Silence descended upon the white chamber once more. Neveah, battered and broken, lay sprawled on the cold floor. His ragged breaths echoed in the sterile space, a testament to his resilience. The figures, cloaked in darkness, stood around him, their forms no longer colossal but human-sized – a chilling intimacy in their judgement.
One figure, adorned with a flowing white robe and a crown of intricate silver, stepped forward. Her voice, once playful, now held the weight of ages. "Neveah Isolde," she spoke, her words resonating with power. "You have been judged."
Neveah, his vision blurry, could only lift his head a fraction, meeting their gaze with a defiance that surprised even himself as he took deep breaths. "What is your judgement?" he rasped, his voice raw with subtle pain.
