Ashes and Ink Stains

The Veilshade Tribunal didn't resemble a court so much as the shattered remains of one, rebuilt with ghost-spun thread and duct-taped history. It rose in crooked layers, domed ceiling cracked like a long-forgotten skull, light seeping in through broken slats of soulglass, catching on dust motes thick enough to choke a lie mid-sentence.

Lucien Blackmoore stood dead center beneath that fractured canopy, boots scuffed raw from the climb, coat heavy with Veilshade's ash-drenched breath. His shoulders ached. His jaw ticked. And beneath his ribs, the Ledger pulsed like a second heart… except this one had ink for blood and contracts for arteries.

LEDGER STATUS: Tribunal Summons – Contract Verification Request.

Target Contract: Vel Obscura Transaction [Memory-for-Time].

Challenge: Spectral Interference Claim Filed.

Clause 71. Subsection: Soulstream Inversion.

Note: "Forgery likely. Presence of chaos signature probable."

Advisory: Proceed with caution. Tribunal mood: volatile.

The voice that broke the silence sounded like dried leaves crushed underfoot. It rasped from a gallery above, where a scribe hunched behind a lectern carved out of bone and echo-glass—materials that groaned when touched and shattered if questioned too loud.

"Broker Blackmoore," the voice rasped, ancient syllables dragged through dust, "you've been summoned to validate a contested claim regarding the Vel Obscura contract. Filed under spectral interference, clause seventy-one, subsection—"

Lucien cut in before the man could finish reciting whatever fossil of bureaucracy had lodged in his throat.

"Save it," he said, spinning his brass watch with slow, deliberate fingers. "You read those laws like bedtime stories. I bleed 'em dry every damn day."

The gallery reacted like a hive poked with a dull stick. Murmurs fanned outward in weak ripples. A dozen scribes leaned forward on bone-lacquered seats, faces half-obscured by charcoal hoods, their silhouettes twitching like ghosts stuck between sleep and suspicion.

The eldest among them leaned forward, his hood slipping back just enough to reveal a cracked, pale face like parchment folded too many times.

"You dare mock a Tribunal of the Veil?" His voice hissed like smoke rising off wet coals.

Lucien gave a slow shrug, the kind that invited consequences just to see what flavor they came in.

"I mock slop. I mock systems that pretend stalling is the same as justice. The client signed. I inked it. Soulgrain confirms it. What else you want, a drop of blood or the man's firstborn?"

The scribes bristled. Even the shadows around them seemed to recoil, shifting with a tension that hung in the bones of the room.

The challenge floated near the edge of the trial ring—a wraith made of static and string, faceless, bound by corrupted glyphs that glitched with every twitch. It didn't speak, didn't even flinch, just flickered in and out like a bad signal. A placeholder for something fouler.

Lucien didn't even bother looking at it.

"Let's get to it," he said, eyes steady on the gallery. "The client traded two years of lifespan for five years of clarity. That's clean. That's balance. I filed it through Valthamur's own chamber—double-inked, notarized, soulbound. Scroll's archived."

One scribe retrieved the scroll. Symbols twisted up its surface like oil slicks climbing glass, luminous in the low ashlight. But something pulsed wrong. Lucien leaned forward, breath sharp. A crooked spiral broke the pattern—a tail-heavy glyph scored into the upper corner like someone'd carved it with a dirty nail.

"That's not mine," he said, voice dead calm.

LEDGER ALERT: Anomaly Detected.

Foreign Glyph Pattern: Entropy Class 3 – Tracer Seal.

Signature Fragment: Cassian Drayce [Partial Chaos-Stamp].

Probability of Intentional Interference: 94%.

Response Required: Immediate contestation.

He pointed without hesitation. "That smear ain't a seal. No balance, no weight, no glyph threading. That's a kid's scrawl dressed up as gospel. Sloppy. Fast. Dangerous."

The old scribe lifted his chin slowly. "It appeared during the transfer to court custody. We assumed it was a broker's mark."

Lucien scoffed, loud enough to echo.

"That mess wouldn't pass the sniff test in a back alley, let alone Tribunal storage. That's chaos ink. You're being gamed."

The scribes shuffled. A newer one leaned sideways, whispering. Another started waving sigil-readers over the scroll, and the lights dimmed under the strain of the truth waking up.

Lucien stepped into the red flame-circle that marked the Broker's stand. The light curled up around his boots like it recognized the weight of guilt and ambition.

"That's a tracer glyph," he said. "And it's got Cassian's greasy fingerprints all over it. He never finishes the job. Always leaves it twitching just enough to bleed out something useful. That tether? It's not part of the deal. It's an anchor. He wants to leech the contract."

The Ledger pulsed in agreement.

LEDGER CORRECTION LOG: Validated Original Contract Found – Line Integrity Confirmed.

Tampering Detected Post-Filing.

Forger Profile Match: Drayce, Cassian. Level 4 Interference.

Suggested Action: Initiate counterclaim protocol.

Without waiting, Lucien snapped the Ledger open midair. Its pages flared, flipping wild, then locked on the true version of the contract. Pure glyphs burned across the surface like fire traced in ink, unwavering.

"Compare it," he said, jabbing at the display. "Clean deal versus this tainted garbage. If you need a smoking gun, you're looking at it."

The oldest scribe hissed through his teeth. "Cassian."

Saying his name in here cracked the air like a curse. Even the shadows recoiled from it.

Lucien grinned, cold and sharp.

"Nice to know your ghosts still recognize real monsters."

The wraith cracked apart in a burst of static, its outline fraying into data-mist and failure. One scribe snapped their fingers, and the mess dissolved—gone, like a spell miscast.

Lucien let his hand fall, Ledger still open, still humming faint with residual heat.

"You want to chain me up?" he said, voice low, steady. "Try. But make sure your ink doesn't bleed ghosts before you come swinging."

The Tribunal fell silent. Then, slow as judgment, the elder nodded.

"Defense stands. Contract reaffirmed. Cipher recorded for archive."

Lucien gave a half bow. His shoulders dropped just a notch, like a rope cut from a strained pulley.

"Good," he said. "Now we can all breathe again."

But the air didn't clear. Not really. It thickened instead, cooled, and then split like fabric being pulled from two ends.

"Broker Blackmoore."

Lucien's spine stiffened. That voice didn't come from the gallery.

It came from behind the second veil—a ripple in reality where mortals weren't supposed to tread. Valthamur stepped through it like rust peeling from an old gate. The Minister of Oversight. Cloaked in soot-stained scrolls, every step he took sounded like pages turning in an unwritten book.

Lucien nodded once. "Minister."

Valthamur's voice cut low, steady, without color. "You've gained attention. Not all of it earned. None of it safe."

Lucien's lips curled, tired but familiar. "You live long enough in the Broker pits, attention finds you. Safer to bite it first."

The Minister's gaze didn't blink. "You've pulled threads too far, too fast. Realms strain. Laws twist. You cut corners, and ghosts come loose."

The Ledger buzzed.

LEDGER INTERNAL NOTE: Oversight Warning Logged.

Minister Valthamur – Observation Tier: Elevated.

Flag: Boundary transgressions. Chaos interference proximity breach (3 incidents).

Risk Projection: Accelerating.

Lucien exhaled, then squared his shoulders. "I cut only where contracts rot. Cassian's warping the game. If you're not watching him, you're wasting ink."

Valthamur took a single step closer. The shadows behind him seemed to slow, like time hesitated in his wake.

"You remember the city that fell," he said.

Lucien's jaw clenched. He did. Of course he did.

That city, burned and broken. Its ledgers ash. Its brokers scattered. Souls unclaimed, contracts undone. Cassian had walked away laughing while Lucien had sifted through the embers looking for survivors.

"I remember the fire," Lucien said. "And who lit the match."

The Minister nodded. "Then you know what you risk. Cassian dares again. And this time, your ink may not hold."

Lucien closed the Ledger slowly.

"Then maybe it's time we see which records survive."

Valthamur's eyes didn't narrow, didn't flinch. He only said, "Keep your books clean. The Tribunal is watching."

And then he was gone.

Lucien stepped out of the ring, the heat of the flame lingering in his soles. Behind him, the scribes murmured. A judgment passed. A name whispered. A ledger noted.

Outside the chamber, Veilshade's hallways twisted into alley-quiet ruin. Pale ghosts drifted between stairwells and silence. One of them dragged parchment behind it—burned, blackened, torn at the edge. A symbol flickered on the scrap, scorched into the fiber like acid etched into bone.

Cassian's mark. Again.

Lucien stopped. Took the scrap gently. Folded it. Tucked it into the lining of his coat.

The Ledger pulsed once.

LEDGER UPDATE:

Surveillance Pattern: Cassian Proximity – Confirmed (Veilshade, Sub-level Tribunal).

Next Action: Trace forged glyph pattern. Identify counter-forger.

Soul Risk: Elevated. Two clients marked.

Note: "He dares you to follow."

Lucien muttered under his breath. "Not hiding anymore. You want to play in the light, Cassian… fine. I'll drag you there myself."

And with that, he stepped into the cold gray haze of Veilshade's streets, coat catching on the wind, shadow trailing close behind. The Tribunal doors shut behind him like the end of a chapter, but the Ledger stayed warm at his side, waiting for the next deal, the next lie, the next crack in the world.

He was a broker.

And now, the stakes was personal.