The room was suffocatingly quiet, the air thick with a sense of impending judgment.
Noah Ashbourne stood in the center, bound and furious, his hair wild and tangled, his shirt a rumpled mess barely hanging onto his shoulders.
His eyes, bloodshot from fatigue and frustration, darted from face to face, searching for any sign of support, any shred of understanding. But there was none.
The weight of the accusation bore down on him, pressing like a physical force against his chest.
The heavy, silver-chained manacles binding his wrists weren't ordinary—this was the [Mercurial Seal], a cursed restraint created to neutralize a mage's power.
It didn't just suppress his magic; it tampered with the very flow of his mana, distorting the essence of his spells.
It was as if his veins were filled with ice, every pulse of magic twisted and sluggish.
