The great hall of judgement pulsed with whispers.
Sunlight slanted through high windows, casting spears of gold across the marble floor. At the center stood the protagonist—still bruised, still shackled, still silent. His chains clinked softly as he was pushed forward. Lined around the hall were members of the High Parliament, draped in robes of maroon and navy. The Queen Regent sat above all, sovereign in her dark elegance, crown lowered over her brow like a blade of finality.
"By decree of the Crown," her voice rang out, "this man stands accused of espionage—his identity unknown, his allegiance uncertain, and his presence unlawful within our borders."
The chamber stilled. The Queen glanced down at her notes, eyes flicking with deliberate calculation.
"The court may now speak."
A ripple passed through the gathered lords and scholars. One rose—Lord Thalven, Keeper of Archives. "Your Grace, we have reviewed his entrance records. There are none. He bears no sigil, no heraldry, and no past. His very arrival is unaccounted for."
Another voice chimed in. "And yet he claims to remember nothing. Could he be a scout? A weapon veiled in ignorance?"
The protagonist remained still. His fingers twitched in their shackles.
"He speaks only what he believes," said an older parliamentarian, more softly. "But belief is not truth. And this court deals in truth."
They circled like vultures, cloaked in authority. He raised his head once—toward the Queen—but her gaze remained cold. Measured. Unyielding.
Then came the silence that meant sentencing was near.
Until—
A voice echoed from above.
"Is this the justice of Virelle? Questions without answers? Accusations without proof?"
Heads turned. Gasps followed.
A figure stood atop the highest balcony—cloaked in smoke-colored silk, marked with silver thread. The symbol of the Whispers of Eiravell shimmered faintly at his chest. He descended the stairs like a shadow reborn.
"Wyrdsworn Arven," a court official muttered under breath. "Second only to the Grand Whisperer himself…"
Queen Elenora's eyes narrowed. "You were not summoned, Arven."
"No," he said calmly, stepping onto the chamber floor. "But truth does not wait for invitations."
He turned to the court. "You accuse this man of espionage. Yet none can name who sent him. None can trace his origin. What spy has no mission? What infiltrator bears no knowledge of his own allegiance?"
The Queen rose. "This is a court of law. Not a stage for philosophy."
"Then let us deal in facts," Arven replied. "You have no record of his arrival. That is not just rare—it is impossible. The Borderward detects all passage. The last person who arrived unmarked was during the Red Eclipse. That was over a millennium ago."
The court stirred. Even the queen's breath caught, ever so briefly.
"I request," Arven continued, "that the trial be postponed until my guild can investigate his nature. If you will not grant him freedom, grant us the right to understand what he truly is."
The Queen's silence was heavy. Then: "The trial will continue as planned. But your counsel is... noted."
She raised her hand.
"The court shall now vote."
Each parliamentarian stepped forward. One by one, they dropped tokens into the silver urn of judgment—a white stone for mercy, a black stone for guilt.
Every drop echoed like a drum.
White. Black. Black. Black. White. Black.
Tension built. Stone by stone, the scale tilted.
The Queen moved to rise. But the doors burst open.
"Wait!"
Princess Elyra strode into the hall, breathless, her gown clutched at the hem. Guards shouted behind her, but she was faster. She stopped just short of the dais, eyes fixed on her mother.
"Enough! You speak of justice, but this is vengeance. You speak of danger, but fear is not proof!"
The Queen's nostrils flared. "Guards—escort her out."
"He saved me!" Elyra cried. "He shielded me when you wouldn't! And you repay him with banishment?"
Gasps broke out. Whispers ignited like wildfire.
The Queen banged her gavel once. Then twice. "Silence."
The guards moved forward, gently pulling the princess away. She struggled but was outmatched.
When the room stilled once more, the Queen approached the urn herself.
She held up the final count.
"The tally stands: Sixteen for guilt. Seven for mercy. One abstained."
She paused, gaze heavy on the shackled man.
"The court declares you Guilty of Espionage. You are to be banished from the Kingdom in three days' time."
Gasps again. Louder now. Parliament erupted into chaos.
"Banishment hasn't been practiced in—!"
"Is this mercy or madness?"
"He'll never survive beyond the Blightwood!"
Elenora turned to the guards. "Take him back to the dungeons. Ensure his chains remain tight."
As the protagonist was dragged away, his eyes met Elyra's. Hers were filled with silent fire—defiance burning just beneath grief.
High above, Arven stood unmoving.
The court spun into shouting, and beneath it all, a quiet certainty began to stir:
This was no ordinary man.
And his story was far from over.