The morning sun crept through the high windows of the judgment hall like a quiet intruder, casting long, golden rays across the polished marble. Dust hung in the air, dancing on the light, giving the chamber a surreal calm. But beneath the quiet, tension pulsed like a second heartbeat. The nobles were already seated—rigid, fearful, dressed in desperate elegance. They whispered, but not too loud. No one wanted to be noticed. Not today.
They remembered what they saw yesterday. And more importantly, they remembered who was still hanging.
The Renarr family remained suspended, though their bodies had been repositioned. Still gagged, still naked, their flesh now bore additional words etched with magical ink—burned phrases scrawled across their chests, thighs, and faces. Guilty. Coward. Human-chattel. The wax was gone, but in its place were bruises and welts—new decorations added in the night, as if to remind everyone that time did not ease punishment. It only made it evolve.
