"The Ramblings of Mad Men, A Reaper of Chaos."

Wyatt's smile was cold as the ice that gripped the land outside. "The outcast?" he sneered, gesturing to Arteus. "What could he know of our struggles, our hopes, our faith?" His words were like a knife twisted in the heart of those who had began to think of the boy as one of their own. "What makes you think, that his words hold any value?"

But Millie's eyes never left Arteus, the flicker of hope in their depths growing stronger with every breath she took. "He may not have the words of a charismatic leader," she said, her voice steady despite the tremor of emotion that ran through her, "but he has the eyes of an observer, unclouded by the biases of our relationships." She leaned closer to the boy, her hand reaching out to him. "This boy," she continued, her voice a thunderous whisper that seemed to carry the weight of the entire room, "Has placed himself in harm's way on numerous occasions today, not for personal gain or glory, but for the sole purpose of safeguarding the welfare of our cherished Barley."

"So, yes. I seek the counsel of the outcast," Millie grinned, a wry smirk playing upon her face.

The villagers' eyes turned to Arteus, their gazes heavy with the burden of accusation and doubt. Yet, in their hearts, they knew the truth of her words. They had seen the boy battle the arctic wolves, had watched as he faced down the very monsters that had claimed so many of their kin. He had been the shield that had protected them, the sword that had cleaved their enemies, and the hand that had offered aid to the grieving.

Millie's words resonated with a conviction that seemed to hold the very structure of the barn in its thrall, leaving Wyatt to stand in astonishment, his thoughts momentarily scattered by the sheer unexpectedness of her stance.

"Speak, Arteus," Millie urged, her hand on his shoulder a gentle yet firm beacon of support. "Your perspective on things would be most appreciated."

The silence that ensued was so profound that it seemed as if the very fabric of reality had been stitched together with threads of quiet anticipation. The villagers, who had been engaged in a symphony of whispers and murmurs, now held their collective breath, their gazes locked unwaveringly upon the enigmatic figure of Arteus...

...Arteus, the outcast at the center of their attention, remained unmoving and silent, his countenance an enigma that none could decipher. It was as if the weight of their collective hope and expectation was a burden too heavy for mere words to bear, and he needed a moment to gather his thoughts, to ensure that the counsel he offered would not falter under its own gravity.

When Arteus finally spoke, his words were a whisper, a faint echo of the fierce wind that howled outside. Yet, within that hushed tone, there was a strength that seemed to resonate through the very core of the barn, a gentle reminder that even the softest sounds could shake the mightiest of mountains.

"Wyatt," he said, his eyes never leaving the man's, "Did not resist."

The words hung in the air, a stark contrast to the roar of the blizzard outside. The villagers exchanged confused glances, the weight of his statement sinking in.

"What?" Wyatt's eyes narrowed, the shadows playing upon his face like the twisted contortions of a man on the edge of madness. "What are you talking about?"

"Your actions, or rather lack thereof, spoke louder than any words could," Arteus clarified with a firmness that left no room for misunderstanding.

"...?"

"B-but we did fight!" Wyatt protested vehemently, his voice straining under the weight of his emotions.

The boy was talking about when he stumbled upon Wyatt's pathetic faction.

"No," Arteus corrected with a gaze that was as unyielding as the proverbial iron bars that had once caged him. "You, Wyatt, did not fight. You accepted death with the face of a man who has seen a heavenly vision, a euphoria that no sane man could muster in the jaws of death."

The room grew colder, the warmth of the fire seemingly swallowed by the chilling accusation. Arteus took a step forward, his eyes now a piercing glare that seemed to strip away the very layers of deceit that had been so meticulously woven around the room.

He surveyed the gathering, his gaze unwavering, as if he were searching for a spark of truth in the very souls of the villagers. The candlelight played across his features, casting shadows that danced in silent testimony to the gravity of his words.

"You see," Arteus began, his voice a soft yet powerful crescendo that seemed to echo through the very rafters of the barn, "these noble people, who have cast aside their fears to stand as a united front with Castrol, they have been imbued with the primal instinct to shield their families and their lands." His eyes searched the faces before him, as if he sought to peer into the very depths of their hearts. 

"Yet," Arteus' paused, his voice growing stronger and cutting through the silence like a knife, "When I first arrived, your reaction, Wyatt, was one of a man who had stumbled upon a weapon to serve his own ends rather than that of a warrior encountering an unexpected ally." The accusation in his tone was unmistakable, and the room grew even colder as the villagers' gazes shifted from him to Wyatt.

"You, Wyatt, have no such primal instinct."

At that moment, the villagers held their breath, each one feeling the weight of his gaze, the accusation in his words. They had known fear, yes, but they had also known valor and unity. The flame of hope that burned within them was a testament to their resilience, a beacon that had guided them through the darkest of days. Yet, as they stared into the pools of wisdom that were Arteus' eyes, they could not help but question their own motives, their own actions.

The tension grew even thicker, the air in the barn becoming almost too dense to breathe.

"How could you possibly claim to know what was in my mind and heart?" Wyatt demanded, his voice tight with anger and fear.

"I don't," Arteus replied calmly, the melt of the candle flame reflecting in his eyes. "But I've seen that look before, in the eyes of men who see chaos as a ladder to climb rather than a storm to weather."

Wyatt's expression morphed from shock to rage, his hand clenching into a fist. "How dare you, boy?"

"I dare," Arteus responded, his voice calm yet firm, "because I have seen fear masquerading as valor, and envy disguised as wisdom. And you my dear friend are the embodiment of both."

Arteus, quite uncharacteristically i might add, raised a middle finger with that quip and at once, the room erupted into a cacophony of shouts and accusations, the air thick with the scent of fear and anger.

One of Wyatt's followers, a burly man with a beard that could hide a family of squirrels, lunged forward, his eyes alight with the fury of a man whose world had been upended by a mere boy's words. The man's meaty hand reached for Arteus' throat, but was caught mid-air by the collective grasp of the villagers, who, despite their fear, recognized the gravity of the situation and the need for order.

"Fools!" Millie's voice sliced through the tumult like a sharpened blade as the barn turned into a whirlwind of chaos, a maelstrom of shouted accusations and fearful pleas, as the villagers grappled with the sudden upheaval of their emotions. "AH!" Lilly exclaimed from within the pandemonium, as she was pushed and pulled about the crowd.

...Through it all though, Arteus remained unshaken, his gaze introspective as he contemplated the weight of his own role in this unfolding narrative. The realization began to take root within him that perhaps these very individuals, the ones who had once cast him out, were the architects of his recent trials.

With a grim smile, he surveyed the pandemonium he had sown, the villagers' faces contorted by fear and anger as they grappled with the unsettling truth of his words. It was as though a dam had broken, and the dark waters of doubt and suspicion were now flooding the very foundation of their unity.

For Arteus, it was a moment of strange satisfaction. Perhaps this was his true purpose in Avaricia, to be the catalyst for chaos, to shake the very fabric of their society until the truth lay bare and trembling before them. In the heart of the storm, he felt a sense of belonging, a twisted kinship with the tempest that raged within him...

...Okay, enough daydreaming

With a suddenness that seemed to defy the very fabric of sound itself, Arteus's voice rang out, a thunderclap that brought the chaos to a grinding halt. "SILENCE!" His eyes blazed with a fiery intensity that seemed to burn through the very air, silencing the tumult of the villagers. The barn was suddenly still, as if the very walls had held their collective breath in anticipation of what he would say next.

It took awhile, but Arteus knew now, what he wanted to say.

-To Be Continued-