Ruban’s footsteps reverberated on the marble flooring as he strode down the grand courthouse hallway. He was flanked by towering columns on one side and a wall with rich, reddish-brown wainscoting on the other.

Beside him walked an immaculately dressed Casia Washi, her hair perfectly curled and her makeup dewy and subtle.

A casual observer might have surmised she was here in a professional capacity, to report on the trial.

Vikram walked a couple of steps behind them, engrossed in the tablet he held. He flicked through the device as he walked, murmuring softly every now and then.

“I know how you feel, Ruban,” Casia said as the trio rounded a corner into another ornately appointed hallway. “But I’m telling you, you’re wrong about this. I’ve known Viman for over a decade. He can be an aggravating, sanctimonious pain in the rear, I don’t deny that for a moment. But he wouldn’t do something like this. In his own way, he does have integrity. Although it may be hard to see from the outside, most of the time.”

Ruban smirked, his eyes fixed ahead. “Well, that’s what I’m talking about. It’s time to put that acclaimed integrity to the test.”

“It’s a risk, considering the situation we’re in.” Vikram walked quicker to catch up to the other two. “Ashwin’s already painted us into a corner with his ridiculous request that only CXN and WNN be allowed to cover the trial. I imagine your bosses aren’t happy about that.”

Casia laughed. “God no. It makes us look like we’re in league with the Aeriel prince, being handpicked for the trial like that. The public is questioning our integrity and lack of bias,” she snorted. “As if we ever had either of those. Anyway, this has done way more damage to our reputation than it’s worth.”

“Is that why they’ve assigned some of WNN’s most hardline, anti-Vaan reporters to cover this trial?” Vikram asked.

“Yep,” Casia agreed. “Kushal Mayiti even came to the office to personally oversee the assignments. And to make sure I don’t get within a hundred yards of this story.”

“And yet, here you are,” Ruban said.

Casia shrugged. “They can’t stop me from attending in a private capacity.”

Moments later, they stood before the large, imposing doorway of Courtroom 7. The carved wooden doors had been thrown open. People milled in and out, preparing for the first day of the trial.

At the head of the cavernous, high-ceilinged chamber was a bench with five chairs. In front of each chair, on the polished mahogany platform, was a microphone, a metal nameplate, and a bottle of water. The chairs were still empty, but it was a testament to the importance of the case that it was to be decided by a five-judge Bench.

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The courtroom – with its dark wood paneling, high ceilings, and polished marble floors – was bathed in bright, warm light. The large witness box stood at the center of the room, also equipped with a microphone and a bottle of water.

The courtroom gallery was already filled with journalists and spectators jostling for space, making the wooden benches creak ominously. The intense buzz of anticipation and curiosity was hard to miss.

Casia and Vikram positioned themselves on either side of Ruban. It helped keep the prying reporters away as the three of them slipped quietly in, grabbing a few seats at the far end of the gallery.

The legal teams for both sides had already arrived. They sat at their tables on opposite sides of the chamber, silent aside for the occasional murmured discussion or shuffling of papers. Ruban scanned the defendant’s table for Ashwin, but the Aeriel was nowhere to be seen.

A little over fifteen minutes later, the five judges arrived. Dressed in their traditional black robes, they entered the courtroom through a concealed back door.

No sooner had the judges taken their seats than Ashwin was led in through the front doorway, by a contingent of a dozen uniformed Hunters. His hands were secured with a set of sif-lined handcuffs, but aside from that, he looked unharmed. He was dressed in his usual flowing feather cloak. His wings were invisible, his cascading hair unrestrained.

Once he’d reached the defendant’s table, accompanied by his guards, Ashwin’s silver gaze swept across the room. His eyes landed momentarily on Ruban and his companions, before moving on with barely a flicker of recognition.

It had been a little over two weeks since Ashwin visited him at the guesthouse to deliver his cryptic message. Ruban wondered when the Aeriel had surrendered himself to the IAW and how long he’d been in their custody.

Ruban had been too busy taking care of Simani (and trying to find her attacker) to stay abreast of the other side of the drama. And he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of regret about it, now.

Soon, all the participants had taken their seats and the proceedings finally began.

The attorneys from each side presented their opening statements, the prosecution side receiving a significantly warmer welcome from the gallery. That was to be expected. The announcement of the trial had temporarily dampened public fury, replacing it with a sort of malignant curiosity. But the anger was far from gone, and the tense atmosphere in the courtroom was a testament to that lingering ire.

The public was eager to see heads roll. Or, one particular silver-maned head, to be precise. And the media was more than willing to cater to the popular demand.

As the hours passed, the evidence piled up, and witnesses were summoned, questioned, and cross-examined. These included Riddhi, the head of the team from the Central Ragah Division that’d been deployed to the fairgrounds, as well as a few civilian witnesses who’d been in the vicinity during the Hunt. An ‘Aeriel specialist’ from SifCo was also called to testify, although Ruban thought his testimony was more speculation than anything else.

A group of reporters seated in front of Ruban typed furiously on their tablets, pausing only to exchange a few murmured observations every now and then.

Objections were raised and swiftly resolved. More than once, the defence attorney called for a sidebar to address some potential issue with the admissibility of evidence.

They were stalling. And even a blind man could see it. Almost involuntarily, Ruban’s hands balled into fists, nails biting into the flesh of his palms.

After what seemed like a lifetime, the prosecution summoned Simani Vaz to take the stand.