The courtroom buzzed with murmurs, the tension thick as the gilded chandeliers above cast flickering light across the hall. Taren stood in the center, every eye fixed on him. His fingers twitched at his sides, and beads of sweat gathered on his brow. The judge, seated high on an ornate dais, leaned forward, his gaze like a hammer waiting to strike.
"Are you Taren?" the judge's voice cut through the murmurs, deep and commanding.
Taren's throat tightened. His mouth opened, but no sound came at first. When he finally managed, his voice wavered. "Y...Yes… I am."
The judge's expression didn't soften. He nodded slightly, then began, his questions sharp and precise. Each one felt like a blade slicing through Taren's resolve.
"Why did you enter the forbidden tunnel? What did you see inside? Do you understand the gravity of your actions?"
Taren swallowed hard, his mind racing, his words tumbling out in pieces. "I… I didn't mean to… It wasn't… I just…" He hesitated, his weight shifting uneasily. His eyes darted about the room, as if seeking a lifeline in the storm of accusatory stares. The silence that followed his words was more deafening than the murmurs had been.
A chair scraped against the polished floor as Princess Aeliana rose abruptly. Her silvery-white hair caught the light, shimmering as she turned to face the judge. "He's telling the truth!" she declared, her voice steady, though her hands clenched the folds of her gown. "This wasn't his fault. He didn't—
"Princess Aeliana," the judge interrupted, his voice cold and firm. "We respect your position, but this is a matter of law. Your interference, though well-meaning, could be seen as an affront to this nation. I suggest you refrain."
Her lips parted as if to argue, but she stopped herself, her jaw tightening. Slowly, she sat back down, her violet eyes flashing with frustration. Her fingers curled into fists on her lap, the only sign of the storm brewing inside her.
Behind Taren, Osric stood silent, his broad shoulders hunched as if carrying an invisible weight. His face was unreadable, his eyes fixed on the floor, but his stillness spoke volumes—a quiet grief, a resigned sadness. Agraj was nowhere to be seen, his absence a glaring void in the room.
The crowd stirred, their whispers like a rising tide.
"Rules are rules," someone muttered, their voice low but pointed.
"No exceptions," another chimed in. "Even royalty can't override them."
The judge's eyes settled on Taren once more, the weight of his scrutiny almost unbearable. "You and Osric are not citizens of Hazan," he said, his voice cutting through the growing murmur. "You are slaves came here in service to Princess Aeliana. Is that correct?"
The words hit like thunder. Taren's breath caught in his throat and his chest grew tight as if someone had drawn the air out of the room. He glanced to Osric who didn't look ,up and then to Aeliana, her eyes burning with anger, controlled and hard as a coal in an anvil's grasp. The room closed in, weight of the accusation suffocating and inescapable.
The courtroom went silent, the air heavy with tension because of Taren's words that hung in the silence.
"Why is that tunnel abandoned?" he asked flatly, his voice quiet but unyielding. "What's its history? Why does no one talk about it?
It had reacted instantly. The judge's face twitched, and a flicker of unreadable something—discomfort, maybe even fear—crossed his stern face. The knights shifted in their seats, their armor clinking faintly with an uneasy movement as they passed nervous glances. The murmur grew louder as the seconds ticked on.
"What's he going on about?" a voice growled harshly.
"Does he mention the tunnel?" another hissed, panic bleeding in.
He slapped his hand on the desk, and the crack of wood against flesh was enough to silence the room. His eyes drilled into Taren, his face dark with barely restrained fury.
"You dare?" he thundered, his voice reverberating through the hall. "Mind your own business!"
It was as if the voice had shaken the walls from the inside, and Taren flinched back as he felt the weight of anger from the judge upon him. But beneath the anger lay something else, not quite said. The words held a sharp edge on the judge's voice as though cutting off a question that should unravel more than needed to be.
Taren's eyes darted to the knights, who now stood rigid, their hands white-knuckled around the hilts of their swords, their eyes avoiding his with a nervous caution. He looked to the crowd. They leaned forward, their faces a mixture of shock and unease, their whispers now nothing more than ghostly murmurs under their breath.
His mind spun, pieces of thoughts colliding as something settled deep in his chest. 'Why is he being so defensive? What does he have to hide?' He looked at the judge, then at the wordless knights, and then at Princess Aeliana, whose worried eyes conveyed her own confusion.
The pounding in his chest throbbed with a truth that came to him clear and irrevocable, 'Something is not right in Hazan. The tunnel?.....history...this nation is hiding something.'
The weight of the silence in the courtroom pressed down on him as the judge's glare remained fixed. Taren clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as the seed of doubt took root, refusing to be ignored.
The judge's voice cracked with tension, every word cutting, every syllable glacial.
"No more questions." His eyes pressed against Taren, unyielding, his stare weighted like iron. "You're disrespecting this country. You broke the rules. You've crossed a line you can't uncross."
Taren felt his chest constrict. The air was heavy. It pressed upon him. Sucked the breath from his lungs. The weight of those words crushed upon him, suffocating all thoughts, all words. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
The judge's lips curled into a grimace. "You need to die."
The room seemed to hold its breath. There was no outcry. No protest. The judge's voice rang through the stillness like a bell tolling for the dead.
There is nothing more to say." His fist came down upon the gavel with a finality that echoed through the stone walls, the crack sharp. "I, the judge of Hazan, sentence you to death."
Taren's legs felt as though the floor beneath him had shifted. His knees slightly buckled, but a quick breath steadied him. His mind ran but couldn't catch up with the weight of the words that had just sealed his fate. He felt the room spinning; the faces around him fading into a blur. His pulse drummed in his ears.
Princess Aeliana stood up, her chair scraping the floor with a screeching sound that sent alarm shooting through my veins. She didn't say a word. Her hands shook at her sides and her face, usually impassive, twisted with shock. Her eyes went wide, and tears began to fall, tracing soundless paths down her cheeks as if in slow motion. Her breath hitched, and no words came—only the soft, helpless sound of her breathing, as she stood there, her gaze fixed on Taren.
Behind him, Osric's stance shifted. His broad shoulders tensed, and for a moment, his face—normally a mask of calm—twisted with disbelief. His eyes narrowed, jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might snap. He didn't speak, but the air around him thickened with something else, something that said he was plotting, calculating.
Taren stood there, unmoving, as the reality of the judge's sentence sank deeper with every second. The cold marble floor beneath him felt distant, unreal. He could hardly hear the whispers from the crowd, but he felt their eyes boring into him, sharp as knives.
Aeliana's weeping eyes are about all that kept his vision within the boundaries of this realm, even if only the additional weight that crashed across his chest.
There is then Osric; he sits, his gaze like stone now, as a man well decided on the turn next.
Taren exhaled a shuddered gasp from his chest. There was nowhere left for him to escape then.