The Hall of Ivory Judgment was deathly still.
Columns rose like frozen giants, and light filtered through stained glass that told the triumphs and tragedies of the Empire. At the end of the hall, upon a raised dais of silver-veined marble, sat Empress Regina Althenea V, sovereign of the Crescent Empire.
Clad in layered robes of crimson and deep indigo, her face remained impassive as the two lords knelt before her.
Lord Simon of the Ivory Scroll, the Lord of Justice, bowed with dignity, his gaunt face set like a statue. Beside him knelt Lord Orlando Vale, the Lord of War, broad-shouldered and resplendent in a black mantle clasped by a lion-headed brooch.
They had come with news—delicate, troubling, and yet… fascinating.
"You may rise," the Empress said, her voice low but unquestionable.
They did so in unison.
Simon spoke first. "Your Radiance, we bring word from the southern county of Fenharrow. The noble House Virelion has been arrested under charges of treason, murder, and unsanctioned invocation of forbidden rites."
A murmur ran through the court, but Regina raised a hand. Silence returned.
Simon continued. "The case, though local, has drawn unusual attention. The crimes centered around the Tanglebogs—an old land seldom spoken of in maps or courts. Yet beneath that muck, an entire network of dark dealings was unearthed."
Lord Orlando stepped in. "Their fall has garnered favor with the people. Folk speak now of justice done in places forgotten. They whisper names."
The Empress leaned forward. "And what names do they whisper?"
Simon consulted a slip of parchment. "A magistrate named Vollen—half-retired. And his appointed assistant… a boy named Jacob Silvan."
Orlando scoffed lightly, but not cruelly. "A glorified clerk, by most accounts. But he's done more than most magistrates in three years. Even worked with one of ours—a detective named Marren."
Regina's eyes narrowed, gleaming like polished obsidian. "A paper boy uncovers a blood cult. The people cheer him. The court is silent until now. And you come to me only after the arrests?"
Simon bowed his head. "I believed the matter localized, Your Radiance. But Orlando believes the southern district may be… soft."
"Soft?" she echoed.
Orlando stepped forward. "Yes, Empress. A distant province where power flows in shadows. If that office is seen as a source of truth and justice—outside of your oversight—others may look to it. Not for rebellion… but for guidance. Influence breeds quietly."
There was a long pause.
Then Regina smiled, cool and unreadable.
"Let them clean their bogs. Let them have their heroes. But mark this place. Send auditors. Whisper watchers. Perhaps even a bishop."
Simon nodded. "To ensure no further… unsanctioned rituals are performed?"
"No," she said, rising from her throne. "To ensure that he doesn't forget whose justice he serves."
Orlando's jaw tightened. "And if he does?"
Regina turned, her cloak trailing like spilled ink across the floor.
"Then I will remind him. Kindly, at first."
The Hall of Ivory Judgment emptied slowly, the lesser nobles and attendants bowing out one by one. But deeper within the Imperial Palace, in a quiet chamber of obsidian stone lit only by green-flamed braziers, two of the highest lords remained.
Lord Simon of Justice sipped bitter root tea from a cup etched with the scales of law. Lord Orlando Vale, still clad in partial armor, leaned against the stone balcony that overlooked the glowing heart of the capital below.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Simon said, "You were wrong, you know. He's not just a glorified clerk."
Orlando gave a dry chuckle. "No. I see that now. He reads too much and talks too little. But men like that build things. Institutions. Legacies."
Simon swirled the dark tea. "And people listen to them because they do before they say. That's rare in any court, let alone a mud-choked county forgotten by half the Empire."
They let that truth settle.
Orlando turned. "So. What do we do?"
Simon looked up from his cup, his sharp eyes meeting the general's. "We leave him."
Orlando raised a brow. "You're sure?"
"I've seen men use the law like a weapon. But he uses it like a balm. He wants order, not power. He reminds people that justice exists. Not always swiftly, not perfectly—but it exists. If the people believe that even in the farthest reaches, the Empire still protects its own…"
"…then the flame still burns," Orlando finished, nodding slowly.
Simon set his cup down.
"We are not fools. Let the nobles whisper of rebellions and shadow cults and bog-devils. We need the idea of the Empire to survive more than its armies or coins. A boy with ink-stained fingers and honest hands may be worth more than ten magistrates on retainer."
"Or ten lords," Orlando muttered.
They shared a quiet moment of amusement.
Then Simon continued, "If we meddle too soon, he becomes politicized. If we pull him into the capital, he'll be devoured. Let him do what he must in the south. Give him no orders. No letters. Just eyes in the mist."
Orlando raised a brow. "Watchers?"
"Whispers," Simon corrected. "Quiet ones. Just to know if the boy ever turns."
"And if he doesn't?"
"Then one day, he'll be the reason someone else decides not to raise a sword. Because somewhere, someone upheld the law for no reward but peace."
The warlord and the judge stood shoulder to shoulder as the bells of the capital tower tolled the hour.
"He's not a threat, Orlando," Simon said at last. "He's a seed."
---
Elsewhere, in the Hall of Shadows
Unbeknownst to them both, a third listener remained—Lady Miria Elowyn, Keeper of Secrets and First Whisperer of the Empress's Veiled Council.
Shrouded in a silken veil and seated behind a lattice of carved onyx, she pressed her gloved fingers together and whispered to her attendant, "The boy has protectors now. Good. Let us see what justice he carves from mud and blood."
Then she vanished into the shadows, her presence already erased from the chamber.