"Bring in the traitor." Elder white's voice resounded through the hall as he called out to one of the disciplinary disciples.
The atmosphere in the assembly hall turned heavy with anticipation as the burly disciple clad in a black robe stepped forward, dragging a figure in tattered and blood-stained robes behind him. It was none other than Michael, the once promising disciple who now bore the marks of brutal mistreatment during his time in prison. His pristine white robe was now a mere remnant, dirtied and torn, and his face showed visible signs of swelling and bruises.
As the gathered Elders caught sight of Michael's pitiful state, a mix of emotions flooded the room. Those who had personally witnessed the fight at the arena lamented his situation, their hearts heavy with sympathy for the poor lad. They kept their grievances to themselves, merely sending looks of pity toward him.
