Chapter 106: 106. Questions of Faith

Celeste’s workshop felt small with dragons inside.

Vorthraxx had dropped his humanoid form for something more comfortable. Owen kept his, unwilling to crowd the space further.

They had cleaned the blood off in the back room using water from a barrel kept for quenching metal.

Celeste worked at her main bench, organizing tools. Her hands had stopped shaking but the nervous energy needed an outlet.

“Tell me about your church,” Owen said.

She didn’t look up from the hammer she was inspecting. “Which part?”

“The part that makes clerics run in fear when they see you.”

“The Church of the Radiant Arbiter.” She set the hammer down with more force than necessary. “They teach that balance must be maintained. That pride comes before the fall. That dragons—” She glanced at Vorthraxx. “No offense.”

“None taken. I’ve heard the doctrine.”

“They teach that dragons are pride incarnate. That one day they’ll grow too arrogant, accumulate too much power, and the Radiant Arbiter will humble them through a divine correction.” She moved to another bench. “It’s why dragon hunting is considered righteous. Why dragon scales fetch premium prices in cathedral markets. Why—”

“Why studying dragon language is heresy,” Owen finished.

She nodded. “The church maintains that dragons are too dangerous to understand. That comprehension leads to sympathy. Sympathy to compromise. Compromise to corruption.” She pulled the cloth off the book Owen had noticed earlier. “Which makes this very illegal.”

The book’s cover bore dragon script. The title translated roughly to “Foundations of Authority.” A primer on Dragon’s Tongue—the language that carried power in its pronunciation.

“Where did you get this?” Owen asked.

“A merchant who didn’t know what he was selling. He thought it was decorative art.”

She opened the book, revealing pages of careful notes in both human common tongue and dragon script. “I’ve been teaching myself for three years. Slow progress. No one to correct pronunciation.”

Vorthraxx moved closer, reading over her shoulder. “Your grammar’s solid but the Conjugation needs work.”

“Show me.”

They bent over the book together, Vorthraxx correcting her written exercises while she asked questions about tonal inflection. The domestic intimacy of the scene struck Owen—this wasn’t new. This was routine. A ritual they had established over however long their relationship had developed.

“How long have you two known each other?” Owen asked.

“Two years,” Celeste said without looking up. “He walked into my shop needing a custom blade. I told him I didn’t work with dragons. He told me he would pay triple. I told him money doesn’t change principles. He sat in that corner—” She pointed. “—and refused to leave for six hours until I agreed to take his commission.”

“It was a good blade,” Vorthraxx said defensively.

“It was adequate .” But she smiled. “You came back the next week with another commission. Then another. Eventually I realized you were just inventing reasons to visit.”

“Eventually being the key word. You’re very dense for someone so intelligent.”

“I prefer ’cautiously optimistic.’” She marked a correction in her notes. “I didn’t believe a dragon prince would actually be interested in a human blacksmith. I assumed you were bored. Or slumming.”

“I was neither. I was—” Vorthraxx paused.

“You were the first human who didn’t cower in my presence. It was fascinating.”

Owen watched them work together, their conversation flowing with the ease of long familiarity. They disagreed on dragon grammar structure. Argued about whether certain phrases required formal or informal conjugation. Debated pronunciation until Celeste finally made Vorthraxx demonstrate the sounds herself.

This was what Vorthraxx would lose. Not just a woman. Not just beauty or intelligence. This. The intellectual partnership. The comfortable banter. The person who saw him as Vorthraxx first and Dragon King’s heir second.

Owen’s knowledge of the future pressed heavy. Vorthraxx would declare war on the world eventually. And he now had an idea of what lead to it…

But Right now they were just two people bent over a grammar book, happy in their small moment of peace.

Just then, the workshop door opened without knocking.

Three figures entered. Two wore guards in armor—city watch, by the insignia on their chests. The third wore a clerical robes more ornate than the one the earlier witness had worn. High-ranking Authority radiating from his bearing.

“Celeste Brennan,” the cleric said. “I am Inquisitor Serr Vale of the Church of the Radiant Arbiter. I have questions regarding an incident at the eastern warehouse district.”

Vorthraxx moved to interpose himself between the inquisitor and Celeste. His size alone made the guards step back, hands moving to weapons they knew were useless against a dragon.

“She’s done nothing wrong,” Vorthraxx said.

“That will be determined through proper investigation.” Vale’s eyes never left Celeste. “Miss Brennan, you were observed at the site of a demonic incursion. Witnesses report you engaged the creatures in combat.”

“Along with companions who helped close the rift,” Celeste said. She stepped around Vorthraxx despite his attempt to block her.

“We prevented further demonic emergence. The kingdom should be thanking us.”

“Indeed. And we are grateful for your service.” Vale’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“However, one witness reported seeing a mark upon your person. A sigil that glowed during the conflict.”

The workshop fell silent except for the settling embers in the banked forge.

“I have… a birthmark,” Celeste said carefully. “It sometimes appears more prominent under stress.”

“A… birthmark.” Vale stepped closer. The guards flanked him, their presence more of an intimidation than protection. “May I examine this birthmark? To verify its mundane nature?”

“No.”

“I’m afraid I must insist—”

“You have no legal authority to demand physical examination without formal charges.” Celeste’s voice stayed level. “If you wish to bring charges, do so through proper channels. Until then, I am declining your request.”

Vale’s expression hardened. “Miss Brennan, do you understand the severity of demonic taint? If you’ve been marked by the creatures you fought—”

“I was marked long before tonight.” The words came out sharp. “Years before I ever saw a demon. Whatever this is, it’s not their doing.”

“Then whose doing is it?”

Silence.

Vale waited. When Celeste offered no answer, he sighed. “Very well. You are officially under investigation by the Church of the Radiant Arbiter. You will make yourself available for questioning as required. You will not leave the city without permission. You will cease all activities that might be construed as heretical practice.”

His eyes dropped to the dragon language book still open on the workbench.

“Including this.”

He took the book.

Vorthraxx’s growl filled the workshop. “Put that back.”

“This text is forbidden under church law. Possession alone constitutes heresy.” Vale tucked the book under his arm. “Miss Brennan is fortunate we’re choosing investigation over immediate arrest. I suggest she cooperate fully.”

“I suggest you return her property before I demonstrate why dragons frighten you puny humans.” Vorthraxx’s wings spread, filling the available space.

Owen grabbed his arm. “Don’t.”

“But He’s stealing—”

“Evidence. In an official investigation.”

Owen kept his voice low. “Violence now makes everything worse.”

Vorthraxx shook him off but didn’t advance. His tail lashed in frustration.

Vale watched the exchange with interest.

“You keep unusual company, Miss Brennan. Dragons as bodyguards. Participating in demon combat. Studying forbidden languages.” He moved toward the door.

“One might wonder what other laws you’ve chosen to disregard.”

The guards followed him out. The door closed.

Nobody moved.

Then Celeste sat down heavily on her work stool. “Well. That could have gone better.”

“Could have gone worse,” Owen said. “You’re not arrested.”

“Yet.” Vorthraxx paced the length of the workshop. “They’ll be back. With more questions. More accusations. They saw the sigil glow, Celeste. They know it’s not a birthmark.”

“Let them think what they want.”

“They think you’re demon-touched! Do you understand what that means?”

“Yes.” Her voice was quiet. “I understand perfectly. They’ll investigate. Find no demonic taint because there isn’t any. Then they’ll drop the matter.”

“You’re assuming they want truth.” Vorthraxx stopped pacing.

“They want confirmation of suspicions. They’ll find what they’re looking for whether it exists or not.”

Owen agreed but stayed silent. The church had already decided Celeste was suspect. The investigation was just theater. The outcome was probably already predetermined.

“I need to contact my father,” Vorthraxx said. “Get ahead of this. If the church moves against you—”

“No.” Celeste stood. “You will not escalate this into an international incident. That’s exactly what they want.”

“What they want is to burn you at a stake!”

“Then let them try through legal channels!” Her voice rose to match his. “I’m a citizen of this kingdom. I have rights. I have protections under law. The church can’t just—”

“The church does whatever it wants when ’heresy’ is involved. Law doesn’t protect heretics.”

“Then I’ll prove I’m not one.”

“How?” Vorthraxx’s frustration bled into his tone. “They took your research. They saw the sigil. What defense do you have?”

“The truth.”

“The truth is you’re marked with something you don’t understand, studying dragon language in direct violation of church doctrine, and involved with a dragon prince who’s one diplomatic incident away from starting a war.” He grabbed her shoulders. “They will use all of that against you. Truth doesn’t matter.”

She pulled away from his grip. “Then what do you suggest? That I run? Hide? Spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder?”

“I suggest we leave. Tonight. Drak’thar will offer asylum. You’d be safe there.”

“I’d be a prisoner. Cut off from my home, my work, everything I’ve built.” She shook her head. “I won’t live that way.”

“You won’t live at all if they execute you!”

The words hung in the air.

Celeste’s expression didn’t change. “Is that what you think will happen?”

Vorthraxx said nothing. His silence was answer enough.

She turned to Owen. “What do you think?”

Owen chose his words carefully, Celeste seemed to be cut from the same cloth as Yuki, a stubborn cloth. “I think the church operates on doctrine, not evidence. I think they’re looking for validation of existing beliefs. And I think you represent everything they fear—human and dragon cooperation, forbidden knowledge, marks they can’t explain.” He paused. “But I also think running makes you look guilty. It will validate their narrative.”

“So I should stay and face trial?”

“I think you should prepare for the worst while hoping for the best.” He looked at Vorthraxx. “And you should be ready to make hard choices.”

“What choices?”

“Whether to save her or respect her wishes. Whether to prevent her …. Sentencing or honor her autonomy.” Owen met his golden eyes. “Because those might not be the same thing.”

Vorthraxx’s jaw clenched. He turned and walked to the window, staring out at the darkened street.

Celeste sat back down. Her hands found the hammer she bad been organizing earlier. She turned it over and over, the familiar weight providing comfort.

“I should rest,” she said finally. “Morning will bring more questions to my door step. I need to be ready.”

She stood and moved toward the stairs leading to her living quarters above the workshop.

“Celeste,” Vorthraxx said without turning.

“Yes?”

“I won’t let them hurt you. I swear on my dragon heart”

“I know.” Her voice was soft. “That’s what worries me.”

She climbed the stairs. And a door closed overhead.

Owen and Vorthraxx sat in the workshop’s semi-darkness. The forge embers provided the only light.

“She’s going to get herself killed” Vorthraxx said.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. I’ve seen the church work. I’ve watched them burn people for less.” His hands clenched into fists. “She thinks the system will protect her. It won’t. The system is designed to eliminate threats to church authority. She’s a threat the moment she refused to comply.”

Owen said nothing. What could he say? Vorthraxx was right. The arc was predetermined. Celeste would probably die. The question was only when and how.

“My father will forbid intervention,” Vorthraxx continued. “He’ll cite diplomatic necessity. Fear of celestial war. The greater good of avoiding escalation.” He laughed bitterly. “All very logical. All very reasonable. And completely useless for saving one human woman.”

“What will you do?”

Vorthraxx turned from the window. His golden eyes caught the ember light.

“Whatever I have to.”

The answer carried weight beyond its words. This was the moment. The decision point where Vorthraxx chose love over law and duty, emotion over reason.

This was where the path to the Desecrator was born.

Not in some distant future when corruption took hold. Here. Now. In a blacksmith’s workshop lit by dying embers.

Owen watched it happen and said nothing.

Because what could he say that would change anything?

The story was already written.

They were just living it now.

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