POV: High Judge Velora Blackwood –
The courtroom was silent—eerily so.
Velora Blackwood, draped in an obsidian-black robe with golden trim—the official attire of a High Judge of the Blackwood Empire—sat tall on her towering bench. Her gavel lay idle but heavy in her grip. The Blackwood insignia gleamed behind her, a constant reminder that justice in this land wasn't just law—it was legacy.
She adjusted the files on her desk. Dozens of cases lay before her: property disputes, identity confirmation hearings, scholarship reviews, but most crucially, the Name Compliance Trials. That was her primary focus now.
"Bring in the first," she ordered calmly, her voice echoing across the massive, marble-floored hall.
A family of four stepped forward. Nervous. Shaking. The father's name? Galen Mero. No Blackwood. Not in any of their names.
"You understand," Velora said, eyes narrowing, "that failing to bear the imperial name is a direct insult to the Emperor?"
The man stammered. "We— we applied to amend it, Your Grace. There were... delays. Bureaucratic."
She slammed the gavel once.
"Intentional delay is defiance. Defiance is rebellion. And rebellion—"
The entire room responded like a choir: "—is treason."
Velora nodded in satisfaction.
"The children will be renamed under imperial decree. You, Galen, are sentenced to two years of state labor. Your property is seized. But your family shall be permitted to retain public housing. I am merciful. Next."
One by one, the cases flowed. She was efficient, cold, and calculating—just how Chris wanted her to be. Every decision she made shaped the moral spine of the empire.
A low-ranking noble was brought forth next. His documents were manipulated to register under House DeMaro instead of Blackwood.
"Trying to preserve an old name," she said with venom, "in a new world that has no place for it."
"I didn't mean harm—"
"You meant to preserve legacy outside the empire's. That is harm."
A signal. The guards pulled him away. Stripped of all title. Public shame. Another warning to others.
Hours passed. Still she sat. No food. No rest. Because this was her service. Her glory. Her punishment and power wrapped in one.
As the last case for the day closed, Velora leaned back, exhaled, and looked at the ceiling—the Imperial Sigil blazing down on her like an ever-watching eye.
This wasn't just judgment.
This was purification.
And she was the flame.
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