A royal magistrate stepped forward, his robes whispering against the polished marble floor, voice amplified by a low, resonant spell that caused the chamber to tremble slightly.

  “Akitsu Shouga. Student of Fiester Academy. You stand accused of the following crimes: unlawful infiltration of a noble estate, destruction of property, mass murder of royal guards, violation of sacred containment laws, conspiracy with the Hero Kael Ardent, and actions bordering on rebellion.”

  Murmurs rippled like a tide through the vast hall, bouncing off the towering pillars and ornate stained-glass windows. The air was thick with a mixture of fear, curiosity, and outrage.

  The magistrate turned sharply toward Kael Ardent.

  “Hero Kael Ardent. You are charged with dereliction of duty, misuse of authority, and collaboration in said massacre.”

  Kael’s jaw clenched so tightly the vein in his temple throbbed. His usual composure felt fragile, as if the words themselves threatened to break him. Akitsu, by contrast, remained still, silent, his posture unwavering.

  The magistrate raised a hand, silencing the murmurs. “Before judgment, the Eight Figures shall conduct moral interrogation.”

  The headmaster beneath the red flag leaned forward, the edges of his robes brushing the floor, voice sharp and brittle.

  “You slaughtered trained guards like animals. Do you deny it?”

  Akitsu lifted his head slowly, letting the weight of his gaze fall over the chamber.

  “No.”

  The bluntness reverberated like a stone dropped into water, unsettling the audience. Even Kael flinched.

  The blue flag headmaster’s voice cut through the stunned silence. “Did you consider lawful alternatives?”

  “No.” Akitsu’s reply was as cold and precise as a blade, his tone holding no trace of hesitation.

  The gold flag figure let out a short, contemptuous laugh. “Then you admit guilt without remorse?”

  Akitsu’s eyes flicked upward, briefly catching the light streaming through the high windows.

  “I admit necessity.”

  The word hung in the air, heavy and strange, as if it belonged to a different reality.

  Renjiro’s fists clenched so tightly the knuckles whitened. Kaoru inhaled sharply, almost in pain at the simplicity of the statement.

  The green flag headmaster narrowed his eyes, suspicion and incredulity mixing in their gaze. “You claim necessity. For what?”

  Akitsu’s gaze drifted, almost imperceptibly, toward Kaoru. “To save someone who would have died.”

  The yellow flag headmaster slammed a hand down onto the armrest of their throne, the sound echoing like a gunshot. “So you believe one life outweighs dozens?”

  Akitsu tilted his head slightly, the movement deliberate, measured. “I believe I already lived the outcome where I didn’t act.”

  A thick, tense silence fell over the hall, swallowing whispers and breathing alike.

  The magistrate frowned, staff tapping sharply against the marble. “Explain yourself.”

  Akitsu did not answer immediately. His eyes, dark and deep, seemed to look through the hall, through time itself.

  A cold breeze swept across the chamber, carrying the faintest scent of iron and ozone. From the shadowed columns at the far edges of the hall, two figures began to emerge, subtle yet impossible to ignore—as though they had always been there, merely waiting for the moment to be acknowledged.

  One stood rigid, hands clasped behind their back, wrapped in layered garments that absorbed the light rather than reflecting it. The other leaned casually against a pillar, edges of their form blurred and translucent, a faint, knowing smile tugging at their lips.

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  No announcements were made. No names spoken. Yet the very air seemed to shiver in recognition of their presence.

  Itsuki Shiraishi’s fingers tightened around her cane, ivory knuckles whitening. Her voice, when she spoke, was gentle—almost kindly, but laced with an authority that could still crush mountains.

  “Akitsu Shouga,” she said softly, “how many times have you died?”

  The hall erupted in a chorus of gasps and shocked exclamations.

  “What kind of question is that—” a young magistrate stammered, but the words were swallowed by the tension.

  Akitsu’s breath slowed, his calmness in stark contrast to the chaos around him. “…four.”

  Kaoru’s knees nearly buckled beneath her, the floor itself seeming to shift. Rikuya gasped audibly, and Kael snapped his head toward Akitsu, disbelief and fear warring in his expression.

  The grey flag headmaster whispered under their breath, voice taut with disbelief. “That’s impossible.”

  Itsuki’s eyes gleamed faintly, sharp as winter ice. “And each time,” she continued, “did the outcome differ?”

  Akitsu nodded once, a simple, cold affirmation. “Yes.”

  The pink flag headmaster swallowed hard, the sound hollow in the chamber. “This isn’t testimony. This is madness.”

  From the shadows, one of the higher figures let out a soft, detached chuckle, echoing slightly in the vaulted hall.

  “So he remembers,” the voice murmured. “How nostalgic.”

  The other spoke, voice distant and hollow. “A soul that slips the ledger repeatedly… rare.”

  A pressure, unseen but undeniable, bore down on the chamber, forcing the attendees to bow their heads slightly as if the air itself demanded submission.

  The magistrate slammed his staff down, the sound reverberating off stone and steel. “This trial is hereby—”

  Akitsu laughed. It was quiet, hoarse, broken—but it carried a weight that silenced the hall instantly.

  “I know how this ends,” he said, lifting his head fully, eyes glinting with a strange, dark certainty. “You execute me. The Hero becomes a symbol. The kingdom pretends order was restored.”

  The banners above trembled violently, stirred by a wind no one else could feel.

  “I also know,” he continued softly, voice now carrying the weight of prophecy, “that in three days, the eastern provinces burn.”

  The gold flag headmaster rose abruptly, outrage flaring. “Enough!”

  Itsuki lifted her cane slightly, halting the movement as if it were a command stronger than any law. He froze, unsure, eyes flicking to her.

  She regarded Akitsu not with fear, but with something dangerously close to respect. “This trial,” she said calmly, “is dismissed.”

  The hall erupted into chaos, voices overlapping in confusion and outrage.

  “Dismissed?!”

  “Headmaster Shiraishi, you overstep—”

  “The council will hear—”

  She rose slowly to her full height, the room shrinking in the shadow of her presence. “I have lived long enough,” she said, voice steady, “to know when judgment no longer belongs to us.”

  Her gaze flicked briefly toward the shadowed figures.

  They inclined their heads ever so slightly, a subtle acknowledgment that sent shivers down every spine in the chamber.

  The air seemed to hum with unspoken power. Judgment had left the hall—and in its absence, something far older, far deeper, remained.