The chamber is vast, its circular walls adorned with intricate carvings of divine battles and celestial symbols that glow faintly in the dim light.
At the center stands a grand round table made of polished obsidian, its surface reflecting the flicker of the white-blue torches mounted around the room.
Seven paladins sit with stoic expressions, their gleaming armor catching the soft light, while one chair remains conspicuously empty—Valen's.
Opposite the entrance sits the Speaker, his piercing gaze locked on the doorway as if he had been anticipating their arrival. Behind him stands Miriel, her serene yet imposing presence amplified by her radiant golden halo and feathered wings, folded neatly against her back.
The silence in the room feels almost tangible, heavy with authority and expectation, as Eska and Valen step through the doors.
Several of the paladins shift their gazes toward Eska as she enters, their eyes cold and appraising, the disdain clear in the tight lines of their mouths.
None, however, glare as openly as Lenna, her eyes narrowing with unspoken judgment, her fingers drumming against the table as if restraining the urge to speak out.
Their stares press on Eska but she keeps her head high, her steps steady despite the tension hanging in the air.
"Thank you for joining us, Eska," the Speaker says. His voice is calm, almost sweet, carrying the practiced warmth of someone pretending to be a kindly elder, yet his piercing gaze locks onto her with an intensity that belies the tone.
Valen walks ahead of her, offering a respectful bow before taking his seat among the paladins, leaving Eska standing alone in the room.
Her eyes flicker to the Speaker briefly before settling on Miriel, whose radiant and serene presence contrasts sharply with the cold, judgmental stares of the others. Miriel offers Eska a gentle, reassuring smile—oddly warm amidst the icy atmosphere of the chamber.
"The reason I have summoned you," the Speaker continues, "is because my paladins would like to discuss something significant from the hive siege. There was an… anomaly that warrants our attention."
He turns his sharp gaze to one of the paladins, Athos—a bald, burly man with broad shoulders and striking cyan eyes that seem to glow faintly under the chamber's light.
His arms are crossed over his chest, his demeanor unyielding as he rises slightly in his seat, his expression unreadable. "Athos," the Speaker prompts, gesturing for him to speak.
"Eska, during the siege, there was an immense effort to suppress and deter the Thaxil threat. Nearly a third of our forces were deployed, and only half returned capable of continuing their service."
Athos pauses, lifting his hand as if to preemptively quiet any response. His cyan eyes bore into hers, though his voice remains calm.
"I am not here to place blame on you or anyone else. In fact, had you and Valen not been present during your initial hunt, the city would have faced grave danger."
He lowers his hand briefly before continuing, his tone shifting to one of measured gravity. "However, what I must address is a troubling matter that arose during the siege. While the troops were engaged, a series of murders occurred—twenty-five individuals, all executed by an unknown assailant."
Eska's eyes widen slightly in shock, her body stiffening as she processes his words. Athos presses on, his tone unwavering.
"The sheer number of victims makes it clear this wasn't random. Worse still, all twenty-five were, at some point, affiliated with the Hellcats guild—the very guild your mother was a part of."
Her head tilts slightly, her expression one of disbelief and confusion. Athos raises his hand again, his calm voice cutting through her thoughts.
"Your mother has been under heavy surveillance, closely monitored to the extent that both the Speaker and Miriel can attest to her innocence. That leaves one remaining connection to these murders—you."
His words land with a chilling finality, the weight of his accusation settling heavily in the chamber.
Eska leans forward, her voice trembling as she tries to speak. "B-But I wasn't in the city wh—"
Her words are cut off by a sharp slam of Lenna's hand against the table. The fiery-haired paladin rises to her feet, glaring daggers at Eska.
"Quiet! You have not been given permission to speak in the presence of the Speaker or Miriel!" she shouts, her voice echoing in the chamber.
Eska recoils, her breath hitching as the outburst sends a ripple of tension through the room.
"Calm yourself, Lenna," Miriel's voice cuts through the tension, serene yet carrying undeniable authority.
Lenna clenches her jaw, glancing at Miriel with reluctant obedience before slowly sinking back into her chair. Even seated, her piercing eyes remain fixed on Eska, brimming with anger and disdain.
"Speak, Eska," Miriel continues, her tone softening as she turns her gaze toward the girl. Her presence, though warm, only adds to the weight pressing down on Eska's shoulders.
Eska swallows hard, her voice quivering.
"I-I wasn't in the city when that happened. I don't even… I don't even think I could kill someone…"
Her voice trails off into a whisper, her eyes darting downward as if retreating from the accusatory stares surrounding her.
Lenna clicks her tongue impatiently, her lips curling into a faint sneer. Another paladin rises.
"It is not the murders we are directly connecting to you, Eska," he says. "But the possibility of your involvement. Perhaps your presence influenced the actions of others."
Without bothering to stand, Lenna crosses her arms, her tone colder than the room's stone walls.
"The city is full of shady figures. You could've easily orchestrated these killings, pulling the strings to silence anyone who knew too much about you or your past." Her words drip with accusation, though her gaze remains fixed ahead, as if Eska isn't worth looking at.
Eska's stomach churns as she scans the room. Lenna's scorn is palpable, but it isn't just her.
Disdain lingers in the eyes of many others and even those who seem neutral avoid looking at her directly. She can feel the judgment pressing down on her, heavy and suffocating.
"They don't want the truth. They just want a scapegoat. Someone to blame because they can't find the real culprit." Marina's voice echoes in her head.
Her hands tighten into fists, her breath shallow. She realizes in that moment—there's nothing she can say that will change their minds. To most of them, she's already guilty, no matter what she says or does.
Eska's hands and shoulders slowly relax, the tension melting away as she lifts her head to meet the room's piercing gazes. But this time, her expression isn't shy or timid. Her yellow eyes carry a calm, razor-sharp intensity that cuts through the air like a blade, daring anyone to challenge her.
Even the Speaker leans back slightly, momentarily caught off guard by the shift in her demeanor.
"Well," she begins, her voice coated with quiet defiance, "I guess the murderer must be too hard for the great paladins to catch. So instead, they decided to pin it all on a convenient scapegoat."
She crosses her arms, her posture relaxed, leaning slightly to one side as her head tilts ever so slightly, adding a touch of mockery to her words.
The room falls silent, her unexpected confidence leaving many stunned and even the disdainful Lenna widens her eyes, momentarily unsure how to respond.
Lenna slams her hand on the table, the sound echoing through the tense room as she shoves her chair aside.
In one swift motion, she grips the hilt of her blade and takes several steps toward Eska, her eyes blazing with fury. But before she can close the distance, an overwhelming presence descends on the room, freezing everyone in place.
"Sit. Down."
Miriel's voice doesn't just fill the chamber—it resonates in their very minds, a command that feels absolute.
Lenna stops dead in her tracks, the blood draining from her face as her hand drops from her weapon. Terror flickers in her eyes as she stumbles back to her chair, pulling it into place with trembling hands.
She sits rigidly, her fingers nervously clasped together on the table, her gaze fixed forward, unable to meet Miriel's piercing eyes.
A thick silence blankets the room, broken only by the Speaker's sudden, booming laughter.
"You truly are your mother's daughter," he says between chuckles, his sharp eyes glinting with amusement. "Or perhaps a tiger's cub would be more accurate."
His laugh softens as he leans back in his chair, his gaze narrowing. "Either you're incredibly brave, or staggeringly foolish. Do you honestly think you could stand against everyone here?"
Eska doesn't flinch. Instead, her calm, cutting gaze sweeps over the room, meeting the hostility of the paladins head-on.
Her voice is steady, almost indifferent. "I don't understand why I'm here. You've already decided I'm guilty of a crime I didn't even know happened. So, go ahead. Throw me in a cell. At least then you won't be wasting everyone's time."
The tension in the room escalates as the paladins bristle at her words, their hands twitching toward their weapons. Their eyes burn with restrained fury but none dare rise after Miriel's display of authority.
The air hums with their barely contained anger.
The Speaker, however, seems thoroughly entertained. He chuckles again, shaking his head.
"Of course. Did you expect anything less? You are the embodiment of everything this room stands against."
Eska tilts her head slightly, her tone dripping with quiet defiance. "I don't expect much from the church, no. Our entire relationship has been crimes pinned on me for no actual reason. So let's get this over with."
The Speaker's grin widens, his expression remaining outwardly calm but a subtle shift passes through the air.
Beneath the surface of his practiced composure, a wave of malevolence courses through his presence, curling at the edges of his carefully masked demeanor. His piercing eyes linger on Eska, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly, as though savoring some unspoken thought.
Yet, no one in the room seems to notice, their focus fixed on the surface of his charm and authority, oblivious to the dark undercurrent beneath.
"Ah," Marina's voice whispers in Eska's mind. "He's wearing the mask well. Don't let it fool you—he already knows his next move."