answered to the church.

Paladins.

He knew them on sight. Most B rank, disciplined, well trained, and at their center, the one holding the scroll, A rank. Strong enough to be dangerous. Strong enough to be sent for exactly this kind of task.

They were trying to take his son into custody.

They dared ?.

Something in Arlott simply stopped holding back.

His aura rolled outward without warning, an S rank presence that didn’t ask permission from anyone’s body before settling over it like the weight of a collapsing sky. Every person standing within range of it dropped instantly, unconscious before they hit the ground. The few who remained upright did so only barely, shaking, knees buckling, eyes wide with a fear they had no name for.

Arlott walked forward through the silence.

By the time he reached the paladins, every one of them was on the ground except their leader, who remained standing through sheer force of will, sweat running freely down the side of his face, unable to meet Arlott’s eyes no matter how hard he tried.

Arlott stopped in front of him.

His voice, when it came, was quiet. Almost gentle.

That made it worse.

"Tell Vane," he said, "if he dares harm my son, he won’t be facing only me."

He let that sit for exactly long enough.

"He’ll be facing the full might of the Silford family."