The day had finally arrived. The entire royal court gathered in the open square, under the watchful eyes of the people. There were no marble chambers or velvet curtains to hide behind. Only cold stone underfoot, a dull grey sky overhead, and hundreds of civilians standing close enough to hear every word.
The witches were present as well. They stood at the edge of the crowd, neither fully apart nor completely together. Citizens kept their distance, watching them cautiously.
At the center of the raised platform, two chairs faced each other across a long wooden table.
King Thaddeus sat in one of them. His posture was rigid, and his hands rested firmly on the lion-carved arms of his chair, as if he held the full control of the kingdom in his grip.
Across from him sat Crown Prince Kairan. His feet did not fully reach the floor, but he remained composed. His chin was lifted, and his narrowed eyes moved across the crowd, observing everything.
Murmurs rose and fell among the civilians as their attention shifted between father and son.
To the king's left sat the Eleven Dukes, their coats embroidered with their house colors and their rings glinting in the pale daylight. One chair remained empty. It had belonged to the Duke of Ferendia before Cyrion had taken over.
To the king's right sat the two leaders of Valkathra's military forces.
Lord Marshal Gavriel Thorne commanded the border armies and was known for planning campaigns long before the first battle began.
Warden-General Myros Talek supervised internal patrols and maintained order within the cities.
Behind the king sat the Royal Advisor. The elderly man had ink-stained fingers and a quiet expression. His spectacles rested low on his nose as his eyes stayed fixed on the papers in his hand.
Beside Warden Talek sat the High Sanctifier in pristine silver-blue robes. Though under pressure for days, he held himself with visible pride.
The civilians pressed against the guard line. Some glared openly, while others whispered prayers, hoping the meeting would not end in violence.
When the great clock struck twice, the sound carried across the square.
King Thaddeus spoke as soon as the second chime faded.
"This council is called to order. There will be no secrecy. Everything said here will be heard by the people."
His gaze moved across nobles, soldiers, and citizens before settling on the Temple's representatives.
"Explain what happened at the borders."
The High Sanctifier prepared to answer, hands on armrest, standing up but Davian rose from his seat beside the Dukes before he could speak.
"Before we proceed," Davian met king's eyes confidenly, "there is someone missing from this council."
A ripple of curiosity moved through the crowd.
The King frowned,eyes scanning the table once again but finding none missing. "Who?"
"The High Lunarch."
The square fell quiet at once.
The Sanctifier's expression tightened, though he quickly controlled it.
"He does not hold authority within this council," the Sanctifier replied very calmly, forcing a smile on his face. "He has distanced himself from Temple affairs and refuses to attend formal meetings. His presence would only complicate matters."
Davian did not shift his gaze from the King.
"His absence is precisely why the people trust him," he said calmly.
The reaction from the crowd was immediate. Several voices called out in agreement, and murmurs of support spread across the square.
Davian looked at the people, then back at the king. His eyes said what he did not. 'You see it?'
He raised his hand, pointing at the crowd. "The people no longer trust the Temple. Many of them do not fully trust this court either. However, they trust him because he does not hide behind closed doors. He listens and questions. He has openly shown his dislike towards temple's decisions."
King Thaddeus studied both Davian and the restless crowd. He wanted the crowd to not go into chaos especially from witches' side. He needed anything that would ground people and make them feel secure, even if it was Tiberius.
After a brief pause, he gave a slight nod.
"Send for High Lunarch Tiberius."
A surge of approval rose from the civilians.
The Sanctifier's jaw tightened noticeably.
His dislike for Tiberius was no secret. Tiberius operated independently, resisted Temple control, and rarely bowed to political pressure. That independence earned him loyalty among the people and made him difficult for the Temple to manage.
Summons were sent for the him, and until his arrival the council table remained quiet. The only sound in the square was the low murmur of the crowd and the shifting of boots against stone.
When Tiberius finally appeared, the reaction was immediate.
He walked through the guarded path without haste, his dirty blonde hair tied back neatly and a dark robe falling straight around him. He did not wave or acknowledge the noise, yet the volume rose anyway. People called his name. He was not loved, but he was known for one thing. He did not bend easily.
Tiberius climbed the platform slowly. He moved directly to the empty seat opposite the High Sanctifier and sat down. He crossed one leg over the other and adjusted the front of his robe calmly as if this were an ordinary gathering.
The Sanctifier's jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists beneath the table.
King Thaddeus cleared his throat, and the square gradually fell quiet.
"Now we begin," the King said, leaning back into his chair. "High Sanctifier, you will present your report on the Northern Temple."
The Sanctifier rose to his feet. He smoothed the front of his silver-blue robes before speaking. His voice was loud and even, though his eyes flickered briefly toward the witches gathered beyond the guards.
"Your Majesty, the Temple conducted an investigation at the Northern site. It is true that witches were detained there. The detentions were carried out due to rising instability along the border. We had reports of unauthorized magical gatherings near defensive points."
A few witches stiffened, but they remained silent.
"Their magic was restricted as a precautionary measure," the Sanctifier continued. "There were concerns about possible coordination with external threats. The situation required swift containment."
A low murmur moved through the civilians. Some looked uneasy. Others nodded, as if the explanation sounded reasonable enough.
Tiberius let out a quiet cough.
"High Sanctifier," he shook his head, rolling tongue inside cheek, "you are leaving out important details."
The Sanctifier's eyes snapped toward him. "I have not finished."
"Then finish properly," Tiberius tilted his head, scoffing.
The King's gaze shifted between them. "Lunarch, you will speak when called upon."
Tiberius inclined his head slightly but did not look apologetic.
The Sanctifier continued, though his composure had tightened. "There were irregularities in record keeping at the Northern Temple. We are reviewing them internally. Any excess will be corrected."
"That is vague," Davian said calmly from his seat, eyes on report in front of him. "How many were detained?"
The Sanctifier hesitated a moment. "One hundred and twelve."
This time, the witches reacted with visible anger rather than shouting. Several of them clenched their fists, and one woman covered her mouth in shock. The guards shifted uneasily at the change in atmosphere.
"And how many remain detained?" Davian pressed.
"Thirty-six," the Sanctifier answered.
Tiberius leaned forward slightly. "That is not accurate."
The Sanctifier's patience thinned. "You were not part of the official inquiry."
"I conducted my own," Tiberius said.
That drew attention.
The Sanctifier straightened sharply. "Who authorized that?"
"No one," Tiberius shrugged calmly. "When the Crown receives incomplete reports, someone must verify them."
"You had no authority to interfere in Temple jurisdiction," the Sanctifier voice rose.
The Royal Advisor lifted a hand gently. "We will maintain order."
The old man looked at the Sanctifier. "If your investigation was thorough, then there should be no concern about additional verification."
The Sanctifier's lips pressed thin, but he sat down.
King Thaddeus turned toward Tiberius. "You claim your findings differ. Speak clearly."
Tiberius stood this time. He placed both hands on the table. For the first time, he looked toward the witches gathered beyond the guards. Many of them were watching him with tense expressions.
"The magic of those detained was not merely restricted," he said. "It was extracted."
The square grew quiet in a way that felt ominous, like death.
He continued, voice getting more serious. "Magic for witches is not an external tool. It is part of their physical system. Removing it causes severe physical consequences."
"They experienced tremors, nosebleedd, muscle spasms, fainting spells. Several could not regulate their body temperature. More than two hundred died."
A sharp breath moved through the crowd. The civilians shifted back slightly. Even some dukes looked unsettled.
The Sanctifier shot to his feet. "These are accusations without proof."
Tiberius did not raise his voice. "The cells had no insulation. It was below freezing. They were given minimal food. No proper medical care."
"That is false," the Sanctifier snapped.
General Talek frowned deeply. "If deaths occurred under custody, that must be verified."
Tiberius nodded. "It can be. I did not go alone."
The Duke of Irsulan leaned forward. "You expect us to believe this without evidence?"
Tiberius glanced at him with faint irritation. "Do you truly think I would stand here without proof?"
Thaddeus spoke firmly. "Who accompanied you?"
"Three Temple officers," Tiberius replied. "They are sworn to the Crown, not to me or to the Sanctifier."
The Sanctifier's face went pale for a brief moment before hardening again.
"Where are they?" the King asked.
Tiberius turned slightly toward the crowd.
"They are present."
The crowd shifted under his gaze, anticipation replacing noise. The witches stood straighter now, but they did not shout.
The Sanctifier's fingers trembled slightly where they rested against the table, though he quickly hid it by folding his hands.
"This better not be a staged spectacle," he muttered.
Tiberius looked back at him. "If your hands are clean, you have nothing to fear."
Three men stepped out from the gathered crowd and made their way toward the platform. They climbed the steps quietly and stopped behind the High Lunarch.
The High Sanctifier recognized them at once. They were palace mages, sworn directly to the Crown.
Thaddeus studied their faces carefully. He knew them as well. "Speak," he ordered.
The first mage bowed his head. His hands were tight at his sides.
"Your Majesty, what we witnessed at the Northern Temple was far worse than the official records suggested."
The crowd leaned forward.
"The detainees were not treated as citizens under investigation," the mage continued. "They were treated as prisoners without rights. There were elderly women left without care. There were mothers who had lost their unborn children during confinement. There were children so deeply traumatized they could not speak."
A low, broken sound rose from the witches' side of the square.
The second mage stepped forward. "The cells were unheated despite freezing weather. Medical attention was withheld in several cases. More than hundred confirmed deaths occurred under custody."
The third mage added quietly, "These findings are documented. We submitted the evidence directly to the Crown."
Silence followed.
Then it shattered.
The witches erupted in anger.
Raw cries rose into the air. Some pushed against the guard lines. Others raised their hands instinctively, magic flickering faintly around their fingers. The civilians stumbled backward in panic. Guards shouted for order.
"Control them!" someone yelled.
Temple mages moved quickly, forming a barrier between the witches and the platform. The air crackled with restrained energy.
"Enough!" Thaddeus roared, rising from his seat.
But rage does not always obey commands.
One man broke from the witches' side. He slipped past the distracted guards and rushed toward the platform. His eyes were wild with grief. His hands lifted, magic gathering around his palms.
He reached the steps.
Before he could release anything, Prince moved.
He rose from his chair without hesitation and crossed the platform in swift strides. He caught the man's wrist mid motion.
The contact was immediate.
The man froze.
His eyes widened in shock. The glow in his hands vanished as quickly as it had formed. His body stiffened, and a strangled cry tore from his throat. The color drained from his face, turning pale and faintly bluish as though the air itself had abandoned him.
He collapsed to his knees, trembling.
The entire square went silent.
Kairan stood over him, still gripping his wrist. His expression did not change. His green eyes were calm.
The man gasped weakly, as though something inside him had been pulled thin and stretched too far.
Kairan released him. Kairan had inward-facing mana. He could absorb anyone's magic but at cost nobody cared to investigate.
The man fell forward onto his hands, breathing hard but alive.
The Prince turned slowly toward the witches.
"Enough," Kairan said, his voice was not loud yet it carried across the crowd. "If anyone raises magic in this assembly again, I will not stop at restraint."
The warning was clear.
His gaze swept over them without fear. "You came here to demand justice. Do not turn this into proof of their fears."
The witches stood rigid. Anger still burned in their eyes, but none moved.
Behind them, civilians watched in stunned silence.