A few hours ago.

Filoria arrived at the white spire. For some reason, Collab had insisted on following her, though when they arrived, he walked towards the guard barracks at the peak, where two flying islands were chained to the spire.

Filoria rushed through familiar hallways, never stopping, never acknowledging anyone. She would never have thought that the first time she came back here in months, she wouldn't be going to find her father. In fact, she was trying to find some of her father's greatest detractors.

"...and I'm not saying I'm trying to oppose my father, but my father's idea of a punishment may be too light," Filoria explained. "He is punishing him for injuring me, but this criminal killed the princess. What's more, he is a talented smith so my father may still want to nurture him and use him later on. But for me, when I see him, I will always remember a naked beast bathed in our dear princess's blood."

She was tearing up by the end, but not because she felt sorry for what she did to Helare. In her opinion, the damn bitch deserved that and worse. Helare deserved to die.

She tried to steal something that belonged to Filoria, so she paid the price. What's more, the whole thing had earned Filoria the worship of the people in Deufont, so what was the negative.

She had been a little sick, looking at the blood, but Rafael's aura had scared all feelings except survival out of her head at that time.

"The high secretary wants to use this criminal?" the high secretary she was speaking with exclaimed.

She didn't care for the man's name. He was just the closest high secretary she could find at the time. And she was not surprised to find the man didn't care about princess Helare's death. He only cared about the Chosen getting a new toy. He would probably try to get Rafael executed, but she could not allow that.

"What's more," she said, "He is a powerful warrior. Even stronger than me. Senior Collab trained with him for a while."

She said no more, waiting for the high secretary's imagination to fill in the rest.

Filoria knew that among the F grades of Primus, Helare was the greatest mage because of her hair, even purer than the king's. But Filoria was considered the strongest Ma'la warrior in the F grade. Of course she was a hybrid, so most pure mages were ranked higher than her, but they also knew that in terms of combat ability she was likely better than Helare.

Yet this blacksmith was a better warrior than her. The high secretary touched his chin and thought about it for a while.

This was hardly Filoria's only plan. If this high secretary proved inept, she would just try something else. She couldn't leave anything to chance.

But she needn't have worried, because the high secretary stood up so fast he startled her. And then he was rushing around the halls. Before long, the entire secretariate was roused.

Filoria only spared them a glance, before going to her room to wait.

She was sleeping when insistent banging on her door roused her. She only had time to sit up in bed when the door opened without her permission.

"Dear daughter," the chosen said with a chilling smile. "What did you do?"

Filoria had never gone against her father, but this time she had no choice. Although she didn't understand why she didn't have a choice.

Filoria frowned, trying to sift through her inner landscape. Her mind and emotions were in turmoil.

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She looked innocently up at her father, pretending she was as stupid as the day she first entered the spire a decade or so ago. She hadn't even been a teenager then.

"I woke up not even ten hours ago," Filoria explained, "but the people at the camp kept praising me to the heavens. They kept on telling me I've got to find justice for the princess. So they sent me here in a rush. Collab told me you had the boy, so I thought I'd just come to my room and rest, since my mission is done. Unfortunately, one of your fellow high secretaries…"

Her father's aura swept out, almost causing her to black out. She had done it on purpose though, calling him and the high secretaries fellows.

She chocked on her own saliva and almost bit her tongue.

The chosen finally let up, and Filoria gasped for breath. It was truly terrifying for a few breaths back there, but she managed to endure.

"Try again," her father said.

"A high secretary asked me about the incident, and asked me to provide witness in court," Filoria said.

"And you agreed to this?" the chosen said, his expression ugly.

"Yes," Filoria said cheerfully, playing up the ditsy girl her father probably saw her as. Then her expression fell. "Should I have refused?"

The chosen only looked at her. His face was frozen. He was probably thinking, trying to consider all variables. Filoria kept her expression clueless.

"You can't say the boy is innocent," the chosen muttered, "otherwise we would have no right to hold him. And you can't say it was you who did it. Those old goats must know I want the boy, so they will do everything in their power to keep him from me."

Filoria only listened with her head lowered, her expression contrite. The chosen sighed.

"Fine. The only thing we can do now is to make sure the boy does not die," the chosen said. "The promotion event is close anyway. I will still get my hands on him."

Filoria frowned, wondering what the promotion had to do with anything. Maybe it was the day her father was going to formally rebel against the royal family?

Well, she'd need a way to save Rafael after the fact, but this much was enough for now.

****

Rafe was in another blue room, standing in front of some kind of raised platform. There were five people on high seats, the Chosen's highest, by just a little. There was a whole audience behind these people, dressed in the same official looking robes.

Rafe was chained, the chains connected to the floor of the room. Filoria stood in front of him, recalling the story of how Rafe had killed princess Helare.

There was another audience behind him. Courtiers and normal people who were not part of the secretariate. Rafe even saw a few men and women who looked a lot like Helare, but they didn't seem to be grieving her loss.

"I don't know if it was some kind of ritual, but he was naked and draining her blood and spraying it all over his body," Filoria said, her voice shaking.

Rafe tried to ignore her as much as possible. He tried to not even look at her. Every time he stared in her direction, he simply wanted to growl and try and break the shackles binding him.

"Yes, that's it," the goddesses only he could see said. "It's better if you're locked up in a more traditional way. The Chosen's prison would be impossible to escape from, and you'd be unconscious, which would make it hard for us to communicate."

Rafe wanted to growl at Ma'la. He didn't care about communicating with them. Right now all he cared about was destroying the damn Chosen and his daughter.

Filoria looked back at him after finishing her statement, trying to catch his eye.

Rafe growled at her, showing he didn't appreciate whatever favour she thought she was doing him.

"Yes, that's right," Ma'la said excitedly. "Show your hatred toward her. That's all the evidence we need to prevent the Chosen from getting to you."

"Are you some kind of blood mage?" the Chosen asked, acting shocked. "Because of our affinity, the Ma'la have produced quite a few anomalies like that. Are you like them? Or are you some kind of ritualist?"

Rafe looked at the man with a glower, keeping his lips sealed. His attitude caused some kind of uproar among the common people in the two audiences.

"You will answer!" the Chosen ordered, his aura converging on where Rafe was.

Rafe got ready to be squashed, to feel his soul being wrung like a rag.

Only, after a whole ten seconds, Rafe could feel the aura trying with all its might to suppress him, but his own aura met it, not quite equal but not too inferior either.

Next to him, Ma'la looked at him with a surprised grin. She looked between him and the chosen, her smile widening. The Chosen's expression became incredulous. The whispers of both audiences quieted. Filoria took a step back, her face white, her eyes wide. She looked back at her father on the platform.

Rafael Kingsley was just an F grade, but his aura could not be suppressed by that of a D grade.

Rafe looked unperturbed for a whole minute. Then he looked straight into the Chosen's eyes and smiled, exposing his red teeth.

The Chosen shook, his face visibly reddening.

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