The courtroom looked like a stage set with meticulous care. Faces were sullen, voices whispered, papers rustled across the tables — and the accused, Din Denhaus, seemed no more than a small detail in a heavy scene thick with oppression and dread.
Sitting opposite the judge sent a rush of ecstatic fever through Din Denhaus; a man craves attention, even if he knows those eyes are a fire that will burn him alive.
The judge's cough rose suddenly and the hall shuddered as if awakened from a doze. The whispers stopped; gazes turned toward the bench. In a deep, stern voice the judge said, "The court has concluded its deliberations, but before I pronounce sentence, I must address a few words to the defendant."
A scorching lump formed in Din's throat. He expected reproach, perhaps the usual curse — but he was unprepared for what came next.
The judge opened an old volume between his hands and read aloud: "In the Book of Light, in the words of Saint Nathaniel: 'A mother is the first fountain of mercy; he who reaches out to cut that fountain off is denied the water of life, and the gates of forgiveness are closed to him in both earth and heaven.'"
He closed the book with resolve, fixed the defendant with a severe stare and said, "Din… you were once a pupil at the Academy of Noble Radiance, where you learned that honoring one's mother is obedience and that gratitude is worship. Yet you chose to trample all of that. You sank into a monstrous crime… a crime unbefitting even a stranger-killer. You chose to be the murderer of your mother, Mary… a woman beyond fifty, who spent her years preserving the Tome and teaching it, caring for you — and you killed her."
Din kept silent, turning his eyes toward the polished wood before him as if the words rained on an unabsorbent surface.
The judge continued, his voice a blend of sorrow and severity: "You killed the one who carried you, fragile in her womb. She nursed you, kept vigil through your childhood, dreamed that you would be her support in her old age — and you repaid her with treachery and betrayal."
Din clenched his fist at that.
"You lured her to a dark basement and clamped your hands around her throat for long minutes… minutes in which your mother endured the hell of her supplications, gasping, 'Forgive me, Din, I'll do what you ask…' Yet your heart did not soften. You hardened, as if cast into hell like a stone."
A stifled sob burst from the back rows; a juror turned his face away, unable to endure the picture the words painted.
The judge lifted his head and added, "Your crime was not merely murder, but a breach of the maternal covenant. You turned her love into ingratitude, her counsel into a curse, her devotion into death. You killed her to clear the way for a wanton — a night girl who blinded your sight and whispered that salvation from her — your mother! — was the path to marriage. You were not only a slave to your passions; the devil whispered in your ear and you extended your hand to answer the call. You proved craftier, more deceitful than your own demon."
The murmurs swelled; the chamber rippled like a dark tide around the defendant. The judge gestured to the assembly and said, "Look at them, Din. Do you see their faces? Their anger, their disgust, their contempt? They no longer see you as a human being. And rightly so; you crossed the boundary between the human and the bestial. You tore mercy from your heart with your own hands, uprooted tenderness from your being, and drowned in a blind lust that made you slay the only woman who loved you with a love that cannot be bought."
The judge's voice flogged Din, stripping him of his humanity, while Din sat almost motionless, save for a faint, passing smile that flickered across his lips.
The judge leaned forward, raised his heavy gavel, and his voice fell like a blade: "Neither I, nor anyone in this courtroom, expects remorse or justification from you. Those are the gifts of humankind… you chose to be a demon. My court does not try demons to exonerate them; it judges them and delivers what they deserve."
He struck the bench with the gavel and his voice echoed: "This court sentences the defendant Din Denhaus… to death by hanging."
The hall erupted — screams, chants, and angry clapping.
Din could only bow his head; he did not want them to see the smile that hovered at the corner of his mouth.
---
Din was led away amid a torrent of insults and furious stares directed at him from every side. He made no attempt to answer, nor to shield himself; he walked with steady steps, as one who moves through a familiar street.
He was shoved into the cell roughly, nearly stumbling before regaining his balance. He raised his head to take in the place. Four iron beds stood in two opposing bunk pairs, their frames cloaked in a heavy rust that testified to years of damp and neglect.
The iron door closed with a heavy screech and the clang of metal hung over the room. At that moment a wide, unexpected grin spread across one prisoner's face, shaded with a suggestive note of amusement. In a mocking tone he said, "Oh — finally we have a proper young fellow here! I was about to die of boredom with these gloomy old men."
The speaker was a middle-aged man, bald in the middle, his temples and the sides of his head covered only with sparse, dry strands like brittle threads. Din looked at him, resisting the urge to sneer at his appearance; he was instantly reminded of the fishmonger who used to stand near his house in the market.
The man stepped closer and asked with a tilted smile, "What's your name, kid?"
Din gave him a quick once-over, measuring him in an instant, then replied in a flat, indifferent voice: "Din… my name is Din Denhaus."
The name rolled slowly through the cell before the bald man repeated it, testing: "Denhaus?… I've heard that name before. Where from?"
A hoarse voice came from the upper bunk on the left: "Maybe he's kin to Martin Denhaus…"
The speaker was an old man, his thin body strewn across the bed as if the world no longer mattered to him.
The name made the bald man's features harden; his expression sharpened with obvious vehemence. "Oh damn… are you really kin to Martin Denhaus?"
Din's gaze froze for a moment. He remembered the name of an uncle he'd known only through his mother's stories — the uncle who had long ago disappeared behind bars. Thoughts spun quickly before he chose an answer with manufactured coolness: "No… I don't know anyone by that name. My family came from the north recently — newcomers to the capital, Raderos."
His voice was steady, calm, delivered with a courtesy that sounded almost noble.
The bald man exhaled, then came closer, laying his heavy hand on Din's shoulder; he was a little shorter than Din. "That's good, kid. You don't want to be tied to that name. It has enemies you couldn't bear. Don't worry — that uncle of yours will look after you… no one will dare touch you while I'm around."
Din's eyes glinted with a faint smile that did not reach his lips. "And what's the name of this uncle, then?"
The bald man laughed aloud, turning to the old man who had shown no interest in the proceedings. "Ha-ha-ha, you talk like a rogue, you brat! Very well, let me introduce your new companions… the ones you'll be sharing time with. I'm Uncle Andrew, and that there is Old Emil, and that bull asleep above your bed is Theodore." He tilted his head and asked, curious, "So… what's your charge?"
Din sat adjusting his bed and answered in a leaden coldness: "Murder… I'm on a murder charge, and I've been sentenced to death."
Silence fell abruptly. Andrew felt regret for his earlier boasts about how long they would spend together.
Old Emil cut the silence with a dry, blunt voice: "Who did you kill?"
Din froze, overwhelmed by the inability to respond. He opened his mouth to weave a quick excuse: "I—"
But his voice was cut off by a harsh sound beyond the bars: a guard's voice stating the truth without circumlocution: "He killed his mother."
The words landed like a thunderbolt. Any remnant of pity in Andrew's face vanished, replaced with hard severity, as if he had taken a personal blow.
Din raised his hands quickly, as if to ward off an accusation, trying to calm Andrew, who closed on him with furiously loaded steps. "Wait… look at me. Do I seem like a monster who would kill his mother?"
Andrew snarled; his teeth ground with hatred. "Do you think I'll believe one who cheated me once?"
Din protested: "When did I cheat you?! I didn't even answer your question — the guard spoke before me. I only meant to say I fell into a trap!"
The word echoed in the cell before Andrew repeated it with suspicion: "A trap…?"
Before Din could reply, Old Emil raised his head from a book titled Five Roots of Evil and said, "You seemed very at ease for someone who killed his mother…"
Silence spread until Andrew cut through it with a threatening jab: "That's true… and that means you are indeed your mother's killer. Otherwise you wouldn't be so relaxed." He came closer and tapped Din's shoulder with a menacing finger: "Tell me, kid… how did you manage to kill your mother?"
Din drew a deep breath, then jerked his head up and spoke in a rough, weighty voice they had not heard before: "Who do you think you are, for God's sake? A lowly prisoner daring to fling your nonsense at me?" His voice rose, burning the bonds: "Sad? Do you really think I'm not sad?!!" He advanced a step and was the one who tapped Andrew's shoulder, turning the tables with a harsh, dark face: "Tell me, you damned bald man — with what eye do you say I am not grieving my mother's death?! How can you be sure I'm not angry? How can you assert I am not burning with resentment?!"
His voice dropped suddenly, as if he dived inward; he whispered, broken but cutting: "Tell me — what do you know of me to judge me? By what right do you reckon me guilty, while my mother's killer walks free? By what right do you tap my shoulder when I am condemned to death unjustly?" He stepped closer, each word a stab: "Answer me, Uncle Andrew… what do you see now?"
Tears streamed down his face, thick and unashamed, clear tears falling on a face that showed no tremor or twitch — like a marble statue leaking water from within. "Do I look sad to you now?!"
Andrew pressed himself against the wall, his bravado drained; words stuck in his throat as if choked.
Din swallowed his opponent with words until there was nothing left to say. He withdrew, eyes fixed, then slowly returned to make his bed with a mechanical, cold composure.
Old Emil closed his book with a note of curiosity and asked, "So… what really happened? Who killed your mother?"
Din did not answer; he ignored the question entirely and only broke the silence after he finished arranging his bed. He lay on the lower bunk, eyes pinned to the iron bars above him while the massive black arm of his upper-bunk companion dangled over him.
At last he spoke in a hoarse voice, staring up: "Nabil… there's a Nabil who studies with me at the Academy of Radiance. Perhaps you've heard of it."
Emil replied quietly, having folded the book's pages: "Of course… how could I not know it? It's the most famous academy in the capital."
Din went on slowly, as if clawing through memory: "I thought it was simply the chance for friendship… especially with Nabil from the Valdron duke's family. We were preparing for the year-end exam, and he asked me to help him study. I agreed; I even invited him to my house. I wanted only friendship, nothing more."
All eyes hung on his words.
"And in the middle of studying he asked me to run quickly and fetch past exam papers from the academy. I didn't want to go, but I… wanted to keep that friendship. It seemed trivial, so I went. Not half an hour had passed when I returned… to find knights surrounding my home."
He swallowed hard; his voice trembled. "They shouted when they saw me: 'The criminal is here, he hasn't fled!' I froze… I feared for my mother." He gasped, emphasizing the words: "Then… I saw them bring her out… her neck blue, her hand dangling, her face pale… only then did I know she was gone. Before I could speak, before I could cry, they tied me down on the charge that I had killed her."
A tear slid slowly down his cheek. Emil and Andrew turned their faces away, perhaps embarrassed to watch his collapse.
"It took only a few hours before the judge. A feeble lawyer, words I did not understand, and I could only think of my mother. Then the verdict came; they painted me as a demon who killed his mother… and I realized I was finished. I no longer wanted to explain."
Silence thickened, suffocating.
A hoarse voice from the top bunk cut in: "A pitiful tale, kid… don't you know the punishment for a liar is having his tongue cut out?"
The huge Theodore had woken and descended like a falling stone.
Din sat upright, staring at him steadily. "What did you say? You call me a liar?"
Theodore smiled mockingly and spoke coarsely: "Yes… I say you're a liar."
Din shot back, "And what makes you so certain?"
Theodore stepped closer; his eyes were like embers. "Because I don't trust your kind — those who can shed tears on command, change their tone, twist their words… those who swap masks whenever convenient. You won't fool me like you fooled those two fools." He tapped his own temple with a finger: "Do you know why? Because your words will never reach here."
Din remained silent, unblinking, staring at Theodore with an odd chill.
Theodore waited for a reply and, finding none, muttered as he withdrew: "Just what I thought…"
Din allowed a small smile, edged with a bleak sarcasm: "You may be right… but tell me this — what does any of that change? Whether you believe me or not… what will it alter? I will be executed anyway."
He turned slowly toward the wall, his frown spreading across his brow like a shadow — as if someone stood in the corridor blocking his path.