When morning came, I was already dressed. Ready.

  The paladins arrived in silence. Not a word between us. Just a few curt nods—and I followed.

  As we descended the winding stair from the temple’s higher halls, I caught a glimpse of Leliana waiting by the archway below. Her face was pale. Her eyes met mine only briefly—then she shook her head.

  Negatively.

  Shit.

  That meant the potion wasn’t there. Eternal Slumber still gripped Manach. No cure. Not from that place.

  I swallowed the thought. Buried it. I’d deal with that later.

  The paladins led me outside. A black carriage was waiting, brass-trimmed and heavily guarded. I climbed in, sat, and waited. The clack of the horses echoed in my ears like a distant drumbeat.

  The ride to the Parliament was slow. Intentional. Ceremonial.

  And as the carriage came to a halt, I heard it before I saw it—the crowd.

  Thousands.

  A sea of bodies pressed together in silence.

  When I stepped out, I saw them—men, women, and even children. Eyes sharp, silent, and hollow. Not a single cheer. Not a single jeer. Just a wall of judgmental stares and unspoken hatred.

  The Coldian. That’s all they saw. A living weapon of the Citadel. A soldier built for obedience and war, now dragged into their sacred courtrooms.

  No chains. No shouts. Only birds above, flapping over a city that held its breath.

  Inside, the Parliament was sterile. Marble floors polished until they gleamed like ice. It smelled of salt and herbs—like someone had tried to scrub away the scent of old politics with chemicals.

  I didn’t get time to admire the architecture.

  A paladin placed a firm hand on my back and led me forward, head bowed, into the Hall of Judgement.

  When I raised my gaze, I saw wealth.

  Ten chancellors, robed in silks of gold and crimson, perched like vultures atop high mahogany stands. Between them stood a tall man in a dark formal hat, dressed all in black with a red velvet necktie. I didn’t know his name, but the way the room bent around his presence told me everything—he was the governor.

  The rest of the chamber was flanked with muscle and power. Guards at every column. Chairs filled with generals, trade magnates, foreign liaisons. Ornate armor, ceremonial capes, and too many smug expressions.

  And then, at the far end of the chamber, a throne that was not a throne.

  A study desk—large, arched, carved from thick mahogany. Padded with green velvet. And seated behind it: a man of age and command.

  Clean-cut. Robed in judicial black. Stern eyes behind gold-rimmed lenses.

  The Judge.

  I was led to a raised pedestal in the room’s center. Surrounded by elevated stands, I was the eye in their storm. My back was to the audience. My eyes faced only judgment.

  And there, a few feet before me, stood Liam.

  He looked like hell. Bags under his eyes, hands trembling slightly, his breathing shallow. Good.

  One of the chancellors cleared his throat.

  “Now that the Coldian is here,” he said with thinly veiled distaste, “we may begin.” He turned toward the Judge.

  The Judge rose to his feet with slow, measured grace.

  “My name is Albart Hushfather. I will be the Judge of this court.” His voice was deep, clear. Unshakable. “Will the prosecutor identify himself, followed by the defendant?”

  Liam spoke, voice cracking.

  “My name is Liam Anckeryouth. I am the prosecutor.”

  I didn’t flinch.

  “My name is Koch. I am the defendant.” My voice was cold. Flat.

  “The charges?” the Judge asked, formal as a blade.

  Liam took a breath and listed them.

  “Murder. Destruction of property. Unrest. Psychological trauma. Theft. Arson.”

  Quite the list.

  He tried to meet my gaze—but couldn’t.

  “Will the Coldian state how he pleads?” the Judge continued, calm but firm.

  “Not guilty.”

  Still I stood. Still I waited.

  My moment would come.

  And when it did, the truth would tear the veil from this city’s sanctimony—one thread at a time.

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  “Then let the court begin,” Judge Hushfather declared, voice ringing like steel across the chamber.

  But Liam raised a hand.

  “Before the trial proceeds, Your Honor—there’s an issue.”

  I turned toward him, already sensing the poison on his tongue.

  “The Coldian cannot represent himself,” Liam said, grinning like a man who’d been saving this arrow for the right moment. “By Order Two of the Parliament Book of Orders, no Coldian on the soil of Lampis may act in political arguments, be they national or judicial.”

  That hit like a punch.

  “What?” I muttered aloud, too stunned to filter it.

  “You’re not permitted to speak for yourself,” Liam continued, basking in it. “Or to mount a defense. If someone chooses to represent you from within this room, we proceed. If not, I’ll read my charges and submit my evidence all the same.”

  “The Order stands,” Hushfather said coldly.

  What the fuck is this?

  I turned to the gathered crowd—nobles and chancellors, soldiers and merchants, none of whom had reason to lift a finger for me.

  “I have—” I tried.

  “By Order Two, you are to remain silent,” the Judge interrupted with finality. “Speak again and this trial will be concluded with judgment passed immediately.”

  That was it. I was shackled by law, my throat closed by a rule I’d never even heard of.

  And Liam—godsdamn him—he knew. He waited for this. He counted on this.

  He began his prosecution, reeling off the charges. Murder. Arson. Theft. Trauma. All of it.

  And he wasn’t lying.

  I had done those things. I had destroyed the mansion. I had killed.

  But they weren’t crimes. They were war.

  Still, it didn’t matter now. I was voiceless. I was done.

  “I rest my case,” Liam said, confident, righteous.

  Judge Hushfather prepared to rise, likely to pass sentence—

  Then the chamber doors creaked open.

  The sound was barely audible. But in the silence that had swallowed the hall, it might as well have been a thunderclap.

  Every head turned.

  And there she was.

  White cloak. White hood. White dress. Radiant like a blade drawn in moonlight.

  Nauenna.

  What in the name of every frozen god was she doing here?

  Liam recoiled, spitting venom. “What is the meaning of this?”

  She didn’t even look at him.

  “My name is Nauenna Elendrinn,” she said calmly. “I am a High Elf of Aluvaan. I will speak for the defendant.”

  Her smile was like frost on steel. Beautiful. Cold. Unshakable.

  “You are not allowed—” Liam hissed.

  “But I am,” she said, cutting through him like a blade through paper. “Order Two applies to Coldians. I am not one.”

  The room was dead silent.

  Every eye turned to the judge.

  “The Order is clear,” Judge Hushfather said, with a nod. “You may proceed.”

  I nearly staggered backward. What was happening?

  Nauenna stepped into the circle of judgment like she had always belonged there.

  “I have another matter for this court,” she said with elegance and deadly intent. “May I present it?”

  “You may,” said the Judge, clearly too tired to protest.

  “After I defend Koch,” she continued, “I bring a prosecution. In his name. Against Liam Anckeryouth. On the charge of treason.”

  The silence was now absolute.

  I swear, I could hear the sunlight humming outside.

  Liam paled. He didn’t speak.

  “Continue,” the Judge said.

  Nauenna didn’t waste a heartbeat.

  “Yes, Koch did everything Liam said. He killed. He burned. He stole. But he did so under the authority of the Sheer Cold. Specifically, under the Champion of the Sheer Cold—Laach.” She turned and pointed directly at Liam. “And his mission was to pursue a traitor to the Empire.”

  “Evidence?” the Judge asked, weary but attentive.

  Nauenna reached inside her robe and drew forth something.

  My stamp.

  My personal seal, granted by Laach himself.

  How the hell had she gotten it? When? Why?

  She handed it to the Judge like she was passing divine truth into his hands.

  Hushfather examined it, then nodded. “Valid.”

  “And your charge?”

  “Liam Anckeryouth is a traitor to the Empire. He has conspired with the Canu mercenary organization, a hostile force based in the East. In return, he receives alchemical components, gold, and influence.”

  Her voice struck like lightning. Each word reverberated like a strike of a gavel.

  Nobody dared interrupt her.

  “Evidence?”

  She turned to me, stepping closer.

  “If I may?” she asked.

  I was stunned. Still halfway between disbelief and admiration.

  I nodded.

  She took the book from my satchel. The ledger. The record of Liam’s sins. And she handed it to the Judge.

  Ten minutes passed.

  Silence ruled the court as the chancellors and Judge leafed through the pages. Words scratched against parchment. Breaths held.

  And when they looked up again, I could see it.

  Everything had changed.

  The Judge rose, robes brushing against the marble floor like the rustle of old parchment.

  “I will now make a decision,” he said. Flat. Exhausted. As if the weight of centuries had just dropped onto his shoulders.

  Before he could continue, Nauenna glanced at me. A wink. Just that.

  And something fluttered deep in my gut—sharp and sudden, like the stir of wings in a cage. Magic, maybe. Or madness. But it cut through my ribs like sunlight through cold mist.

  “On the matter of the prosecution—Liam Anckeryouth versus Koch,” Judge Hushfather announced, voice echoing off the stone walls. “The evidence is clear. My verdict is final.”

  He paused, then spoke words that cracked the silence like thunder.

  “Koch. Is not guilty.”

  No cheers. No gasps. Just an absolute, consuming silence.

  “On the matter of the counter-prosecution—Koch versus Liam Anckeryouth, under charges of treason...” The Judge’s tone hardened like forged iron. “The evidence is clear. My decision is final.”

  He locked eyes with Liam across the chamber.

  “Liam. Is guilty.”

  A ripple. But still, no sound. Just the hum of breath and the slow turn of fate.

  “However,” Hushfather continued, “we of Lampis, by rule of Imperial Law, do not hold the power to judge treason. That authority belongs to the Citadel.”

  He straightened, clearing his throat with finality.

  “Liam Anckeryouth is to be placed under armed guard and transported by ship, under Coldian escort beyond these walls. He will be delivered to the Citadel... for further investigation.”

  He stepped down, turned, and walked away—his robes trailing behind like the ending of an era.

  Then Liam erupted.

  “You can’t do this!” he shrieked, voice cracking, panicked. “You can’t do this!”

  But nobody moved for him. Not even the chancellors—his allies, his puppets. They stood there, hands clasped, gazes downcast. Cold.

  “You would condemn me for a Coldian?” he barked, red-faced, spit flying. “You’re all pathetic! Weak! Scum, all of you! One day they’ll burn your cities for fun!.”

  It took his own guards to seize him. He thrashed as they dragged him out, shouting oaths and curses until he vanished through the great archway.

  That was the last I ever saw of Liam Anckeryouth.

  What happens to him after—well, that’s something I’ll never know. He and the book would be delivered to the Citadel. That meant interrogation. Torture. Maybe a quiet execution. Either way, he would not be coming back.

  I wondered briefly how Leliana would take it. She loved him, in some shape or form. That bond was broken now—shattered, swept away like ash on cold wind.

  The chamber began to empty. Robes shuffled. Armor clinked. Whispers broke out like cracks in stone.

  Two paladins approached me, silent and grim.

  “We’ve been ordered to escort you back,” one said. “Do you accept?”

  “Yes,” I muttered. My voice sounded strange to me—dry, rough. Used for the first time in some time.

  Then I turned—searching. Scanning the marble and silk, the shadowed doorways and high balconies.

  “Where is Nauenna?” I asked, low and sharp. I felt the chill of her absence like a missing weapon.

  “She’s already gone,” the paladin said, as if it had been obvious. “But she asked us to give you this.”

  He handed me two things.

  My stamp.

  And a letter.