Aldric stepped out of the courtroom still filled with the faint tremor of adrenaline. The door shut behind him with a dull thud, and for a moment he stood there motionless, letting reality settle around him. He had done it. He had argued his first case—fake or not—and he had won.
Ms. Selene Varo was waiting for him at the end of the hall, her clipboard tucked under her arm, her expression as unreadable as polished stone. She motioned him toward her with a slight tilt of her head.
"Mr. Benedict," she said, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor as she approached. "Walk with me."
He followed her down the silent corridor, the hum of air conditioning the only sound accompanying their footsteps.
"You performed better than expected," she continued. "Your reasoning was clean. Your composure was excellent. And you possess a presence most candidates lack."
Aldric wasn't sure whether that was a compliment or an evaluation, so he simply bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment. "Thank you, ma'am."
Ms. Varo's lips twitched—almost a smile, but not quite. "As of today, you are officially admitted into the Mercury Institute of Jurisprudence."
Aldric's breath caught. For a split second he forgot the weight of everything that had brought him here—his father's illness, his mother's struggle, the nights he had gone hungry so his little sister could eat more. All of it evaporated under the glow of relief and fulfillment.
Ms. Varo handed him a small metallic card, barely the size of his palm. It looked like a student ID, except far more advanced—silver-coated, etched with micro-runes, and stamped with the institution's emblem: the three concentric circles, the outer one the largest, the inner the smallest.
ID: 0271 — Aldric Benedict
Access Level: Initial Candidate
He held it in his hand, the metal warm despite the cold room. He couldn't stop staring at the number—0271.
"This will allow you entry into the law school," Ms. Varo said. "Do not lose it. Do not lend it. Do not tamper with it."
She paused, her dark eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "And, Mr. Benedict… today was merely an initiation. The real work begins soon."
Aldric nodded, though a faint chill crept up the back of his neck. "I understand."
"Do you?" she asked softly. "I wonder."
She dismissed him with a polite nod. "You may go. Expect further instructions within the week."
Aldric stepped outside into the sunlight, blinking as his eyes adjusted. The world felt… different. Almost sharper. He boarded the bus with the other candidates, though he barely registered their chatter. His mind was elsewhere—on the metal ID in his pocket, on the judge's decision, on the way Ms. Varo looked at him as if evaluating not just his skills but his fate.
By the time he returned home, the sun had dipped lower in the sky, painting the buildings gold. Aldric reached his apartment door, inserted the key…
And froze.
There, lying at the foot of his door like a waiting serpent, was an envelope. Thick. Heavy. Cream-colored. No address, no name—only the same emblem again:
Three circles.
Outer large.
Middle smaller.
Inner smallest.
The symbol of the law school.
The symbol that had stared down at him from its looming pillars.
The symbol carved into the corners of the courtroom walls.
Aldric knelt slowly, his heartbeat rising, and picked it up. The paper felt expensive—smooth, almost silk-like. He tore it open.
Bundles of stacks slid out.
Crisp. Fresh.
A sea of racks—the Castrian currency.
He counted once.
Then twice.
Then a third time, because his mind refused to believe it.
100,000 racks.
His hands trembled. Not a little—violently.
Money enough to pay for:
His mother's treatments His father's medical scans Months of food Years of stability
His breath came out unsteady.
There was a small note beneath the cash. Just one sentence.
"Payment rendered for today's service."
Aldric stared long and hard at the note.
"Service?" he whispered. "It was a test… wasn't it?"
But a part of him already knew the truth.
The courtroom had been real.
The defendant had been real.
The opposing counsel had been real.
And this…
This money was not a bonus.
It was blood-stained payment.
Still, what choice did he have? The universe had finally handed him a lifeline. He took it—reluctantly, cautiously, but necessarily.
The next two days passed in a blur.
He bought his mother all her medications, filling their empty shelves with bottles and pills she hadn't seen in months. She hugged him so tightly he struggled to breathe, tears wetting his shirt.
He took his father to a private clinic—something he had never been able to dream of affording. The doctors scanned him, tested him, diagnosed him properly, giving them treatment options that sounded like miracles. Indeed, with proper attention, his father had a fighting chance.
Aldric moved them into a new apartment. A real one. Not crumbling walls or moldy windows. A clean, modest home with enough space for everyone. He bought new furniture:
a sofa, a dining table, two new beds, a small TV, kitchen utensils, even a rug his sister loved because it was soft like clouds.
He stocked the fridge and cupboards with actual food—meat, fruit, milk, spices, vegetables. Groceries that felt like luxuries.
Every decision felt like lifting the weight of years off his family's shoulders. And yet, whenever he slept, his dreams were filled with the three circles—pressing closer, constricting like rings tightening around his mind.
On the third night, after hours of arranging furniture and unpacking, Aldric collapsed onto the new living room sofa and turned on the TV. It flickered to life with the calm voice of a news anchor.
"At approximately 3:00 p.m. today, authorities discovered the home of Marcus Ellison—recently acquitted in court—to be entirely deserted."
Aldric sat up so fast his spine cracked. His pulse quickened.
"The entire Ellison family—wife, two sons, daughter—are missing without a trace."
His breath froze.
"Local witnesses report hearing screams earlier this morning, but authorities have not confirmed any details."
Aldric stared at the screen, his mouth dry as sand.
"There's more," the anchor said grimly. "Mr. Marcus Ellison was found in critical condition in an alleyway behind Castria's northern industrial district."
A photo flashed: Marcus Ellison, the same man he had defended only days ago, his face swollen beyond recognition. Bruises blackened the skin, his eyes barely visible under layers of swelling. Tubes were attached to his nose. His head was wrapped in bandages.
"He suffered severe cranial damage. Doctors state his brain is partially compromised. He is unable to walk, speak, or eat without assistance. The suspect or suspects are unknown."
Aldric's heart hammered violently.
He felt sick.
He felt guilty.
He felt trapped.
The screen blurred as his eyes filled with fear and realization.
This happened because he defended Marcus.
Because he won.
Because he interfered in something bigger than a simple counterfeit case.
He swallowed hard, gripping the sofa cushions as if they could anchor him to sanity.
But the worst was yet to come.
His phone rang.
Once.
A sharp, metallic trill that cut through the silent apartment like a blade.
Unknown number.
Aldric hesitated. His fingers felt cold. His intuition screamed at him to let it ring. But he answered. Slowly.
"…Hello?"
The voice on the other end was calm.
Deep.
Detached.
Completely devoid of emotion.
"Mr. Aldric Benedict."
Aldric's throat tightened. "Who is this?"
A soft exhale—almost a sigh.
"You handled your first case efficiently."
Aldric's hands shook. "What… what did you do to Marcus Ellison?"
The voice chuckled. Not loud, not amused—just cold.
"What happened to Mr. Ellison is none of your concern."
Aldric's heart pounded. "You used me. That wasn't a test. That was a real case!"
"Of course it was real."
The voice sharpened.
"That is how Mercury operates."
Aldric stood up, pacing, his breath quickening. "If you think I'll ever be part of something like—"
"You already are."
Silence.
A suffocating silence.
Then the voice spoke again, slow, decisive.
"You have another case to solve."
Aldric froze mid-step. "What…?"
"And you will take it."
"No."
His voice cracked.
"I won't. I—"
"If you refuse," the voice continued, "your family will suffer the same fate as the Ellisons."
Aldric's blood ran cold. His entire body trembled.
The voice delivered the final blow—soft, almost gentle:
"You have twenty-four hours. We will contact you tomorrow morning with instructions. Prepare yourself, Mr. Benedict."
A slight pause.
A breath.
"Your life—and your family's lives—depend on it."
The line went dead.
Aldric stood in the center of his new living room, hands trembling violently, the phone slipping from his fingers and clattering onto the floor. His chest rose and fell rapidly as panic flooded him.
His new home felt suddenly colder.
The shadows deeper.
The silence louder.
The three circles weren't a symbol anymore.
They were a warning.
And Aldric had just stepped into a world where justice was an illusion—
and survival was the only law.