The steps of the Tribunal Court swarmed with bodies. Commoners pressed shoulder to shoulder with merchants, beggars, widows clutching children, and soldiers holding the lines. Anger clung to the air like smoke, thick, choking, unshakable.
Chains clinked, and a collective gasp swept the crowd into silence.
Lord Eryndor of House Valesse, Sovereign of Asterra, was dragged into the square, heavy shackles bound his wrists and ankles . Six Drakovar soldiers in blackened steel and leather forced him down, their armor marked with the crimson gauntlet of their house.
Eryndor's robes of state, once heavy with gold and pride, now hung in tatters. Ash streaked the fabric, and the trim had been stripped away, leaving him looking less a sovereign and more a prisoner of ruin.
The dais loomed high, carved of brass, stone and ironwood designs. Its presence dominated the square, a symbol of law and power.
Other Seats on the dais overflowed with nobles. Ten mid-noble leaders filled the middle seats, twenty-six low-noble leaders occupied the lower seats, including Keith, the aspiring lord whose wife, Mrs. Trinket, still served the realm as a nurse. All eyes fixed upon the trial to come.
A deep horn sounded, silencing the court. From the steps strode the Tribunal Herald, clad in robes of pale silver. His voice rang across the square, clear and commanding:
"Hear now, people of Asterra!"
He gestured with poise, his words echoing as the crowd leaned forward, faces taut with dread and anticipation.
"By decree of the Wardens, though they are absent from this hall, their voices are not. They entrust these proceedings to the three High Houses and Solherene."
He says as he paced with solemn grandeur.
"By sacred law, it is the Wardens and the people, you and I who hold the right to judge an unjust sovereign. Today, this Tribunal is convened to render judgment on Lord Eryndor of House Valesse."
Curses and shouts rose, but at the Herald's raised hand the uproar died, as though he had stolen breath from their throats.
"Presiding over these proceedings, Judge Arvess Marric of Solherene, who is loyal to the realm and have sworn to uphold the law, will over see this tribunal as the supreme judge"
The crowd gasped as Marric stepped forward, tall and graceful, His crimson robe glittered with silver embroidery, rubies gleaming against the light. Golden rings flashed on his fingers as he took his seat, his tall frame commanding reverence.
Whispers rippled across the benches:
"Is this truly Marric, who saved us during the famine?"
"He looks even more imposing than I imagined…" people muttered underneath their breath.
Lord marric settled into the high chair and raised a gracious hand. Awe, and fear rippled together through the crowd.
The Herald turned again, his voice thundering:
"By command of honor and oath, House Drakovar sits in judgment. Rise, Erry O' Kael, Warlord of the North!"
Erry O' Kael emerged from within a group of his drakovar soldiers broad as an ox, his bearded figure clad in a dark leather tunic, threaded with metal embroidery. A wide belt buckled his waist, polished boots heavy with dust and war, scarred fists clenching the pommel of his sword, as he stormed to his high seat.
The crowd erupted half cheering, half jeering, for Kael's legendary fury. Commoners lifted their fists, voices chanting his name.
"By command of grace and wisdom, House Veymont sits in judgment. Rise, Lady Marien of House Veymont, the industrialist of the South!"
A troop of female soldiers in polished Veymont armor flanked their mistress as she ascended the dais. Lady Marien's deep-blue coat, trimmed with brass and leather straps bound neatly across her chest. Grey trousers tucked into high black boots gave her the bearing of both soldier and leader.
She moved with quiet poise, every step deliberate, her presence a balance of elegance and authority.
She took her high seat with a graceful turn, exchanging nods with Marric and Kael, her face unreadable. Below, some commoners called her name, tossing roses and scented mist into the air.
The Herald lifted his hands once more to calm the crowd.
"And finally, By command of nobility, House Calvasset sits in judgment. Rise, Lord Sylven Veynar, the Charmer of the West!"
Sylven emerged with the quiet confidence of a man who never needed to shout to be heard. His blonde hair, slicked neatly back, gleamed like pale fire in the light. His coat was cut in a military style, dark, trim, unburdened by ornament. Yet gold and silver threads traced his collar and cuffs with subtle wealth. Boots polished black, belt plain but fine, his restraint was its own display of power.
He ascended elegantly, smiling faintly at the crowd. The smile unsettled more than it soothed.
At last, the Herald gestures towards the high nobles seated for judgement.
"Here stand the judges of the Tribunal! Let no tongue speak false. Let no heart hide guilt."
The horns sounded again, deep and final. The dais was set. The banners hung. The nobles seated.
And into the silence, the chains of Lord Eryndor clattered across stone, as all eyes rested on him.
The crowd erupted.
"Traitor!"
"Burn him as he burned our kin!"
"Gods curse your name, Eryndor!"
Stones and curses are tossed at him. Commoners faces twisted with hatred, others with disbelief. Mothers screamed, clutching rags where their children once were. Fathers raised bandaged stumps of arms. The soldiers and guards held the mob at bay, but the fury pressed closer with every breath.
"Enough!" Marric's voice cut through the uproar. He slammed his staff, as silence fell heavy. As he pressed further, this time directed towards eryndor.
"Lord Eryndor of House Valesse, Sovereign of Asterra, you stand accused of treachery against the realm, and other crimes that have plunged it into suffering. You will speak when permitted. And No more."
Eryndor lifted his head, pride still flickering in his gaze though shadows of fear lingered as he speaks.
"I have served this realm all my life. These charges are lies, spun by enemies who envy me and my work. If this Tribunal has eyes to see, let there be investigations! I swear upon the gods, I have always guarded Asterra and its people!"
The crowd broke again. "Liar!" "Murderer!" "Look what you've done!" until Marric struck his staff twice, and silence returned.
Erry O' Kael rose from his seat in fury, his voice echoing through the square.
"You claim lies?" Kael thundered. "Nine hundred and fifty-four of our people lie in ash and blood! Towns torn apart by fire from Heaven's Blitz, a weapon sworn to your House alone! You Dare not call them lies. Claim your guilt!"
Eryndor shook his headin frustration, chains rattling. "Heaven's Blitz is overseen by me and the loyal nobles of House Valesse. It cannot be used without my authority and, my seal. I gave no such order. I would never unleash such destruction upon my own people. Isnt this evidence that someone seeks to frame me!" Eryndor says with a quivering voice.
"Frame you?!" Kael bellowed, his face red with rage. He pointed toward the mob. "Look upon them, the burned, the broken! Will you spit lies in their faces too?!"
The mob surged with him, fists raised, curses spilling like a flood.
Then Lady Marien rose. Her presence was calm, her voice measured, cutting through the chaos with quiet authority, as kael backed away.
"Lord Eryndor," lady mariens voice rang heavy, "you stand accused of grave crimes, which includes the hoarding of white lumin, forbidden by law and punishable by imprisonment, and the orchestration of secret experiments" she says as she stares him down with little to no expression.
"You have denied these charges before, yet the evidence stands undeniable. The devastation of the attacks. The evidence of white lumin discovered in your own stores. Your banners, raised above the sites of attack in the east, west, and south. All proves your House is guilty as charged. Tell us, what explanation can you give before the eyes of Asterra?"
Eryndor's lips tightened. His words came slow, measured, desperate.
"Marien, you know me better than anyone, Neither I nor any of my House have ever possessed white lumin. This I swear. But yes, I have kept silver lumin in supply, for research into military defense. That is no crime. They were studied only, harnessed for progress and protection of asterra."
"Progress?" Marien's voice cut like glass. Her tone carried across the court.
"This tribunal is set to investigste your intent, and it seems your intent lies in the display of power, that leaves widows weeping, children orphaned, and villages burned to ash? That is not progress, my lord. That is hubris!"
The crowd thundered with approval.
"Aye!"
"Well spoken!"
Sylven Veynar rose from his seat, his calm gesture forces silenece across the tribunal coourt. His hands folded neatly behind his back, his tone was soft and silken as he stepped forward, lady marien steps back to her seat.
"Lord Eryndor," veynar calls, "if these weapons are not yours, why then was your House's seal found scorched into the rubble at every site of destruction? And why, if your hands are clean, have two of your captains already confessed to carrying out your orders?"
For the first time, Eryndor faltered. His gaze fell to the stone floor, his voice breaking as he spoke.
"House Valesse's weapons has always been kept in secrete, guarded even from illegal use. Just as every High House keeps its own designs hidden. I swear it" His eyes lifted, locking onto Veynar. Confusion clouded his face, chased by sorrow and disbelief. "Not even I held them in my hands… not even I had the power to command them on my own people."
"But you represent House Valesse," Sylven cut in, his gaze sharp. "You are responsible for all it holds. For every decision taken."
"We should be investigated!" Eryndor cried, frustration breaking through his mask. "As for my captains, they speak lies to save their skins. Confessions dragged from them under duress!"
"Then let us hear them," Sylven replied smoothly, gesturing with a single hand.
The tension thickened. Chains rattled. Soldiers moved. And two broken men in scorched Valesse armor began their slow walk toward the dais.