The hall had fallen into the kind of silence that makes even breathing feel like a betrayal.
The priest raised a hand and pointed at the crowd. "You," he said simply.
As if on cue, two guards helped the old man onto the podium. As his feet dragged on the marble, his broken sandals slapped faintly as if protesting with each step.
Soon, they laid him on the altar.
Talia tilted her head and smiled as though greeting an old friend. "Your name?"
"Orren, Your Holiness."
"Sin?"
He hesitated, eyes flitting briefly to the statue in front before he bowed his head.
"I... I helped a fugitive to hide," he rasped. "E-even when knowing that he was the runaway s-slave I still hid him in my h-home."
A whisper ran through the congregation.
Talia said nothing, only continued to smile, like a teacher pleased with a student who finally confessed to cheating on a test.
"H-He was my son, Y-Your Holiness," Orren's voice cracked in desperation. "I couldn't l-let them take him back. I-I couldn't—"
