“Burn him at the stake!” shouts a noble lord from across the crowd.

The lightning sunders the sky. Thick, ashen clouds smothers all light in the sky, leading to a dark, dreary morning. As the rain soaks through their shoulders, an untold number of nobles wedge into the Imperial Palace. The Grand Bell strikes a seldomly heard, but alarming chime, for an emergency meeting is commencing…

With the many assorted Solasúian nobilities pouring into the castle, those with lesser lives are left to wonder what exactly beckons them. Everyone converges upon the throne room, where those sitting on the Ruler’s Council and royalty all gather. And of course, the topic of their discussions: him…

Prince Balor Pallas Barn is upon his knees before the council, before all of New Charil. His limbs bound together in adamas chains; his doublet still stained with the blood of his father. Beside him are several of the famous Loyal Knights, whose black armour represents their loyalty of the Barn family. Balor’s eyes are downcast, refusing to even glance at another, not even upon his sister who remains just beyond him.

“Burn him at the stake!” hollers again the same noble lord.

As the nobleman once more flashes his opinion, infighting ensues—a battle between those who are pro-Barn and those who are not. However, this is a rather one-sided affair, for the vast majority of nobility support the Barns. Indeed, the fast-paced chaos turns into an outright beatdown of the minority. The Loyal Knights attempt to stop the madness, but it unfolds nevertheless.

“Quell yourselves!” Momus Bres Barn demands, his booming voice shuddering the airwaves much like the thunder outside.

The heightened senses of the Solasúian nobility hears as Momus commands their yield, and so they relent. Those on the receiving end of the beatdown pry their bloody faces from the floor and scamper off to lick their wounds.

“No, I believe that one has a point,” states the gravelly voice of the ancient Decimus Ishvara, who strokes his signature silvery-white beard. “Long have we served under the Barns’ male heirs, yet there hasn’t arisen a female heir since the era of Ercia Gaiane Barn. Balor should be burned at the stake for his regicide, and Princess Lucia should assume the High Crown.”

“What madness!” replies Caerus of House Kórakas, thrusting himself onto the scene. “This council has not recommended the execution of a Barn since the days of Bairrfhionn the Hound, over a millennia ago!”

“Pathetic, Lord Kórakas!” Marion of House Lino laughs. “Your kin would shudder at the thought of sparing a criminal from the flames of justice.”

“Enlighten us, Lord Kórakas… What should we do then?” Decimus says, offering the golden-haired lord a glare. “Surely not have him participate in one of your house’s frivolous little duels?”

“Prince Balor is no criminal.” His statement echoes throughout the room, raising eyebrows across the council. He continues, “We as a species have stagnated over the last fifty years, ever since Divus rose to power. Empyrean Dias’s rule was evolution for our kind. Our grasp over humankind steadied with every reign after his. But Divus? Divus left us under the shadow of a half-century war with humankind.”

“I will not stand idly by while you insult my brother in death!” Momus replies.

“Then what say you, Lord Momus? Would you earnestly put the one of the last remaining Barns to the flame?” Caerus returns.

Momus pauses. His aged face twinges, his hands balling into fists. With the crowd and the council waiting on bated breath, he replies, “If it is just, then yes.”

“…Hasn’t there been enough death?” unexpectedly, Martellus of House Mundus offers his voice to the argument. “We’ve already lost both Prince Lelantos and Empyrean Divus. Must we strike an eye for an eye?”

“This is a decision we mustn’t haste towards,” Arturo de Cortein of House Cayrel parts, his chiseled face neutral as he stares directly at Balor.

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The collective voice of the council suddenly races into an anarchic pile of voices. It pours into the room, with one voice overlapping another, until it turns into a disorderly heap of sound. This argument includes the many members of the crowd, who force their opinions onto the council members like daggers unto their throats.

From the near distance, the princess Lucia’s world is utterly swallowed by this cacophony of sound. However, everything slows down and falls into silence as her pale blue eyes fixate upon her brother. She can’t make out his face from this position, but she can still feel his presence. Her hands clench. Her lips buckle.

How could you do this to our family? she asks herself. Why did you do this? Did you do it for the power? You never spoke of such things to me…

These questions circulate within her as if her own blood. The image of her very bloodied brother burns into her retina. Can she truly hate her brother for the things he has done, for tearing her family apart? Indeed, much like her brother in a time of crisis, Lucia unearths herself and her heart.

And there, deep inside of her, she finds that there is a part of her that already resents Balor for his actions…

But that’s impossible. She loves him dearly.

No, she must loathe this part more.

Lucia’s face shrinks. Momus, her dear and wise uncle, then ganders upon her, finding the tears which have begun to trickle from her eyes. As reality—this tumultuous reality—seeps back into her senses, the princess sighs and steps forward.

“ENOUGH!” Her normally gentle voice thunders across the soundscape, startling everyone into an abrupt silence.

Everyone just stares at the princess. Balor’s face coils as his gaze fixes upon her. Much like his uncle, he beholds the tears reflecting the colorful light of the stained glass windows beside her. With everyone’s attention on her, Lucia steps into the colosseum of voiced opinions.

“I will not stand here and listen you all bicker amongst yourselves,” the princess says. “I’ve already lost one brother… Must I mourn another?”

“Princess?” her uncle replies, raising his eyebrow. He then whispers to his niece, “What are you doing?”

“I’m doing what is just,” Lucia quietly replies before announcing, “Balor will not be burned at the stake. He will learn the immensity of his crimes by bearing the High Crown.”

“Princess, with all due respect, that is—” Decimus Ishvara attempts to refute her, but she offers him only the sharpest of glares, stunning him.

“Yes, yes, even the princess knows what is truly justice,” Caerus Kórakas reacts, grinning from ear-to-ear.

“How prosperous!” Lord Lino reviles, turning to the princess. “You can’t mean to actually reward him for his crimes? He murdered Our Empyrean and his heir!”

“Then let us hear the defense of the one being prosecuted,” Momus inserts, crossing his arms. “Perhaps if he has justification for his actions, he might spare himself from the flames.”

The end of Momus’s words ricochets off of these adamas-coated walls. As they vanish into nothingness, everyone waits now for Balor to make his stand. However, the prince remains perplexingly quiet. It soon becomes clear that he has nothing to say, for seconds of uninterrupted silence slips by

Click… click… click… The heels of Lucia’s boots echo through the quiet. They then grow muffled as she steps upon the long rug at the center of the room. Her destination is quite clear: at the side of her dear brother. Standing before the kneeled prince, Lucia cuts herself down to meet him eye-to-eye. Balor’s lips instantly lift at her presence, gazing upon her beautiful face.

“Brother, you need to talk now,” Lucia pleads. “If you don’t, they’re going to execute you… I can’t…”

Balor’s cuffed hands then reach up and caress his sister’s shivering cheeks.

“Dear sister, don’t cry,” he replies, eyebrows arching inwards. “I did it for us. Father and Brother, they both betrayed us.”

“What do you mean?”

“They were giving aid to the Descendants… Father, Brother, even Mother—their vision of Utopia was one shared with humankind.”

The truth departs Balor’s lips, and not a soul is prepared to accept it. Jaws dangle open as they attempt to register this information. However, not everyone is caught off-guard, such as Momus Barn, who is secretly aiding the Descendants. He remains suspiciously neutral, despite the massive revelation unfolding.

Down upon her knees, Lucia ascends from the floor and eyes up the Loyal Knights positioned beside Balor. With swiftness, she commands, “Unbind him.”

Without hesitation, the black-armoured knights abide by their princess’s order, falling to the floor and releasing Balor from his adamas bindings. Momus, wide-eyed, then snaps at the princess’s direction.

“What are you doing, Princess?” he asks.

“You heard him, did you not? Balor defended us.” Lucia responds.

“Then can you explain this fifty-year war with humankind?” Lord Caerus Kórakas returns.

Freed from his adamas shackles, Balor embraces his dear sister.

“I am so sorry…”

“It’s okay, Brother.”

Their uncle, the stoic Momus, gazes upon the two in their embrace with the same level of stolidness as he usually produces. However, nestled deeply within his heart, is a thorn—a thorn of resentment. He crosses his arms and exchanges no words, merely a glare that only Lucia can notice. All of this time and effort to free humankind from the clutches of their Solasúian oppressor is now…wasted.