The courtroom was a cacophony of hatred. Nitish Vayne stood shackled in chains, his head low, his body still aching from the relentless beating he had endured. The air was heavy with the smell of unwashed bodies, rotten fruit, and raw anger. The crowd, packed to the edges of the grand hall, was a seething mass of rage. Chappals, spoiled vegetables, and even stones flew through the air, many striking Nitish's battered body. His once-pristine white tunic was now torn and stained with blood and dirt.
Crowd: "Traitor!"
"Poisoner!"
"He deserves death!"
The voices overlapped in a storm of venomous accusations.
Nitish dared to lift his gaze, scanning the crowd through swollen eyes. What he saw shattered the last remnants of hope in his heart. Among the faces twisted with hatred were those of people he had once helped. He recognized the elderly man whose wound he had healed, the woman whose child he had saved with his elixirs, the young soldier who had returned from battle with a shattered leg and had walked again thanks to Nitish's efforts. They had once looked at him with gratitude, with hope. Now, those same people shouted for his death, their eyes alight with anger.
Memories of Kindness Turned to Betrayal
Nitish's mind drifted to a day not long ago. He had been in his workshop, carefully brewing an elixir for a child suffering from fever. The mother had arrived, tears streaming down her face, begging for his help.
Mother: "Please, Master Nitish. You're the only one who can save her. The healers turned me away. I have nothing to pay you with..."
Nitish had knelt beside the woman, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
Nitish: "You don't need to pay me. Your daughter's life is payment enough. Take this."
He handed her the small vial, its contents glowing faintly with the magic of his craft. Days later, the child had recovered, and the mother had returned, bowing low in gratitude.
Mother: "Thank you. Thank you, Master Nitish. You're a gift to this kingdom."
Now, that same woman stood in the courtroom, her face twisted with rage.
Mother: "Poisoner! I trusted you! My daughter could have died because of you!"
Nitish stared at her, his lips trembling. He wanted to scream, to tell her that it wasn't him, that he had been framed. But the words caught in his throat. Her anger, her hatred, was unshakable.
A young soldier who had once knelt before him, thanking him for the potion that had saved his leg, now hurled a rock at Nitish's face.
Soldier: "You should burn for what you've done! We trusted you!"
Nitish's head hung low, blood trickling down his face. The betrayal stung more than the physical pain.
The Court's Sentence
The High Court was presided over by High King Alaric Solari, who sat upon his throne with a cold, detached expression. Beside him, the Six Elders sat in silence, their faces masks of indifference or smug satisfaction. Elizabeth stood nearby, her face serene, her eyes avoiding Nitish's. She didn't need to say anything; her earlier testimony had already sealed his fate.
King Alaric rose, his booming voice silencing the crowd.
Alaric: "Nitish Vayne, you have been found guilty of poisoning the people of Terrasol and committing heinous acts against this kingdom. Your crimes have shaken the trust of the people, and for this, there can be no forgiveness."
The crowd roared in approval. Alaric raised a hand, calling for quiet.
Alaric: "To ensure that all know the price of treachery, you will be paraded through the streets of Aetherfall, stripped of your name and legacy, and cast into the Abyss. Let this be a lesson to all: no one is above the laws of Terrasol."
The crowd erupted into cheers, their hatred boiling over. Guards seized Nitish, dragging him from the courtroom and into the streets.
The Parade of Shame
Nitish was paraded through the city, his hands bound, his face bloodied and swollen. The people lined the streets, throwing chappals, rotten fruit, and stones at him. Their shouts pierced the air.
Crowd: "Good riddance!"
"This is what happens to traitors!"
"The Vayne name is cursed!"
Nitish's vision blurred with tears and pain, but he refused to let them see him cry. He held his head high, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. Among the jeers and curses, he spotted smirking faces—faces that had once thanked him for his kindness. It was a cruel mockery, a reminder of how quickly people could turn.
Memories of His Parents
As Nitish endured the humiliation, his mind drifted to his parents. He remembered his mother, Lyra Vayne, sitting by his bedside as a child, her hand brushing through his hair.
Lyra: "Be kind, Nitish. This world is harsh, but kindness is what makes us human. I was a commoner once, before I met your father. I know what it's like to be powerless, to rely on the mercy of others. That's why we must always help those in need."
But another memory surfaced, one that pierced him to his core. His father, Eryndor Vayne, rarely spoke about emotions, but one day, he had shared a moment of quiet wisdom.
Eryndor: "Kindness, my son, is a double-edged sword. In this world, it is often mistaken for weakness. I've learned that kindness without vigilance leads to betrayal. I controlled my anger because of your mother. But remember this, Nitish: kindness must always be tempered with vengeance. Those who take advantage of your compassion must answer for their deeds."
His father had smiled then, a rare, bittersweet expression.
Eryndor: "You have my anger, my son. Use it wisely."
Those words echoed in Nitish's mind as the guards dragged him to the edge of the Abyss.
The Final Moment
The Abyss loomed before him, a gaping maw of darkness that seemed to devour the very light around it. The ground trembled beneath his feet, and the air was heavy with an unnatural stillness. The crowd gathered behind him, their jeers reaching a fever pitch.
A guard stepped forward, untying the ropes that bound him. High King Alaric stood on a raised platform, his voice ringing out.
Alaric: "Nitish Vayne, do you have any final words before you meet your fate?"
The crowd fell silent, eager to hear his plea for forgiveness, his cries for mercy. Nitish stood still for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the sea of faces. Then he dropped to his knees, his head bowed.
The people murmured in anticipation.
Crowd: "He's going to beg!"
"Pathetic to the end!"
But Nitish did not beg. Slowly, he picked up a sharp stone from the ground. Without warning, he hurled it with all his strength at the man who had first accused him in the market. The stone struck the man square in the forehead, drawing blood and gasps from the crowd.
Nitish's voice rang out, clear and defiant.
Nitish: "You will be the first on my path to destruction. Every one of you who turned against me will pay. Mark my words: this kingdom will burn for what it has done. And when I return, I will not ask for mercy—I will demand vengeance."
The crowd recoiled, stunned into silence. Nitish's bloodied face twisted into a smirk as he turned toward the Abyss. He raised his hand high, his middle finger extended toward the king, the Elders, and the jeering crowd. Then, without hesitation, he leaped into the void.
The last thing they saw was the defiant fire in his eyes and the echo of his voice.
Nitish: "Kindness is a sin in this world. I learned that too late. But vengeance… vengeance will be my salvation."
The Abyss swallowed him whole, the darkness closing over him as the crowd stood frozen, unsure whether they had witnessed the fall of a traitor—or the rise of something far more dangerous.