The Sin Eater Chronicles

Time seemed to slow. Aiyara felt her pulse reverberate through every limb, her lungs constricting as if the air were heavy. The hush that fell around her was not one of reverence now, but of impending doom. She saw guests stumbling back in alarm, read the terror in Kida's wide eyes. Even the suitors who had riled her stood speechless, sensing a presence beyond their comprehension.

Then it happened: a shockwave of raw magic burst from Aiyara's abdomen, radiating outward in a dazzling aurora of colors—violet, turquoise, gold, and crimson—swirling like sunlit oil on water. The dais shuddered under the force. People shouted in alarm, stumbling or falling as the wave slammed into them. Nearby pillars cracked, a spiderweb of fissures racing up the marble. Lanterns shattered, raining shards of glass and scorching oil across the courtyard. The ground shook violently, toppling tables laden with food and wine.

Aiyara gasped. She tried to shut it down, to reel in the raging power, but her fury—her pride—had triggered something unstoppable. Another pulse erupted, more potent than the first, tearing great chunks from the palace architecture. The courtyard's mosaic floor splintered. Torches flared like miniature suns before being snuffed out by the blast. Screams cut through the smoky air.

Kida launched herself in front of Aiyara, arms raised as if to shield her, but the second wave sent her sprawling backward. Captain Roland roared a command from somewhere, but his voice was lost in the gale of chaos. Queen Meilara and King-Consort Masaru, near the far side of the courtyard, had seconds to react; she saw them turn, shock etched on their faces as the shockwave threatened to tear them off their feet.

Amid the swirling debris, Aiyara glimpsed Sister Elysia dropping to her knees, staff clutched in both hands. She appeared to be chanting, tears streaming down her cheeks. A pale, shimmering barrier formed around the Church retinue, deflecting some of the flying rubble. The dwarves, across the courtyard, ducked behind overturned tables, cursing in their guttural language. She saw the silhouette of Empress Suryu, framed by swirling dust, looking more amused than afraid as her attendants formed a protective circle around her. Sparks of draconic energy crackled in the air, deflecting broken shards of stone that whirled like deadly shrapnel.

All around, people fought to protect themselves. The wind roared with the fury of a storm, dislodging heavy beams from the eaves. A large chunk of masonry smashed into one corner of the dais, sending it collapsing in a thunderous crash. More screams. Aiyara tasted salt and iron, realized blood trickled from her nose as the magic convulsed inside her, straining for release. She tried to breathe, but the air was thick with dust and panic.

She felt a wrenching yank deep in her abdomen—a sensation as if the swirling pride-fueled energy was ripping its way out of her body. Harim scrambled forward, trying to shield her from falling debris, but was hurled aside by another spike of force. Aiyara's vision blurred, her ears ringing with the shrieks of stone tearing from the palace structure. Broken statues crashed to the ground. A tapestry caught fire. The taste of magic in the air was overwhelming, almost metallic and acrid.

Some part of her recognized the catastrophic damage she was causing. Stop, she begged herself. Please, stop! But she couldn't. The magic fed on her sense of wounded pride, on her rage at the foreigners' insults, on her fierce love for Masan. Instead of peace, it birthed destruction. The courtyard's once-festive splendor lay in ruins.

Another seismic jolt—this one seemed to come from the ground itself, as though the unleashed energy had awakened something deep beneath the palace. The floor split, a jagged fissure racing across the courtyard. A chunk of marble fell from above, crushing an ornate statue in a deafening crash. Debris pelted Aiyara's skin, and she staggered, losing all sense of orientation.

Dimly, she noticed the silhouette of King-Consort Masaru diving to protect Queen Meilara. She saw dwarves pulling wounded comrades to safety. She saw the dragon attendants clasping arms around Empress Suryu, who remained oddly calm, as if enthralled by the spectacle. Sister Elysia continued her chanting, forming a shimmering dome that protected several priests huddled behind her. Even from her disoriented vantage, Aiyara could sense the saint's magic straining to hold off the destructive storm.

Then something massive groaned overhead, and one of the grand columns near the dais buckled, toppling in slow motion. Kida cried out, "Aiyara!" but her voice was drowned in the roar of collapsing stone. Chunks of marble crashed onto the dais, fracturing it further. Aiyara stumbled, her knees hitting the rubble-strewn floor. Pain flared in her side, but the magic thrashing inside her overshadowed any physical sensation. She coughed, choking on dust.

The final, massive pulse of energy thundered out of her in a torrent of kaleidoscopic light. Pillars snapped, walls caved, and for a moment, it felt as if the entire palace might crumble. People were flung back, some pinned under debris, others thrown clear across the courtyard. The few unbroken lanterns shattered in a burst of sparks. Aiyara screamed, though the sound was lost in the cacophony. An indescribable pressure built in her head, threatening to tear her consciousness apart.

And just like that, her strength gave out. The swirling colors dissipated, leaving behind an eerie hush broken only by the crackle of small fires and the groans of the wounded. Aiyara's vision flickered black at the edges. She collapsed onto a chunk of broken marble, breath ragged. The world around her blurred into a hazy swirl of shapes and shadows. She caught fleeting impressions: Kida crawling over debris, blood trickling from a cut on her forehead; Captain Roland, face ashen, lifting a fallen beam to free someone trapped; the Dragon Empress standing entirely unscathed, lips curved in a faint, enigmatic smile; dwarves rummaging for medical supplies; Sister Elysia rising shakily, staff's glow fading as she surveyed the devastation with horror.

Pieces of the palace roof had collapsed, exposing the night sky. Smoke and dust swirled upward, illuminated by flickering embers. The once-grand courtyard was a desolation of broken arches, shattered tables, and toppled columns. Bodies lay strewn about—some moving, some terrifyingly still.

As her vision dimmed, Aiyara barely registered the full magnitude of the catastrophe. Pain lanced through her chest, and every breath felt impossible. She tried to raise a hand, maybe to beckon Kida, but her limbs were too heavy. The fire in her belly, that pride-fueled magic, had burned itself out, leaving only a hollow ache. I caused this, she thought, a final tear slipping down her cheek.

The world spun into a dark spiral. She heard distant screams, pleas for help, the crackle of flames, the sob of someone nearby. Guilt wrenched her heart. Then everything faded.