Chapter Three: Judgement in the Hall of Glass
As Almond Trustnot approached the grand hall, an inexplicable chill crawled up his spine. His instincts screamed at him to turn around, to flee. He paused, pivoting slightly—only to find the sharpened ends of two gleaming spears thrust before his chest.
Standing behind them, a man cloaked in white robes and bearing long silver hair raised his hand in a poised combat stance. His voice, calm but absolute, sliced through the moment:
"Move forward, Trustnot Almond."
Swallowing the lump of unease rising in his throat, Almond nodded stiffly and proceeded into the hall.
What awaited him inside was staggering.
The chamber was massive, shaped like a coliseum—a spiraling arena adorned with ascending rows of obsidian seats and crystalline torches lining the walls. The air was heavy, not with smoke or heat, but with tension.
He settled into the closest vacant seat, and immediately felt the weight of dozens—if not hundreds—of eyes piercing through him. Whispered mutterings cascaded through the chamber like static. He couldn't make out the words, but the tone was unmistakable: suspicion. Contempt.
Minutes crawled by. The crowd thickened, the murmur deepened.
Then—silence.
A voice, both commanding and disembodied, rang through the air:
"All stand."
The crowd obeyed in a single synchronized motion. Almond rose with them, eyes scanning the vastness of the hall, trying to trace the origin of the voice.
His gaze was drawn to the floor below—where an elderly man slowly emerged, flanked by two enigmatic figures clad in dark armor. Their aura was suffocating, like silent executioners.
The old man walked with the gait of someone far beyond his prime, yet when he spoke, his voice betrayed no age. Deep, commanding, and youthful, it reverberated through the chamber like the voice of judgment itself.
"Reports."
The silver-haired man from the entrance—the one who had blocked Almond's escape—now strode down the center aisle. As he passed Almond's seat, he glanced at him with sharp, narrowed eyes, the scent of exotic cologne trailing in his wake.
He approached the dais and bowed with flawless precision before speaking:
"Rule Number 001 has been violated," he announced, his voice echoing.
"The highest law. The immutable decree that no one—under any circumstance—must break. And for those who dare..."
He bowed his head solemnly.
"...A fate worse than death shall await them."
A wave of aggression rippled through the crowd. The chamber erupted in sharp gasps, clenched fists, and harsh whispers. Almond remained seated, silent, his mind racing to decode what was unfolding.
Then came the old man's chilling command:
"Bring forth the witness."
From the shadows, two guards emerged—dragging behind them a man bound in chains. He was barely recognizable as human. His clothes were in tatters, his body bruised and bloodied, his head hung low. Flanked by two more silent warriors—neither knight nor soldier, but something far more deadly.
"State your name," the old man said.
The prisoner lifted his head weakly. "J–Jim... Jim Armstrong."
"Good," the old man nodded. "Now... your accomplice?"
A heavy pause.
Jim trembled.
Then, in a voice barely above a whisper:
"...Trustnot. Trustnot Almond."
The chamber gasped.
Before Almond could move, two figures appeared beside him—like phantoms out of thin air. In perfect synchronization, they clasped metallic bangles around his wrists.
Almond sprang to his feet in protest. "I didn't—!"
But a crushing blow struck his jaw before the sentence could form.
He collapsed to the floor, pain exploding through his mouth. For the first time since awakening in this strange new world, he felt pain—real pain. Blood trickled from his nose as he clutched his jaw, eyes wide in disbelief.
His gaze fell to the bangle on his wrist.
This… this thing is what's causing the pain…
He gritted his teeth and tried to pull it off—only for a surge of pure electricity to erupt through his veins.
He screamed in agony and collapsed again, vision flashing white, his muscles spasming uncontrollably. The same two cloaked enforcers seized his body and vanished—only to reappear a second later at the center platform, laying him before the throne.
He coughed, smoke rising from his fingertips. His limbs shook. As he forced himself to lift his head, he found Jim staring at him with eyes full of regret, tears welling beneath swollen lids.
"I'm sorry," Jim murmured, voice trembling.
"They… they were going to take my daughter—"
"Silence."
The word came like a divine edict.
The old man raised his hand and covered his mouth and nose in a slow, thoughtful motion. His gaze never broke from Almond's—two ancient eyes boring into him with impossible knowledge.
And then he asked, almost gently:
"Why?"