Ache. That was the first thing. Like a fat throbbing troll with a blacksmith's hammer had taken up residence behind his right eye, and he was working overtime. It pulsed with a painful rhythm that he could feel in his teeth. The world was a swimming, murky dark, but a single image was burned into the inside of Creed's eyelids: Valerius's face. The look he had given him, the look you'd give a broken tool, that was the last thing he remembered.
He was surrounded by darkness now. A scratchy, coarse fabric tied tight over his eyes, smelling of institutional dust and hopelessness. His hands were bound in front of him, The metal of the cuffs biting into his wrists. Creed tried to move, and the groaning protest of a cheap wooden chair under his weight was the first real sound to pierce the fog in his head.
Then another. The soft gnawing sound of teeth scraping against fingernails.
"Oh, good. You're awake," a voice squeaked.
Clumsy fingers, clammy and hesitant fumbled at the knot behind Creed's head. The blindfold fell away. Light, not even bright, just flat flooded his vision from some unseen source high above, blinding him.
As the world slowly swam back into focus, a face materialized in front of Creed. A first-year, by the looks of him. Fresh faced and doomed. He had pale, almost see through skin, a mop of ginger hair, and a face covered in so many freckles it looked like he'd been splattered with mud. A pair of round, brown glasses, smudged with what Creed sincerely hoped was oil, sat crookedly on a nose that had a small hook on it. Behind the glass, his eyes were huge and terrified, darting around the bare stone room as if the walls themselves might lunge at him. He wore a meek purple uniform of House Phoenix, a house you only ever remembered existed when it was time to rank them near the bottom of the list.
"Um. Creed? Name's Carson. Spire Courts. They, uh… they assigned me to your… thing. Your case."
Creed's brain, still sluggish and thick with pain, tried to process the words. Courts? Assigned? "Assigned for what? Where am I?"
Carson jumped like Creed had shouted. "The holding cells beneath the Grand court," he whispered, as if the stones were listening. "The trial… well it's about to start. You've been charged." He took a deep, shaky breath. "With… with the attempted assasination of an Archon. Archon Valerius specifically."
The words hit Creed with the force of another kick. The scene in the Grand hall came crashing back into his mind. The frozen explosion, Archon Valerius's power, and his absolute and humiliating failure. Instead of becoming a martyr, he had become a bug swatted away in mere seconds.
A laugh, brittle and dry escaped Creed's lips. "A lawyer? They're giving me a lawyer? And they sent a first year from House Phoenix?"
Carson's pale face flushed. "It's not standard practice," he mumbled, fiddling with his glasses. "Most students don't even touch the court program before their third year. The Instructors… They say it's arrogant to assume you know enough of the dogma. They see a kid from house Phoenix starting early and they… they give me the cases that are already in the grave," he sighed.
Creed stared at him. He was Creed, in a different uniform. Another piece of the Spire's trash, being used to take out the rest of the garbage. It was so perfect, almost poetic.
"So you're my official pre approved failure," Creed said, the words flat and dead. "You know we're going to lose right?
"No," Carson said, his voice seeming to find a flicker of a spine. It wasn't brave, but it wasn't broken either. "No, I don't know that, but I know that if we lose this one, I'm done. They'll remove me from the program permanently for having too many losses. This case is my biggest. And most unwinnable." He looked down at his own trembling hands. "So you see, I have quite a bit to lose too.
Before Creed could respond, two guards entered the room, without a word, they unlocked his cuffs, hauled him to his feet, and began marching down a narrow corridor. Carson hurried after them, a folder of papers clutched to his chest like a shield.
The corridor opened up, and the low background murmur Creed had barely noticed exploded into a thousand voices. They stepped out onto a wide marble floor, and Creed's breath caught in his throat.
He was standing in the heart of the colosseum.
Rows upon rows of stone benches rose up to the ceiling, packed with a roaring sea of people. Students from all the houses, church officials, even what looked like nobles in fine silks. The air was thick with bloodthirsty excitement. Despite the upcoming post Selection ceremony festivities which had to be prepared for all across the Spire. The arena was filled for his trial. For his execution.
His eyes scanned the crowd, a frantic search. He saw them all. High above, in one of the private viewing booths that circled the top tier, sat Archon Matthias, his handsome, popular face holding a look of deep disappointment.
In another booth, he saw her, Alta Crestmore. Her Crimson hair was impossible to miss against the grey stone. She wasn't leaning forward like the rest of the crowd. She sat back, observing Creed with a cool detached curiosity. Reminding him again that they weren't even in the same species.
Creed's gaze jumped again finding Iris. She was there, not in a booth, flanked by her friends. She was staring at him, her face impossibly pale, a messy collision of emotions, sadness, anger, horror. Their eyes met for a split second before she looked away, turning to whisper something to Elara, who glared at Creed with pure hatred.
Creed's eyes moved again, he saw him. In the grandest booth of all, seated alone like a king upon a throne, was Archon Valerius. He looked exactly as he had in the hall, calm, serene, his white hair a beacon of his untouchable power. He wasn't even watching Creed. He was examining his fingernails, his head tilted slightly, his expression was one of cosmic boredom. Which was more terrifying than any weapon ever aimed at Creed.
Creed was guided to a simple wooden table. Carson slid into the chair beside him, papers trembling as he spread them out across the table.
Directly across from them, at a larger, more polished table, sat the opposition. At its head was Marx. The Spire's top prosecutor was just as the rumors described. Tall, lean, with short cut black hair and sharp, defined features. Black, square rimmed glasses rested on his nose, but they did nothing to soften his sharp, predatory eyes. He wore the blue uniform of House Leviathan, the Spire's second ranked house, and radiated an aura of unshakable confidence. He wasn't just a lawyer, he was a hunter, and Creed was his prey. Seated on each side of Marx were his two assistants. A tall boy who looked like he was carved from stone, dutifully taking notes, and a sharp faced woman who was organizing a stack of paper. Their movements were efficient, like a well oiled machine.
High above them sat on a throne like dais was the judge. He was an old loose jowled man, his robes a deep blue, the same blue as House Leviathan.
Of course they were.
The Board was set. The pieces were in place. The game was already over.
The Judge slammed his gavel, the sound echoing through the arena, silence filling the room. "The court is now in session. The Spire versus Creed, on the charge of attempted assasination of a ranking Archon, He is facing life imprisonment or execution. Prosecutor Marx, you may begin"
Marx moved to the center of the floor. He didn't look at Creed, instead he looked at the crowd.
"Honored members of the court, esteemed officials, and fellow students," he began, his voice smooth. "We are gathered here today for a grim purpose. To address an act so evil and unthinkable, it strikes at the heart of our very order."
He finally turned, pinning his gaze on Creed. "We are here to look upon a boy who attempted to murder Archon Valerius!"
A roar of outrage erupted from the crowd. Shouts of "Traitor!" and "Blasphemer!" rained down on Creed. The judge let it go on for a moment before slamming his gavel down and quieting the angry crowd.
"The act is undeniable" Marx continued "Thousands saw his failed attempt, the question is not what he did, but what he is. And I tell you, he is a traitor in our midst. A potential agent of HERO! Consider his past…"
Potential agent? Creed's mind was racing. How had they not confirmed his connection to HERO yet? The power of the Holy weapon should've been enough confirmation. The Eye was supposed to have enough power to destroy the entirety of House Kiron, destroying a whole portion of the Spire and killing an Archon, even if they had underestimated Valerius. The markings on The Eye also contained text of the language spoken by HERO. The rest a simple investigation would've revea… That's when it hit him. The church was attempting to keep that information hidden, HERO infiltrating the church would cause mass outrage and paranoia among the students and faculty. Something the church couldn't afford, especially with its current state.
Marx had no idea about any of this, he had probably been given limited information, he was simply inventing conspiracies to further tarnish Creed's image. The church was attempting to bury him here to kill the source. Which made Creed even angrier.
"...one to vouch for him. Who is he, really? Where did he come from? A perfect blank state for an insurgent organization to write its poison upon.
"Objection!" Carson squeaked, jumping to his feet. "My client's past, or lack thereof is not evidence of anything but misfortune! The prosecutor is inventing conspiracies!"
The judge barely glanced at him "Your client's origins are a matter of public record and is a relevant point of inquiry. Overruled. Sit down, Mr.Carson."
Carson sat, deflated.
Marx continued, his pace never slowing. "But let's put aside speculation. Let's look at the facts of his character. An outcast, shunned by his peers. Why? I'll tell you why. I would like to call the court's attention to the incident concerning the student, Emily Lancer. An incident where this boy was accused of forcing himself upon a young woman before fleeing the scene like a coward!"
A wave of sickness washed over Creed. It was one thing to hear whispers in the halls, it was another thing to have it announced like this. He could feel Iris's eyes on him again, he could feel the weight of her judgment, the finality of it.
"Objection!" Carson was on his feet again, his voice more desperate this time. "The accusations concerning Emily were never formally investigated! They are rumors and have no bearing on this case! It's a character assasination!"
"And this boy attempted to assassinate an Archon!" Marx shot back, his voice much louder than Carson's "I would say it's not only relevant, but it shows a dangerous pattern in the defendant. A danger to everyone around him."
The crowd roared in cheers of approval. Marx turned his back to Creed and returned to his seat.
"Your turn, Mr.Carson," the judge said, his voice filled with boredom.
Carson took a deep, shaky breath, and walked to the center of the arena. He looked small and frail as he stood in front of the hostile crowd.
"My… my client is not a traitor," he began, "These claims about him possibly being an agent of HERO are completely baseless. Creed is only a child. A sixteen year old boy who was let down by the very people who now want to execute him," He looked up at the crowd. "He was an orphan, taken in by the Spire. But he was isolated, ostracized, and bullied. His surroundings pushed him to a breaking point. To the point where he believed that this monstrous act was his only way out!" Carson's voice grew stronger. "Where were his mentors? His guardians? In a Spire that preaches order and fate, where was the guidance for this boy who had obviously lost his path? Yes this boy used a weapon to fix his problems. But it was the Spire who loaded the gun!"
Whispers spread through the crowd, a few faces looking thoughtful for the first time. It wasn't much of a change, but it was something.
Marx leaned forward, speaking from his chair with and with a dismissive tone. "Are you suggesting the church is responsible for one boy's choice to commit murder, Mr.Carson? A borderline heretical assertion."
"I am suggesting that context matters. That he was not in his right mind! That he was a victim before he became an aggressor." Carson countered, his voice faltering slightly.
"A victim who nearly incinerated his fellow students," Marx said softly, his voice like a dagger. "A victim who raised a weapon against an Archon who had dedicated his life to serving Verdia. A victim with a history of preying on others. Tell me Mr.Carson, at what point does his victimhood end?"
The question hung in the air, unanswerable. Carson's face was covered in sweat. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He looked at Creed, then at the judge, then at the crowd.
Creed saw the fight drain from his young lawyer. The kid was drowning. They both were.
Carson finally looked back at the judge. "Your honor… The defense requests a short recess."
The judge from House Leviathan looked at him with a bit of amusement "Granted," he responded. "Let the boy catch his breath. Court is in recess for 30 minutes."
The Judge slammed his gavel down, extending Creed's life for a little longer.