As he stepped into the courtroom, he was greeted by stares of disgust and fear — as if snakes were watching a white eagle enter their den.
Ahead of him stood the judge's stand, raised high above the rest of the chamber. There sat the judge, her black eyes narrowing onto him. Her long, dark hair draped down the sides of her stern face, and in one hand she held a ceremonial hammer. She wore a flowing black tunic with wide sleeves, the fabric almost swallowing the seat around her.
To the right of the stand, slightly lower in elevation, sat a woman with silvery-white, wild hair and wolf ears — her pale gray eyes locked onto Solas with quiet interest.
Both the high and lower stands were carved from polished brown wood, rich in tone and gleaming beneath the colored light filtering in. The main judge's stand bore the symbol of the Serpent coiled around a tower — an unmistakable emblem of this kingdom's law and order.
On the left side of the room sat the council — robed figures in silver and black, each seated behind a long arc-shaped desk, their eyes watching intently, silently.
In front of them sat a large bar table, but only one person occupied it: a short, white-haired elf with deep crimson eyes and thin glasses. She leafed through documents with composed precision. The size of the table made her solitude stand out, as if the others meant to be there had chosen not to show.
To the right side of the courtroom, positioned before the judge's stand beyond a low fence, stood the kingdom's high-ranking knights and wardens. Among them, Vaelira stood at the front, along with Selin, Revek… and Rowena?
But unlike what Solas expected, Rowena stood — unchained, not bound to any post — though she looked dreadful and deeply worried.
The courtroom itself was vast, its ceilings towering overhead. Large stained-glass windows lined the walls, casting streaks of violet, crimson, and sapphire light across the black-polished marble floor. The benches meant for civilians on either side of the chamber were empty.
In the center of the room stood a lone wooden stand, fenced on three sides — front, left, and right — with only an opening at the back. It was there Solas was meant to stand: at the heart of judgment.
Solas began walking forward — a white eagle entering the snakes' den. From both sides, the audience sneered and hissed, some muttering the word Lowkin under their breath like a curse.
He stepped onto the wooden stand, as if the eagle had landed in the heart of the serpent pit. His gaze drifted left, then right. He saw Rowena — her expression torn. Relief glimmered in her eyes at the sight of him, but worry clung tightly to her face.
The courtroom's layout fascinated him. It was unlike anything from Earth — not a civil courtroom, nor military. It felt… older, ritualistic, as if more than justice was being judged here.
Solas raised his head, locking eyes with the judge high above him. She looked down upon him like a cobra sizing up its prey.
She raised her hand.
Bang!
The gavel struck. The chamber fell silent.
Then, her voice, cold and sharpened like steel: "Foul Lowkin. Thou hast walketh into the kingdom of Elara and forced thyself upon her."
"That isn't true!" The voice cut through the silence — sharp, trembling.
Rowena. She had spoken. For the first time, perhaps in her life, she had raised her voice against a person.
Vaelira moved quickly, her expression shifting to worry as she reached out to hush her — but then stopped.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The judge slammed her hammer again, the sound echoing like thunder.
"No one shall speaketh against the Judge's law — unless granted the privilege to speak," she snapped.
Then her eyes returned to Solas — and they widened.
He was staring directly at her. His expression unreadable. His brows drawn low, not in rage, but in something quieter. Sharper. Contempt.
Behind those eyes, something coiled. Seethed.
Like an eagle sizing up the Cobra.
The judge faltered — just for a moment. Her throat caught, and she lifted a clenched fist to her mouth, letting out a soft cough to recompose herself. Then, voice steadier, she continued:
"Undereth the Pre-Law of Order, we shall now hear of thy deeds," the judge proclaimed, her voice echoing across the chamber. She lifted a hand, gesturing to the knights and council members arrayed around the room.
"From the representing council member Eirianwen, and key witnesses of thy actions — Vaelira shall represent them." She then turned to the silvery-white haired wolf girl beside her. "And our honorable guest, Head Commander Vargra, shall oversee these proceedings."
She turned her gaze once more upon the courtroom. "Now, we shall beginth the procedure."
Her attention shifted to the white-haired elf seated at the front.
"You may now taketh the court, Eirianwen."
"Thank you," the elf said, her voice soft yet clear. She adjusted her glasses, picked up the documents laid before her, and began to read.
"The man thou see before thee is named Solas. He was found in Emberreach… discovered lying in bed with Lady Rowena."
Gasps rippled through the council members behind her, sharp and scandalized. Some of the knights sneered and snarled — a mixture of outrage and disgust.
Vaelira lowered her head, visibly frustrated. Rowena looked away, face turned to the ceiling, cheeks flushed. It was true, yes — but the implication was grossly twisted.
"But," Eirianwen continued, "it was stated that no unlawful or vulgar conduct occurred between them during that time."
A council member behind her muttered, voice dripping with contempt, "That Lowkin must've taken advantage of her. He is controlling her."
Bang!
The gavel cracked against wood.
"Silence!" the judge barked, then turned her gaze to Rowena. "Is this true?"
Rowena flinched, her voice trembling, but she managed to speak, trying to steady herself.
"Y-Yes… he did layeth with me, but there were no vulgar intentions behind it. I—I had only one bed."
The judge's hand slammed the gavel down again.
"Enough. That is all I needed to hear." Her eyes narrowed. "He hath layeth and taken advantage of thee. Thou wast even found in thine garments."
Another hiss spread across the room like wildfire, as if her words were fuel to a mob already set aflame.
It was clear now.
This was not a trial.
This was not justice.
This was a performance — a staged prosecution masquerading as law. A ritual of condemnation, not truth.
Then, a strong, elegant voice cut through the hissing of the snakes.
He stood still — not with arrogance, nor rage — but with an unreadable coldness. His eyes, narrowed like blades, locked with the Judge's own as he parted his lips and spoke:
"Is it wrong… for a young, gentle lady to take me in and show kindness in a cold, unfeeling world?" His tone was calm, composed, but laced with something deeper — something sharp.
"She was scorned by others, yet chose to offer warmth. She knew the consequences of housing a stranger. And still — still — she did so out of the kindness that wells so deeply within her heart."
He turned his head slowly, eyes drifting from left to right, scanning the chamber.
"And yet you twist her compassion. You stain it with your fear, your bias — branding it a crime. You claim she was manipulated by me, used by me. These are lies. Cowardly, baseless lies."
His voice deepened, every word now pressed with the full weight of conviction — not shouted, but felt. Each syllable carried weight, like the weight of the world behind it.
"You speak of justice," he continued, "but I see none here. There is no truth in this chamber. Only a wall of fear… cloaked in tradition. You live by the emblem you claim gives you order."
His eyes burned now — quiet, unflinching, as if staring through the Judge's very soul.
"And if this is your idea of freedom… if this is your law…"
He paused.
Then, with a voice colder than steel:
"Then you wear a false mask of freedom."
The room fell into a stunned silence. Not a whisper, not a breath—only the weight of Solas' words lingering in the air like a blade held to the throat of false justice.
The judge stared down at him, frozen in fear and disbelief. This was no ordinary man.
Vaelira, Revek, Eirianwen, and Selin all sat still, taken aback by the sheer force of Solas' conviction. It wasn't just what he said—it was how he said it. Calm, cold, and undeniable.
Rowena sat in awe, her heart racing. She was dumbstruck—and yet beneath the shock, a warmth blossomed in her chest. Solas had defended her—not with rage, but with unwavering resolve. In front of them all, he had stood for her. And now, she couldn't take her eyes off him.
And then, there was Vargra. A faint smirk crept across her lips. She had read the reports on him—every line. But no document could have captured this. She was fascinated.
Moments ago, the court held dominion over Solas' fate.
Now, it rested in the palm of his hand.
It was as if, with a single speech, he had shifted fate itself in his favor.