ARABELLE Arabelle Hale’s day was hardly going according to plan. She’d been pulled from her shift guarding the King’s mother, the Former-Queen of Tavylon Margeaux Sterling, to join lead Queen Amelia’s escort party to The Scales. She only hoped her disappointment wasn’t obvious when, instead of the Queen, Prince Trystan came barreling around the corner. Queen Amelia was something of an inspiration to Arabelle, a woman both brilliant and just, known for her constant humanitarian efforts and her political acumen. Though she dodged the majority of the greater opportunities that came her way, she’s willingly accepted the assignment to guard the Benevolent Queen herself. Arabelle had been a Captain in His Majesty’s Silver Guard for just over two years now, and, despite her attempts to fly below the radar, she’d been at the top of a very short list compiled by the Commander himself to lead the detail of officers. Despite her disappointment at not guarding the Queen herself, Arabelle managed to focus herself on the task at hand, the tenements of The Program taking hold as she led the Prince and their party into the chamber. Directive Two: Know your environment as you know yourself. Arabelle had visited this very court the preceding week in the early hours of the morning, when it was vacant, so she could know the space as intimately as possible. Still, there was only so much preparation she could do without personally vetting every potential attendee. As the Prince settled into his podium, drunkenly she suspected, Arabelle directed her team to fill the space, doubling the guard at the doors and nearest to the Prince. From there, the trial began and Arabelle allowed herself to relax a measure. Flashing her gaze to the front of the room several times, she observed the Celestial whose interest in the case appeared to parallel her own in increasing measure. Despite her best efforts, Arabelle found it impossible to fully focus her mind on her duties as the case carried on, one disturbing detail after another revealed by both the prosecution and then the defense. It was Asef’s own testimony, however, that drew it all into terrible focus for Arabelle. “Before we render our verdict, we shall, at last, hear from the accused himself, Raphael Asef, please stand and plead your case before this court.” Hobart Drogas, the Warden of Coin spoke. Arabelle found herself magnetically drawn forward as she paced the aisle, her hands folded behind her back though she remained inexplicably tensed. Something about these proceedings were intimately familiar to her, infuriatingly so. The Tributan at his side whispered urgently in his client’s ear, though, if the man was moved by the words, Arabelle couldn’t see even the slightest reaction in him. Asef stood, the thick chain attached to the shackles binding his hands clinking against itself as he rose. “Honored Wardens of the High Tribunal,” Asef began, his bass tone catching Arabelle off guard again, defying, in every way, her expectation based on his slim appearance alone. “My Tributan has spent months now arguing my innocence as vehemently as the prosecution has attempted to prove my guilt. Thank you for the opportunity to finally speak for myself.” There was something in his tone that twisted through Arabelle’s mind like a serpent coiling as it prepared to strike. It was maddening, truly, to sense something so clearly and yet be entirely unable to name it, like it was on the tip of her tongue. “I am guilty.” Asef spoke the words proudly and boldly, his attorney rising from his seat and attempting to speak over him to no avail. “I confess to reveling in the deaths of the impure vermin, and would again if given the opportunity.” “Please, Wardens, I call for a mistrial, obviously, my client is in mental distress.” The Tributan pled. “Silence!” Warden Fillanes ordered. “The accused shall be allowed to complete his testimony.” Asef’s Tributan slowly lowered himself into his seat, his gaze locked on the man in some mix of fury and terror. Arabelle, despite her utter fixation on the man, had the presence of mind to silently direct several more soldiers nearer to Asef as he spoke and, absentmindedly, she noted as the Celestial, too, rose from his seat, his robes shifting as he stood. “This age of light is entering its final hours. Hold tight to those you love, for blessed oblivion is looming on the horizon and none alive may escape its arrival.” Asef’s chains clinked as he spoke, though, standing in the aisle behind him, Arabelle couldn’t see what he was doing with his hands. “Beautiful chaos will ravage this world. Its seas will turn to blood and all flesh will turn to ash. Here, in this nation of mages, a beginning and an end. I herald the coming of the Morningstar, and what shall happen here will follow for the Kingdom, and the world itself. This is my prophecy and my purpose.” Arabelle heard it the moment the chains fell to the ground, melted through. Somehow Asef had managed to overcome the Limiter Manacles, and Arabelle felt the horror of that realization reach her just as he spread his arms, violently blasting both his Tributan and the desk away from him. Reacting on reflexes hard wired into her which, fortunately, overwhelmed her frozen state, mired deeply in her own abysmal memories. “Suffer my wrath, and know it is a kindness, for I spare you the terror of what comes next.” Asef spoke again, his voice now ringing in Arabelle’s ears. As she struck out, too, she watched, as the Celestial reacted, his focus startling razor sharp. “Prynxio Nimfia,” The words left Arabelle’s lips with a flash of teal light on the air. Without a word uttered, the Celestial, too, extended his hand, violet energy striking Raphael Asef as Arabelle’s matrix reached him. The man became a statue, his hands had transformed into large, wretched claws, reaching forward as Arabelle’s ice charm imprisoned his body. It was the work of the Celestial, however, that put him to sleep, that burning rage Arabelle could see in his eyes as she stepped around the desk to face him extinguishing beneath the wash of light as his eyes fell shut. An explosive din erupted in the room, with those gathered in attendance realizing what was occurring and racing desperately to escape the violent attacker. The Silvers under her command surrounded the Prince who, next, stood, his eyes much clearer than when he’d arrived, filled with a purpose Arabelle could dare call regal. “Honorable Wardens of the High Tribunal.” Prince Trystan spoke, his attention shifting from the subdued Raphael Asef to the three seated behind the desk, their formerly impassive visages now twisted in horror. “Though it isn’t my purpose here to pass judgment, I believe I voice what we all just witnessed in saying this man has just proven his guilt. What is your verdict?” One by one the three Wardens turned to each other, nodding without speaking. “Guilty.” Warden Fillanes spoke, the words filling the air as powerfully as any charm. A raucous applause went up from the gathered attendees, though Arabelle noted several remained immune to its power, including herself. She passed her gaze over the mysterious Celestial for whom she was personally thankful for his quick actions, and, to her surprise, she found the Prince passing his gaze between them, an indecipherable look in his eye. Arabelle could sense a change plainly, as though she’d been suddenly plunged into frigid waters. People would go on after this day to speak of these events as though they were a conclusion, when, she suspected, she, and perhaps they, too, were just at the beginning of something impossibly larger than any of them could yet fathom.