I'd like to state for the record that I never signed up for divine litigation. Or mortal litigation. Or any litigation involving twelve celestial beings, a Spoon dressed in a powdered wig, and a talking scroll that just sentenced me to emotional exposure.
But sure. Let's put Kael on trial. Let's see what happens when you prosecute a Glitch with trauma-based memory leakage, three unresolved romantic arcs, and a dangerously unstable Soup Aura.
I stood at the center of the Tribunal Hall—the kind of hall that was 90% ceiling and 100% judgment. Vast stained glass domes glared down from above, each one depicting scenes of reincarnates ascending into enlightenment. Mine had been very clearly scratched out.
Hovering behind me, Spoon adjusted his miniature barrister robes. "Remember, Kael," he whispered, "this trial is merely performative. A way for the gods to feel important."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"No," Spoon said. "It's supposed to remind you not to pee yourself."
"Noted."
Belladonna stood to my right in full royal formalwear, sword drawn, expression like someone who'd just been told her fiancé was a glitch-based war crime. Because, technically, he was.
"Objection," she said as the scroll of charges reached paragraph forty-seven. "That's the fourth time he's been accused of 'romantic heresy.' What does that even mean?"
The golden-inked Prosecutor—a floating, smugly sentient quill named Paragraph the Third—quivered indignantly. "It means he flirted with three divine archetypes and destabilized the Love Constellation."
"Again," Belladonna muttered.
Across from me, the twelve robed members of the Reincarnation Tribunal loomed like dramatic chess pieces who had forgotten what game they were playing.
One leaned forward.
"Kael, son of Echo, Glitch of the System, Bearer of Soup," intoned the head judge, who looked suspiciously like a retirement-aged flamingo in human disguise. "Do you plead guilty to willful distortion of your predetermined Fateline?"
"I plead exhausted."
Spoon clapped. "My client would like to counter-sue Reality."
"That's not how this works," said a second judge.
"That's how Kael works," Belladonna countered.
There was a pause. A divine pause. The kind of silence where you could hear a prophecy die.
"Very well," said the head judge. "We will now enter Phase Two: The Dream Reenactment."
That… didn't sound good.
A pillar of astral light exploded beneath my feet.
"WAIT NO HOLD ON—"
Too late.
My body flickered, and suddenly I was falling inward, like my soul was being scrolled backward through its own footnotes. Bells rang. Stars blurred. Someone, somewhere, whispered 'this is going to suck.'
When I opened my eyes, I was eight.
I stood in a warped memory of the academy courtyard, except everything was made of paper. Literal folded paper—a pop-up storybook version of my past.
"Welcome to the Trial of Echoes," a voice boomed.
Spoon appeared beside me, now in a child-sized school uniform. "We're inside your trauma again," he said cheerfully. "Please avoid emotional landmines."
"That's all of them."
"Exactly."
The paper version of my childhood self stumbled forward, holding a soup bowl like it was the last anchor in a storm.
"This memory," said Judge Flamingo, who was now a constellation with spectacles, "demonstrates early signs of glitch instability and culinary dependence."
Belladonna's voice rang through the dreamscape. "Objection! He was eight and sad!"
"I still am," I muttered.
Paragraph the Third swooped down to circle my past self like a literary vulture. "The court notes that this memory ends with Kael bottling his emotions in soup and refusing friendship from a concerned noble girl."
"Her friendship involved stabbing me with etiquette."
"Objection sustained," said Spoon.
The Tribunal began fast-forwarding. More memories unfolded: me glitching out during Mask Training. Me sparring with Seraphina and catching feelings in the middle of a spellcast. Me giving Mirielle a flower and then running away like a cursed squirrel.
I began to sweat.
"These aren't crimes," I said.
"No," said the head judge. "They're patterns."
Belladonna's voice again, louder this time: "Kael isn't dangerous. He's just—" She hesitated. "He's just trying to survive a world that never wanted him."
The Tribunal murmured.
Spoon adjusted his robes.
"My client is a Glitch, yes. But he is also a sovereign. A glitch that chose not to collapse. A soul that resisted erasure. And frankly," he added, "he's funnier than any of you."
I blinked.
"Wait, was that my defense?"
"It's legally binding."
The Tribunal deliberated. Stars flickered. Bells tolled. Somewhere in the dreamscape, a soup kettle sang.
Finally, the head judge stood.
"Kael, the court finds you…"
A pause.
"…too complicated to process. Further judgment postponed. You are free, for now."
Belladonna let out a breath like she'd been holding up an entire war.
I fell to my knees.
Spoon pulled out a post-trial lollipop. "That went well."
Next Time on Kaelverse:
Kael exits the dream trial only to find his soup cult has formed a parliament.
Fluffernox is Speaker of the Bowl.
Belladonna invites Kael to dance… and maybe to finally talk.