Premier Judge in a Fantasy World
Premier Judge in a Fantasy World
The High Court of Aetherra hummed with restrained whispers. The white stone walls reflected the cold light of magical lamps, and above the entrance, the anti-magic barrier crackled faintly—it was particularly sensitive today. Correspondents were already seated in the press gallery, clean protocol sheets lay at the clerk's desk, and the air hung heavy with the scent of paper, ink, and the subtle aroma of wax.
To the left, at the defense table, stood Lirnael Ilmiran—as straight as a blade in a navy suit with a crimson tie. Her glasses glinted, her blue eyes never straying from her folder. To the right, lounging in his chair with lazy grace, Aelariion Talinor was inspecting his gloves. His burgundy suit with its fur collar seemed ostentatiously luxurious amidst the austere surroundings.
— Lirnael, my dear, you are especially tense today. Surely you aren't afraid that your exiled client might turn out to be... innocent again? — he drew out the last word with a syrupy smirk. — Though, of course, defending an elf seen near the Queen Elden's palace... That is so very your style. Faith in the best until the very last breath.
She didn't even look up.
— And you, Aelariion, are confusing an accusation with evidence, as always. So far, you have nothing but words and a stamped piece of paper. The defense witnesses have already testified: the defendant was in the elven quarter. The neighbors will confirm it.
— Elven neighbors? — he raised an eyebrow slightly. — How touching. One's own looking out for their own.
— It is called an alibi. You should try it sometime.
Off to the side, at the desk cluttered with papers, Nika—a red-haired beastkin with a bushy tail—was muttering quietly to herself while sorting through sheets:
— ...and why are the sessions always right before lunch? Auntie Martha's apple pie will be cold by then... Once I'm done—straight to the pie. Or pie first, then the report? No, report. Then pie. Definitely.
A side door creaked open. Two guards ushered in the defendant—a gaunt elf in a tattered cloak, his eyes wide with dread. He stopped at his designated spot, his fingers clenched tight.
The clerk approached your table and placed a thick case file before you. Aelariion instantly straightened, adjusted his glove, and sat up tall. Lirnael closed her folder and looked up.
— The defense is ready.
— The prosecution is ready. — He smiled with only his lips. — And feeling quite determined.
Nika raised a hand, clutching a pen, and nodded.
— The correspondent is ready! All witnesses questioned, all evidence described. Well, almost all. Just need to... um... clarify a few details.
The hall fell silent. The six judges of the various races seated at the long table turned their heads toward you. The clerk hovered their pen over the protocol. Aelariion had already opened his mouth to begin, but he held his breath, waiting for your word.
The anti-magic barrier hummed softly. All eyes were fixed upon the judicial bench. The session has begun.