Taking five steps forward, Sokram stood at the edge of the proscenium, not daring to step on it.
Behind him, his family occupied the front seats in the right row, while Count Steelheart and Sandra sat to their left.
Lucien, looking at Sokram, pointed at the Steelhearts and posed a question, “This is a dispute between noble houses. You, Sokram, the heir of two noble titles and a great legacy of heroes of Norwinter, stand here accused of murder by the Steelheart family. What do you say in your defense?”
“Not guilty, Your Highness,” Sokram showed no hesitation in his tone.
Accustod to disputes between nobles, as it was a common occurrence in his court, Lucien nodded, now more standoffish.
“Do you have any counter-accusations against the Steelheart family?”
Sokram’s tone remained firm and sincere, “Yes, Your Highness. I believe they have been conspiring to commit treason against Eversnow and Norwinter. And I also have evidence that they plan to overthrow you, Your Highness.”
Chatter exploded in the room.
Marcel surged to his feet, enraged, “You dare?! How can you accuse my noble family of sothing like that without any proof? We have always been loyal to Norwinter and all of its people!”
“Silence!” Lucien demanded.
The hall quieted before he turned back to Sokram.
“This accusation is very grave, Sokram. Do you understand the seriousness of this issue?”
“I do, Your Highness.” Sokram nodded confidently.
The lack of hesitation he showed unnerved the Steelhearts imnsely.
“Slanderer! What has my Steelheart family ever done to you? You murdered my sons, and now you try to piss on our na?!”
Marcel’s face contorted, a mask of outrage.
He jabbed a trembling finger at Sokram, as his voice, raw with rage and indignation, echoed through the hall.
Beside him, Sandra’s fingers tightened around her skirts.
Her eyes flicked across the room, asuring the fallout of his performance.
A low hum of murmurs began to ripple through the spectators, like bees disturbed from a hive, their gazes shifting between the furious Count and the calm Sokram.
So thought he’d lost his mind.
Everyone knew the royal family favored the Steelhearts.
So even thought that his fa had gone to his head.
But those who knew his accusations weren’t empty words remained quietly, waiting for the show to start.
“Silence!” Lucien’s sharp voice cut through the hall again.
This ti, he turned to Count Steelheart, ordering, “Don’t speak out of turn again, Marcel, or I will order your imprisonnt and let your daughter defend your family instead.”
“But Your Highness…” Marcel still tried to argue, but Lucien swiftly cut him off.
“I have spoken! Be quiet and await your turn!” Lucien’s tone left no room for argunt.
Marcel could only nod and sit back.
Once the room was silent again, Lucien took out a dagger made of pure Mithril and embedded with a crimson gem on its hilt.
The King offered the dagger to Sokram, his piercing gaze locking with Sokram’s, a silent warning in its depths.
“Since you know the weight of your words, can you back them with your life?”
“Yes, Your Highness! I, the future head of my three families, have never been afraid of telling the truth.”
Sokram nodded, not daring to step on the proscenium, and extended his hand toward the dagger.
When Lucien felt the light tug of Force, he released his grip on it, and the dagger floated to Sokram’s hand.
With the dagger in hand, Sokram cut his palm, and with a solemn expression, a clear voice, an earnest tone, and his blood dripping over the carpeted floor as he declared:
“By my heart, blood, and power, I, Sokram di Dracony vid Dracnakrid, before all present here, swear that all the words I’ll speak during this trial are truthful and all the evidence I’ll present is untampered with. With Nhiria as the judge of my fate, if she finds any fault in my words and the evidence I’ll present, may the void swallow whole so I’ll never be born again.”
A hush settled over the hall, and the crowd watched with quiet anticipation, so impressed by Sokram’s composure, others trying to find faults or loopholes in his carefully chosen words.
Yet, when the dagger’s crimson gemstone pulsed with a deep, blood-red glow that seed to expand, filling the space around it, the silence wasn’t just exterior anymore; even their minds went blank.
With a soft, almost imperceptible hum, it lifted from his palm, rising steadily, as if guided by an unseen hand.
It ca to rest, hovering perfectly still in the air between the King and Sokram, its crimson eye now fixed on the proceedings, a silent, unblinking sentinel.
Nhiria’s watchful gaze was now over them.
Nhiria accepted Sokram’s Oath, and she was now the judge of his truth.
“It seems our beloved guardian has taken an interest in you, Sokram. Very rarely does an oath trigger such a reaction.”
Lucien praised, his sincerity, astonishnt, and curiosity clear in his eyes, as he watched the floating dagger as if looking at Nhiria herself.
The King’s words rippled through the crowd, and murmurs and whispers spread like waves.
Turning back to Sokram, Lucien asked with a firm yet gentle tone, “Alright, you may present your argunts for your defense and accusation.”
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Sokram nodded respectfully but asked, “Your Highness, instead of speaking, wouldn’t it be better if I showed you?”
“Show?” Lucien looked at him, his brows furrowed in confusion.
“Your Highness will understand, may I?” Sokram finally flashed his confident grin.
“Do what you must.” Lucien shrugged, and leaning back on his throne, he watched Sokram move with great curiosity.
The first thing Sokram did was take the blood ink he had prepared and draw an array on the floor; then he also took out five moonstones and inscribed a few runes on them.
Once he cast the spell to create the runestones, the energy around the hall rushed into the moonstones, seeping into their core.
They quickly beca azure but didn’t stop there, turning erald.
The crowd once again exploded in chatter, “Erald Runestones!”
“He’s just thirteen and is already a Runemaster?!”
“Impossible!”
Words of astonishnt and disbelief echoed across the hall at the display of Magi that Sokram was performing.
Too focused to be bothered by the crowd's reaction, Sokram proceeded unbothered as he placed the runestones in the array, each of them in specific positions.
Eyes followed his every move, brows knit in concentration, breaths held tight as the array took form.
Yet, very few could read through his spell.
Then, turning to Hannah, his gaze t hers with a knowing look: “Nana, the crystals, please.”
Hannah stood up and walked toward the center of the array, not taking any chances with letting the recording crystal be destroyed.
“In the center, right?”
“Yes, please.” Sokram nodded.
As soon as she placed the crystal in the center of the array, Sokram cast, extending his hand toward it, unnecessarily invoking the spell aloud, “Sensory Image Display!”
“Show off!” Leona teased, causing Sokram's close ones to stifle their giggles, and then joked, “Your naming sense is horrible, though.”
Sokram only chuckled, hearing his Master mocking him like that.
The recording crystal floated and began rotating.
Slowly at first, but soon it was spinning so fast that it beca spherical to the untrained eye.
The runes flared up, shooting lights toward the spinning crystal, and the hall had transford into a road surrounded by a thick forest of pine trees and falling snow.
But it wasn’t just images; the hall appeared to have dissolved, replaced by the biting cold that seeped into their bones.
A collective shiver went through the crowd as the scent of pine needles and damp earth filled the air.
They heard the muffled crunch of snow under heavy hooves, felt the almost imperceptible sting of frozen flakes against their skin, and saw their breath’s vapor in the frigid air as Sokram and his team rode in contemplative silence.
The King looked at the floating dagger, which had remained still, without any reaction to Sokram’s spell.
But when Marcel understood what Sokram was about to show, he lunged to his feet, his sharp voice cutting through the silence, “These theatrics are the evidence? How can any of us believe this is truly a recording…”
In the next second, the floating dagger glowed and crackled with red lightning that snaked its way, shooting toward Marcel.
The loud clap of thunder silenced everyone; the crimson lightning pushed Marcel back to his seat, paralyzing him completely.
More authoritative than the King’s order was Nhiria’s will.
It was as if they all heard her voice in the thundering sound of the lightning:
“You will not interrupt again!”
“Nhiria has spoken, the recording is real.” Lucien stood up, looking around briefly at the silent room.
Seeing the understanding dawning on everyone present, his gaze turned to Sokram: “Can you pause it?”
Without uttering a single word, the recording paused completely.
It was as if ti had stopped.
The falling snowflakes froze in the air, the warm breath coming out of the mounts' and Sokram’s team's mouths.
The King looked around, impressed, and nodded approvingly at Sokram. “Amazing runic magic, Sokram. Where did you learn it?”
“I created this spell, Your Highness,” Sokram admitted humbly.
And the crowd, seeing that the dagger didn’t even flinch, erupted in chatter again.
Lucien nodded, feigning indifference, though his twitching fingers betrayed fascination as he tried to mask his real feelings, as he was as astonished as everyone else.
He extended a hand toward the image of Periklis and could feel its feathers.
Then, he extended his senses and could even sense the Tiers of Sokram and his teammates.
But Sokram’s spell revealed only the truth.
Sensing the difference between the Tier 9 Sokram displayed in the recording and the Tier 5 shown by the real Sokram in front of him, he smiled knowingly.
It wasn’t just the King who noticed the discrepancy.
Many among the crowd sensed that as well, and Sandra was one of them: “Your Highness, there is clearly sothing wrong with this recording. How can he, a Tier 5, appear to be a Tier 9 in the image displayed?”
Many in the crowd nodded and whispered in agreent with her words.
Lucien looked at Sokram's bracelet and flashed him an authoritative look, “You know it’s impolite to hide your true strength in front of your King, right?”
The King's words stunned the crowd; they all understood his aning, but how could it be possible?
Yet, Sokram’s words shocked the crowd even more.
“I apologize, Your Highness. My family worries a lot, so I’ve been hiding my power not to cause them too much unrest.”
Sokram reached for the bracelet, removing it.
After storing it back into his glove, he continued, “But as you can see, I’ve been lucky enough to advance again in the period between the day of that recording and today.”
Everyone was shocked, completely stunned, especially the heads of the founding families.
His family, on the other hand, shot worried looks around, not hiding their anxiety.
Hilda started fidgeting with the sleeves of her dress while Miralyn held her other hand.
Margiory and Brunhild avoided looking around despite many of the heads of the founding families trying to get their attention.
Even Sokram’s teammates were questioned about why they didn’t inform their families about it.
All they answered was, “The contract.”
The King’s voice sounded again, silencing the crowd once more and drawing their attention back to the proscenium, a hint of approval in its undertone, “I see, congratulations. But you don’t seem to agree with their worries, hm?”
Lucien smiled knowingly at Sokram and went back to his seat.
Once seated, his gaze t Sandra's shocked one, “Does this explain your doubts, Lady Steelheart?”
“Yes, Your Highness. I apologize for speaking out of turn.”
Sandra lowered her head, her knuckles whitening as her fists tightened, resting over her tights, her gaze lost in disbelief, staring fixedly at the red carpet.
Lucien turned back to Sokram and commanded, “You may proceed.”
Sokram nodded, and the recording started playing again.
At that mont in the recording, Sokram started looking around.
The crowd could feel his worry, his anxiety etched on his face; so ferals could even sll his fear for his team at that mont.
Those above the True Existence Level could clearly see what he had spotted and knew precisely what he was looking for: The two Steelheart brothers and their eight guards, who were veiled below a masterful concealing spell as they hid among the pine trees.
Sokram’s shout for his teammates to run drew the crowd's gaze back to his recorded self; his teammates' despair when their mounts departed showed how strong their bond was.
While each of them, watching among the crowd, showed conflicted expressions, rembering those monts of despair.
So of the won in the crowd were watching the emotionally charged scene, overly invested. And were so moved they couldn't contain themselves as audible gasps and sighs escaped their lips.
“Why weren’t they able to jump from their mounts?” The King's voice calmly sounded.
Sokram paused the recording, and his answer ca loud and clear. So no one would take his teammates for cowards: “I snuck so runestones in their saddles when they were sleeping. I knew they wouldn’t run had I allowed them to choose. They are true warriors of the north and would never leave a comrade behind.”
“So you knew you could be ambushed?” Lucien questioned, unsurprised, studying Sokram carefully with a very analytical gaze.
“Yes, I was expecting sothing like that to happen. But to show why, I’ll need to start another recording and show the beginning of what is recorded in this crystal.”
Sokram explained, unbothered by the King’s prying gaze.
“Then do it after this one. You may proceed,” Lucien nodded, not hiding his excitent about this new experience of seeing past events with so much clarity and feeling as if he were there.
The recording went on, and the room felt silent after Aaron’s hate speech and confessions.
When the King heard Aaron’s shouting, “When my father becos King…” The air felt chilly, and Sokram had to pause the recording again; the King's mana, leaking along his killing intent, was interfering with the recording.
Seeing the recording had stopped, the King snapped out of his murderous daze.
“Your Highness, your mana was…” But Lucien raised a hand for him to stop and motioned for him to continue.
His gaze didn’t move to Aaron; instead, his gaze was locked on Marcel, who, despite being paralyzed, a vein throbbed at his temple, his paralyzed fingers twitching against the chair’s arm, watching his late son's stupidity ruin with a few words what took him close to a century to build.
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