Kneel! The Fallen Hero Has Returned!

Chapter 8: The Statue That Lied

"Take the cripple alive. His core is intact."

Gideon Vale's voice crackled out of the tiny blue crystal in Ronan's palm. Ronan sat in the dark of the Whitmore guest wing with the listening stone pressed against his ear.

"Alive?" the Cross envoy asked on the recording. "You are sure you want to hand over your own son?"

"He stopped being my son the day he broke," Gideon said. "Your master wants the core, and I want the Vale name saved. We both get what we want. Name your price."

Ronan's fingers curled around the crystal until it nearly cracked.

Beside the bed, Old Bram sat on a stool, wringing his cap. "Young Master," he whispered, "you've gone pale. What did they say?"

"Nothing, Bram." Ronan forced a weak smile. "Just old family talk."

He lowered the stone into his lap and stared at the crumpled note on the blanket. *Do not eat anything Seren gives you. Forgive me, Ronan. I thought I was protecting you.* The same hand that wrote those words had sold him, only hours apart.

"Which one is real?" he muttered. "The father who warns me, or the father who sells me?"

"Young Master?"

"It's nothing." Ronan shook his head, "Bram, I want to go out tonight. Just for some air."

"At midnight?" Bram's face crumpled with worry. "After the way they've treated you? The streets aren't safe!"

"Please." Ronan's voice cracked on purpose. "I haven't seen the stars in three years. Humor a dying man."

"Don't say that!" Bram jumped up and grabbed the chair handles, sniffling. "Fine, fine. But we'll wrap you in three blankets."

Ronan hid a smile. He had a better reason for going out than the stars. Nash's runner had slipped him a message at dinner. The Cross family had hired a hundred lanterns and a famous painter for a midnight engagement portrait, and they had chosen the most fitting place in the whole city.

The statue of City Lord Kael.

The City Square glowed like a festival.

Paper lanterns hung from every tree and a crowd of nobles gathered around the statue at the center. Kael stood tall with his sword raised to the sky, a plaque beneath his boots reading *Hero of the Abyss War, Savior of the City.*

Ronan stared at the plaque from the shadow of an alley. *Savior of the city,* he thought. *Kael never even came to the frontier.*

"Brighter!" the painter shouted, waving his brush. "Move the lanterns left! Young Master Cross, a little to the right, please! The statue must be in the frame!"

Damon stood in front of the monument in a white suit with Seren on his arm.

"Kael protects the city," Damon announced to the crowd, patting the statue's boot like a pet. "It's only right that our engagement begins under his blessing. This bronze is Abyss-proof, you know. Nothing in the world can break it."

"How wonderful!" a noblewoman gushed. "So romantic!"

Ronan wheeled himself forward one slow turn at a time, shoulders hunched, until a shout rang out.

"Who let that thing in here?"

Everyone turned. Damon's smile twitched when he saw the wheelchair rolling into the lantern light, and Seren's face hardened.

"R-Ronan," she hissed, striding over. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry!" Ronan stammered, ducking his head. "I only wanted to see the lanterns. I didn't know you were here. I'll go, I'll go right now."

"You followed us!" Damon marched up and kicked the wheel, and the chair spun in a half circle. "Do you ever get tired of embarrassing yourself?"

"Please, Damon, I swear..."

"Get him out of my picture!"

Two guards grabbed the chair and shoved it hard. It rolled across the stones, wobbled, and crashed into the base of the statue, and Ronan tumbled forward with a cry. His hand slapped flat against the cold bronze.

For a moment, he stayed there, gasping, his forehead nearly touching the metal.

Then he felt it.

Under his palm, deep inside the statue, something was wrong. The bronze was thin as paper and hollow like a drum. Behind it, a thick, sluggish darkness churned, stirring in answer to the heat of his core.

*This is not a hero,* he thought. *It's a lid.*

"Pick him up!" Damon snapped. "Drag him out!"

"Wait," Ronan whispered. He dug his fingernails into the bronze and let out the smallest sob, a pitiful sound that made several women look away. At the same time, he let one thread of golden power slip down his arm.

Then a sharp crack split the silence, and the crowd turned. A thin black line had appeared across the statue's left boot, creeping up the bronze like a vein.

"What was that?" someone asked.

"The, the statue," a lord stammered. "It's cracking!"

"Impossible!" Damon barked. "It's Abyss-proof! It's the strongest metal in the city!"

A second crack opened. Then something dark welled out of the first one, thick and glistening, and slid slowly down the statue's leg. It dripped onto the stones with a soft, wet sound.

"Is that... oil?" a woman breathed.

"It's black," another voice whispered. "Why is it black?"

More cracks spread across Kael's chest, his face, and his raised sword. Black oil poured from the eyes of the statue in two long streaks, as if it were weeping. The smell of rot drifted over the square, the smell of old Abyss crystal.

Women screamed. Lanterns swayed. A noble fell onto his knees and began to pray.

"Stop it!" Damon shouted, rushing forward. He slapped both palms against the statue's chest, and the air around him hummed as his Third Rank power flared bright blue. "Hold still! Close, close, you stupid thing!"

Blue light poured into the bronze, but the cracks kept growing. The oil gushed faster, and the statue's weeping eyes seemed to stare right at him.

"Damon!" Seren cried. "What's happening?"

"I don't know! It won't, it won't stop!" Sweat ran down his face, and his voice cracked. "It should have sealed already!"

Ronan lay in the dirt at the statue's feet, trembling like a frightened child, and he pulled his thread back inch by inch. When it was gone, the cracks slowly stopped, and only the oil kept dripping.

Damon staggered back with his hands raised.

They were drenched in black oil up to the wrists. It clung to his skin and as he stared, his fingers began to shake. He rubbed them against his white suit, but the stain only spread.

"Take it off," he whispered. "Why won't it come off?"

"Damon?" Seren stepped away from him with her hand over her nose. "You're covered in it."

"I know!" He spun toward the crowd, and his voice rose to a shriek. "Somebody get water! Get a priest! Get..."

He stopped.

His eyes had landed on Ronan, crumpled at the base of the statue with dirt on his cheek and tears in his eyes. Ronan looked up at him, small and trembling, and whispered something so softly that only a few people heard.

"I'm s-sorry. I only touched it."

Damon did not answer.

He walked slowly toward the chair and crouched until his face was level with Ronan's. His oily hand shot out and gripped Ronan's chin, "Nobody breaks an Abyss-proof statue," he murmured. "Nobody but..."

His gaze dropped to Ronan's palm, still pressed against the bronze. Then his lips moved, and his words were barely a breath.

"Only a Core Lord can make it weep."