The next morning, the Court of Eternal Judgement buzzed with an energy far more volatile than in previous days.
Whispers were like currents beneath the marble floor. Even the gilded statues seemed to lean in, listening.
The trial was shifting.
Lucien, draped in his deep crimson Advocate's robe, strode through the grand atrium. His boots echoed loudly with each step, but no one blocked his path. The once-casual glances of the spectators had hardened into something more focused, more dangerous.
Today, he would not only defend Seraphiel.
Today, he would have to defend himself.
As he entered the great hall, the three Presiding Judges were already seated on their elevated thrones. They wore the purest of white, each stitched with golden runes of authority, their eyes stern and unreadable.
Chief among them was High Arbiter Malakim, whose voice could command the storms.
Lucien bowed respectfully, as dictated by custom, before taking his place at the Defense's dais.
Velmiel was already there across the hall, flanked by two other prosecutors Zerathiel and Lioras both hardliners known for their uncompromising loyalty to the Doctrine of Purity.
This would not be a simple skirmish.
This would be a war of attrition.
The Court Clerk stepped forward, his voice booming:
"Today, the prosecution brings forth a motion of Challenge to Representation, citing Conflict of Interest."
A collective murmur rippled through the Court.
Lucien straightened, face impassive.
Velmiel rose to his feet, smoothing his golden robe as he did.
"My Lords and Ladies," Velmiel began, his voice honeyed with faux reverence, "it is with a heavy heart that we must question the legitimacy of Advocate Lucien's role in these proceedings."
He turned to face the spectators, ensuring every eye was drawn to him.
"For while the Advocate has served honorably in past Courts, recent discoveries and certain... associations cast doubt on his allegiance to the pure dictates of the Heavenly Order."
He let the accusation hang in the air like a poisoned mist.
Lucien said nothing, allowing Velmiel to string out his own noose.
Velmiel continued:
"Evidence has surfaced suggesting that Advocate Lucien has, in private quarters, advocated for the rights of the Fallen, has argued for their redemption" he spat the word as if it burned his tongue, "and has even sought to question the wisdom of the Divine Decree itself!"
A gasp ran through the gallery.
Lucien allowed himself a small, measured smile.
It was clumsy, as he expected.
Velmiel was desperate enough to reveal his hand this early.
High Arbiter Malakim turned his gaze upon Lucien.
"Advocate Lucien," he said, voice a controlled thunderclap. "Do you have a response to these serious allegations?"
Lucien stepped forward.
"I do, Your Honor."
He paused just long enough to let the weight of the moment settle.
"The prosecution seeks to undermine the right to a fair defense by assassinating the character of the defense itself," Lucien said, voice steady and clear.
"Their argument rests not on actions, but on ideology on thoughts, and the private discussions of ideas within scholarly circles. If this Court begins to judge Advocates for their musings rather than their deeds, we will not only erode the foundation of Justice we will dismantle the very heart of Heaven."
A few of the lesser angels in the audience shifted uncomfortably.
Velmiel's face twitched, barely masking his anger.
Lucien pressed on:
"It is true that I have, in private forums, discussed the notion of redemption for the Fallen. Not to advocate rebellion, but to explore the limits of mercy the greatest of Divine virtues."
He turned, sweeping the gallery with his gaze.
"Is it heresy to wonder if Light might one day reach the darkest soul? Is it treason to believe that Justice and Compassion must walk hand in hand?"
The silence in the Court deepened.
Even some of Velmiel's staunchest allies looked unsure.
Lucien drew himself up to his full height.
"My Lords and Ladies, if the thought that mercy may extend even to the lowest of creatures is a crime, then every act of forgiveness becomes a sin. And that — that is not the Heaven I serve."
There was a beat of silence.
Then a murmur of agreement rippled through the spectators.
The High Arbiter leaned forward.
"Prosecution," he said, his tone sharper now, "do you have evidence of actionable misconduct by Advocate Lucien? Not opinions, but acts?"
Velmiel's jaw tightened.
He had overreached, and now he knew it.
"No, Your Honor," Velmiel said, bowing stiffly. "Not at this time."
Malakim nodded gravely.
"Then this motion is denied."
The gavel rang out, a single resounding crack.
Lucien allowed himself a slow, controlled exhale.
One battle won.
Thousands more ahead.
Later that day, after the formal proceedings ended, Lucien sat alone in the Advocates' Chambers, a private enclave reserved for those arguing cases before the Court.
He turned over Caeriel's medallion in his fingers.
The Archives Beneath.
He needed to move soon. Every day delayed gave Velmiel more time to tighten the noose around Seraphiel's neck.
A soft knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.
He opened it to find Raelis, an archivist angel, one of the quiet ones who managed records few even knew existed.
Raelis bowed quickly, looking around nervously.
"You asked for the path to the Archives Beneath," Raelis whispered.
Lucien nodded.
Raelis slipped him a folded parchment.
"You didn't hear it from me," the archivist said quickly, before vanishing down the corridor.
Lucien closed the door and unrolled the parchment.
It was a map.
Or rather, a fragment ancient, written in ink so faded it was almost invisible.
Beneath the Court itself, hidden through labyrinthine tunnels and broken wards, lay the entrance.
And beside the entrance, a single word was written in the ancient celestial script:
"Chains."
Lucien stared at it for a long time.
Chains.
Not barriers.
Not walls.
Chains.
Something imprisoned.
Or someone.
He folded the parchment carefully and tucked it away.
Tonight, he would begin the descent.
And whatever truths lay chained beneath the Court of Eternal Judgement, he would face them.
Alone, if he must.
Because now, there was no turning back.
---
Beneath the Thrones
The Court of Eternal Judgement stood silent under the shroud of midnight.
Moonlight from distant celestial bodies barely touched the gilded towers and immaculate columns, leaving the once-glorious halls steeped in ghostly shadow.
Lucien moved like a whisper among the deserted corridors, the stolen map clutched tightly in his hand. Every step echoed like a drumbeat in the hollowness of the grand edifice, but no sentries barred his path.
They thought the Court was impenetrable.
They thought no one would dare.
They were wrong.
He found the entrance near the Pillar of Declarations a vast, spiraling column where angelic laws were inscribed for eternity.
At its base, concealed behind a cluster of votive statues, was a fissure no wider than a palm.
Lucien pressed his fingers against the hidden sigils on the statues' surfaces, muttering the incantations Raelis had whispered to him before vanishing.
The marble shifted with a reluctant groan, revealing a narrow, spiraling stairwell descending into darkness.
Without hesitation, Lucien slipped inside.
The wall sealed behind him.
No turning back.
He lit a small orb of light in his palm a trick he'd learned long ago, back when his curiosity about forbidden places was just a seedling and not a tree that towered over him.
The stairwell seemed to stretch endlessly downward.
The walls bled with ancient magic, the stones themselves whispering of oaths made, broken, and reforged in suffering.
Lucien could almost hear the prayers of those condemned here the forgotten angels, the silenced voices, the buried secrets.
After what felt like an eternity, he reached the base of the stairs.
The air was thicker here, almost viscous, heavy with a presence that pressed against his skin and soul alike.
Before him stretched a wide corridor, flanked by statues of chained angels their faces twisted in agony, their wings tattered and broken.
Each bore a plaque with a name long erased.
He moved forward cautiously, every step deeper into forbidden territory.
The map guided him to a vast chamber, circular, with a floor made of black obsidian and a ceiling lost to darkness.
In the center of the room, embedded into the ground, was a massive iron seal, inscribed with runes so ancient even Lucien struggled to decipher them.
But he recognized enough.
The Seal of the Forgotten.
Beneath it, if the records were true, lay the evidence he needed
proof that the Doctrine of Purity was a lie built atop betrayal.
He knelt by the seal, examining the runes closely.
To break it, he would need three things:
A Key of Flesh
A Word of Truth
A Sacrifice of Conviction
Lucien gritted his teeth.
Simple in theory. Fatal in execution.
He drew a dagger from his belt a ceremonial blade etched with his own Advocate's vow.
Without hesitation, he slashed his palm, letting his blood drip onto the seal.
The first condition: the Key of Flesh.
The runes pulsed faintly, ancient gears grinding awake.
Next, he spoke aloud:
"Justice is not purity. Justice is truth made visible."
A thunderous boom echoed through the chamber as the second lock gave way.
Now came the final and most dangerous part.
The Sacrifice of Conviction.
Lucien knew what it demanded.
He placed his hand back upon the seal, feeling its icy touch crawl up his arm.
"I swear," he said, voice unwavering, "to see this through, even if Heaven itself condemns me. Even if it costs me my name, my wings, my soul."
The seal shuddered violently.
Cracks spiderwebbed across its surface.
And with an earth-splitting roar, the seal broke apart, revealing a dark stairwell plunging into the abyss.
Lucien stood at the threshold, heart hammering.
From below, a voice called to him.
A voice both familiar and alien.
"At last... another seeker comes."
Lucien tightened his grip on the dagger.
He descended.
The descent felt endless.
The stairs seemed to defy all logic, spiraling through dimensions not meant for mortal understanding.
Time itself became strange.
Minutes stretched into hours.
Hours compressed into heartbeats.
Finally, he reached the bottom.
The air was colder than any winter he had ever known.
He found himself standing before a massive set of chained doors, their surfaces carved with images of angels falling from grace, their wings burning, their faces turned away from the light.
In the center of the door was a keyhole.
And beside it, bound in chains of pure Thought, knelt a figure.
An angel.
Or what remained of one.
Its wings were shredded, its halo broken into fragments that floated like dying stars above its head.
Its eyes, though dim, burned with a fierce intelligence.
Lucien approached cautiously.
"You are not one of them," the chained angel rasped.
"I am not," Lucien confirmed.
The chained one smiled a slow, painful smile.
"Then you have a choice, mortal Advocate."
Lucien frowned.
"What choice?"
The chained angel's voice was barely more than a breath:
"Free me... or become me."
The chains tightened around him in warning.
Lucien understood at once.
The Court above had not only sealed away forbidden knowledge.
They had sealed away dissent itself.
This was no criminal.
This was a witness.
A being who knew too much.
A being whose very existence threatened the Doctrine of Purity.
Lucien knelt before the chained figure.
"What is your name?" he asked softly.
The angel lifted its head, light flickering dimly in its broken halo.
"I was once called Ithriel," he said. "The Witness of Truth."
Lucien's decision weighed heavily in his chest.
If he freed Ithriel, he would be branded a traitor hunted, exiled, possibly destroyed.
But if he walked away...
he would become complicit in the greatest lie Heaven had ever told.
Lucien took a deep breath, staring at the keyhole.
He reached into his robes and withdrew a small crystal the Key of Intent he had crafted long ago, in secret, for a day he prayed would never come.
The crystal shimmered as he placed it into the lock.
The chains rattled in fury.
Above them, somewhere distant, the Court stirred in its sleep.
Lucien turned the key.
The door groaned open.
The Court would never be the same again.