Forgot the court.
Forgot even the High Judge seated above.
All he felt was that stare.
Ren's eyes — cold, sharp, suffocating — pressed into him like the edge of a blade sliding across bare skin. There was no essentia leaking, no aura flaring, no outward hostility at all. And yet... his chest tightened. His throat felt dry. The chains clinking faintly around Ren's wrists only deepened the unease clawing at his stomach.
"Why... why am I hesitating? He's bound. Shackled. Surrounded by guards. He should be nothing more than a rabid dog behind bars. And yet..."
The weight in the air felt heavier with every heartbeat. The nobles around him shifted uneasily, their attention no longer fixed on the trial's outcome but on the silent clash between the two men.
Caerus clenched his teeth. He forced his hands to still, to hide the tremor threatening to betray him. Then, with a sharp inhale, he tore his gaze away and straightened his back.
"No. I will not be shaken by a criminal."
He threw his voice across the chamber, louder than before, to bury the ghost of fear.
Caerus:
"Do you see, Your Honor? Even now, in chains, he bares his fangs! He does not respect this court, nor the Crown, nor the law that binds us all. That laugh of his—"
He jabbed a gloved finger at Ren, his words sharpening into venom.
Caerus:
"—that is the expression of a bloodthirsty monster. He threatens with his eyes, he mocks with his tone, as if his fate were his to decide! This trial has proven it beyond doubt—he is not merely dangerous. He is irredeemable."
A ripple of murmurs passed through the gallery, some nobles nodding grimly, others whispering uneasily.
But before the wave of agreement could build, another voice cut through, smooth and iron-clad.
Edric (snapping, his voice slicing the air):
"Ridiculous."
The Duke's boots echoed as he stepped forward, cloak sweeping behind him. He didn't raise his voice further — he didn't need to. Every syllable carried the weight of absolute authority.
Edric:
"You twist even silence into guilt, Caerus. My client has been shackled, humiliated, and paraded like a beast — and yet you quiver at a single look? Tell me..."
His eyes flicked toward Caerus, deliberate, merciless.
Edric:
"Is it Ren who terrifies you... or your own conscience?"
The chamber stirred again, louder this time. Some nobles leaned forward, smirking faintly; others scowled, but their silence spoke louder than their disapproval.
Ren (cutting in, voice low but carrying through the chamber):
"It doesn't matter."
The words halted both Edric and Caerus mid-breath. Every gaze swung back to him. Ren stood shackled, yet unflinching, his eyes fixed forward as if the chains were nothing but decoration.
Ren:
"Whether Lord Caerus trembles at me... or at his own conscience... the only thing I understand in this court... is that I am branded a monster."
Rica's breath caught. She half-rose from her seat, her hand slamming against the table.
Rica, sharp, urgent:
"Ren—stop talking. You'll only make this worse!"
But Ren's voice rolled on, steady, implacable.
Ren:
"To summarize Duke Edric's noble words... I am to become a weapon. A tool to be honed. Something pointed at the kingdom's enemies until the blade chips, dulls, or breaks."
From the gallery, Elly lurched forward, her voice breaking in desperation.
Elly:
"Please... Ren, stop! You don't have to—"
Her plea echoed off the stone walls, but he didn't so much as glance at her. His eyes stayed locked ahead.
Rica, turning to the High Judge, voice rising:
"Your Honor—make him stop! He's condemning himself!"
But Ren's voice rose over hers, cutting through her protest like iron against glass.
Ren:
"Then so be it."
The words slammed into the chamber like a hammer.
Ren, louder, each word sharpened by resolve:
"I'll be your weapon. I'll be the monster you all fear. I'll fight your wars. I'll face your enemies. I'll crush your cult."
He raised his head, his eyes narrowing into a glare that struck even the lofted dais.
Ren, cold, final:
"I'll even fight... Magnus himself."
The name alone sent a ripple of gasps through the court. The air tightened — as though the walls themselves flinched.
And then Ren's gaze shifted — locking, unblinking, on the High Judge.
Ren:
"But don't you dare... involve any member of Stray Dawn."
The silence that followed was suffocating. The nobles who had been shouting moments ago now sat frozen, caught between awe and terror. Even the guards at Ren's side hesitated, hands twitching toward their weapons but unable to move.
Edric's voice cracked across the chamber.
"You're being too rash, Ren! This was never meant to escalate to this point—"
But Caerus cut him off, his temper boiling.
"Enough, Edric! This wretch is not in any position to dictate terms. He cannot compromise, he cannot bargain! He stands accused, and he will stand judged!"
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"Caerus—" Edric tried to interject, but the High Inquisitor's venom poured without pause.
Caerus:
"If he so desires to be a sacrifice,"
Caerus sneered
Caerus:
"To be molded into a human weapon, then why stop him? Why should we resist? Let him be a blade for the realm—let him be the Hero he craves to be!"
His gaze swept across the chamber—lingering on the nobles, on the Royal Family, on every eye locked on him. A cruel smile tugged at his lips.
Caerus:
"Well then, isn't that right, my lords? My ladies? Let him burn in glory if that's the path he chooses."
At last, his piercing eyes turned to the High Judge. "Your Honor, the verdict. Speak it."
The room hushed. All eyes turned toward the great marble dais where the gavel lay.
But it was not the High Judge who spoke.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The gavel struck—not with authority, but like a child hammering nails into wood. Tap-tap-tap-tap.
A soft, sing-song voice echoed through the court, as if delighting in some private game.
"Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty."
The sound danced like broken glass in every ear.
Confusion rippled through the chamber. Heads turned, whispers rose, the nobles stiffened. On the Judge's table, where the gavel now rested, sat someone who had not been there before.
A small figure, legs swinging, lips curled into a mischievous grin. Eyes gleamed with the delight of a child who had just found a new toy.
"Guilty... guilty... guilty..." she repeated, each word dripping with glee.
The entire court froze—paralyzed in fear and disbelief.
Who had just appeared in the heart of justice? And why was her judgment heavier than any decree the High Judge could give?
The gavel echoed unnaturally in the chamber. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Perched on the Judge's table sat a girl dressed in a crisp black butler's uniform, tailored tight to her petite frame. White gloves spotless, polished shoes dangling off the edge like she were a child swinging her legs at recess. A cascade of silky black hair framed her pale face, and her crimson eyes sparkled with mischief—eyes far too old and cruel for someone with such a youthful, girlish smile.
Her presence did not belong here.
The courtroom fell into utter silence.
The nobles, the soldiers, even the Royal Family—all of them were struck dumb, not by her beauty, but by the feeling. A suffocating weight pressed on every chest, as if the air itself had turned to ice. This was no ordinary intruder. She radiated the kind of danger that didn't need to be proven. Everyone knew it, instinctively, in the marrow of their bones.
Ren felt it most of all. His eyes widened, his breath caught. Horror clawed at his heart as he felt her pressure.
Iver and Josh snapped into their battle stances without thinking, their instincts screaming louder than reason.
The guards moved quickly, some closing formation around the Royal Family while others fanned forward, blades raised, shields interlocked.
But the girl—Veyla—only tilted her head curiously, as though confused by the sudden attention. Then, noticing the silence, she smiled wider.
Veyla: "Oh... hi guys. Wow, there's a lot of people here."
She pressed her gloved hands to her cheeks, pretending to blush.
Veyla: "Kyaaah, pressure much? Please, don't stare too much. It's... embarrassing, you know?"
Her voice was sweet, playful, like a schoolgirl teasing a crush. But every word dripped venom.
Caerus finally found his voice, though his face had gone pale.
Caerus: "W-who are you!? Name yourself! How did you get in here!?"
Veyla blinked at him. Then she hopped lightly off the table—no, not yet. She paused, pouting like a child told "no dessert."
Veyla: "Tsk. Booo. You failed the audition."
She wagged a finger at him mockingly.
Veyla: "Not that I expected much to begin with."
And then she stood.
The courtroom gasped.
For as she rose, the bodies slumped. The High Judge and two of his fellow judges—slumped forward in their chairs, their heads severed neatly at the neck. The three heads rolled slowly across the table, leaving smears of dark red. Thick rivulets of blood poured down the polished oak, dripping to the floor in heavy, echoing drops.
The corpses toppled from their seats, collapsing like discarded dolls.
The silence shattered into horrified screams.
Nobles cried out, recoiling in disgust and terror. The acrid stench of fresh blood filled the chamber.
Veyla sighed as though inconvenienced, then tried to step down from the Judge's table. The motion was almost comical—her petite frame dangling awkwardly as she struggled to hop down, like a child too small for the high chair. She landed with a dainty click of polished shoes.
And when she looked up, her smile returned.
Veyla: "Okay... now let's see." She tapped a finger to her lips, feigning thought. "What did I come here for again?"
Her head tilted, eyes narrowing into crescents. Then her lips parted in a grin that stretched too wide.
Veyla: "Ah, yes. That's right. I came here to declare war. On your Kingdom."
Her tone was so cheerful, so playful, so casual—like she was inviting them all to a picnic.
The room froze again. The words hung in the air like a guillotine.
Caerus (furious, sputtering): "HUHHH!!?? What nonsense are you spouting!? You child—you don't even know who you are declaring wa—"
He never finished.
Slice.
His head hit the floor, rolling to a stop at the feet of a horrified noble. His body remained upright for a heartbeat before collapsing in a heap.
The nobles screamed.
Knights surged forward, steel clanging as they charged, shields raised, swords gleaming.
But Veyla didn't flinch. Her crimson eyes turned cold, her playful smile twisting into something sharper, hungrier.
Veyla (flat, icy): "Be quiet. You're too noisy."
The nobles panicked. The chamber erupted into chaos. Women screamed. Men shouted. Robes rustled, jewels clattered, footsteps thundered as the highborn scrambled over one another, desperate to flee.
The guards at the doors tried to hold the surge back, their formation crumbling as sheer panic overtook reason.
Knights closed in on her, encircling her with blades raised.
Veyla spread her arms wide, her chest heaving like she was drunk on the chaos.
Her voice rose, manic, trembling with ecstasy.
Veyla: "Now, everyone... let me hear you scream!"
Her tone was euphoric, trembling with joy.
Veyla: "Scream from fear... from pain... from agony... from despair! Let the war begin!"
She spun on her heel, eyes gleaming. Her gaze fell on the Royal Family.
Veyla (purring): "And there will be nothing of you left."
Her eyes shifted again. To Ren.
It was almost lazy. Like he was an afterthought.
Veyla: "But you..." she tilted her head, lips curling "...we don't need you."
....
Ren didn't even see it.
One heartbeat he was glaring at her, fists clenched. The next—his chest exploded in agony.
Blood spurted from his mouth. His body jerked, staggered, eyes wide in disbelief.
He looked down.
His eyes widened, vision trembling. Wha... what? My heart...?
He staggered, blood blooming down his shirt. When his knees buckled, the world tilted, and through the blur he saw her. Rica. She was running, nearly falling, face twisted with horror.
His gaze blurred, but movement caught him—the figure of Rica breaking through the crowd, her voice cracking.
"Ren!"
Her tears shimmered in the fractured light.
Ren's lips trembled as he tried to form words.
"R-Rica... why... why are you crying? Y-you're... Queen... it doesn't suit you."
He coughed, a warm rush filling his throat, the taste of iron choking him. His knees buckled, but he fought to stay standing, to see just a little longer.
Two more figures pushed forward in the chaos—Elly and Lily. Their faces pale, horror etched into every line as they tried to reach him while Jonax and Marian desperately tries to hold them. Ren weakly lifted a hand, palm outward.
"N-no... don't come here. Please. Don't... don't look at me like this..."
The court dissolved into noise, shouts, and gasps, but to him it was all muffled, like echoes through water. His gaze flickered sideways just in time to see Josh and Iver hurl themselves forward, fury blazing in their eyes as they charged at Veyla, blades raised. For a moment, Ren almost smiled—his brothers, still fighting even when he couldn't.
His vision dimmed, edges blackening. The weight of his body grew too heavy, and he slumped forward, eyes barely keeping hold of the world.
"Oh... I see," he whispered, voice thin as smoke. "I'm... dying... without... fulfilling anything."
His gaze swept once more over them all—Rica's desperate cry, Elly and Lily frozen in despair, Josh and Iver locked in their reckless fury. His heart ached more than the wound.
"I'm sorry... everyone..."
The last word slipped from his lips as the light in his eyes began to fade, swallowed by silence.
violently.
The “monster” they accused him of being? The irony is that the real monster just walked in wearing white gloves.
Because the moment his blood hit that floor, those words became a promise — one his friends are about to make good on.
whether war has begun.
It’s what kind of war this will be.
Because after this… it’s not just nations clashing. It’s ideologies. Loyalties. Love. Revenge.
then Stray Dawn’s about to remind the world what happens when you take the light away from those who once protected it.
“Even if I die, my silence will still echo louder than your crown.”