The grand hall of the empire was alive with whispers, each word sharper than a dagger slicing through silk. Marble pillars soared above, gleaming in the torchlight—but to Laine, they weren't pillars. They were prison bars, closing in, pressing down on his chest with invisible weight.
At the center—he knelt. Shackled. Blood traced a crimson line down from his split lip where the guards had struck him, the metallic scent thick in the air. Every breath was a struggle, yet he did not bow his head.
Upon the throne sat the Empress. His sister. The one who had once called him family. Her gaze cut through the hall, cold and unyielding.
"Laine of the Imperial Blood," her voice rang out, sharp as shattered glass. "You stand accused of attempting dishonor against the royal guard. Do you deny it?"
Laine lifted his head slowly. Pain gnawed at him, yet his eyes burned like embers in a storm.
"I am innocent," he said, voice steady despite the sting of blood. "But innocence is meaningless in a world that prizes lies over truth."
A ripple went through the court—some gasped, some scoffed, and some whispered doubts that twisted in the cold air.
For a heartbeat, the Empress faltered, the steel in her eyes flickering… then returned with merciless precision.
"Your words mean nothing without proof. And the proof is against you."
Chains rattled as Laine's fists clenched, knuckles whitening. Every link felt like iron judgment, yet it could not bind the fire inside him.
"Proof can be forged," he said, low, each word deliberate. "Hearts cannot. Sister… do you truly believe I would harm the weak? You know me."
Her gaze drifted away, leaving a silence heavier than chains. The air itself seemed to mourn him.
The guard who accused him smirked, savoring the moment. Victory glittered in his eyes like cold steel.
The Empress raised her hand, her tone merciless as steel:
"One year of imprisonment. And from this day forth, you are stripped of your name and blood. You are no longer of the Imperial Family."
The chains tightened. The crowd erupted in a mixture of jeers and whispers, the echoes bouncing off marble like thunder in a tomb.
And Laine… smiled. Bitterly.
"Very well," he whispered, almost to himself, almost to the void around him. "If I must survive as nothing… then I will show this world the strength of nothingness."