**Chapter 64: All Eyes on Samuel**

The day of judgment had arrived.

Samuel, locked in his cell since dawn, waited. The air was heavy, almost suffocating. The cold, damp stones of the walls seemed to close in on him. Still burdened by the white metal collar embedded with a blue gem that blocked his abilities, he also wore thick shackles around his wrists, connected by a short chain.

The creaking of hinges announced the opening of the door. Two guards in blue and white uniforms entered, their expressions stern.

"It's time."

Samuel said nothing. He stood up slowly, obediently, his chains clinking with every step. The guards escorted him in silence through a long stone corridor lit by torches. The atmosphere was heavy—each footstep echoed like a sentence.

They finally reached two massive carved doors. They opened with a groan, revealing a vast chamber.

On each side, dark wooden bleachers rose high, filled with nobles, counts, lords, and dignitaries, all dressed in opulent garments. Some whispered, others watched coldly. All eyes turned toward him: Samuel.

At the far end of the room, directly opposite the entrance, stood a majestic throne, empty and adorned with gold. On either side of the throne were four richly decorated compartments, each flanked with elegant chairs and low tables inlaid with precious stones.

Samuel advanced to the center of the chamber, escorted by his guards, the sound of his chains following every step. Every gaze was fixed on him.

A circular platform stood in the middle of the hall. Two long metal chains hung from either side, ready to restrain him. The guards forced him to his knees. They bound each of his hands to the ends of the chains, forcing him to remain kneeling, arms outstretched, his chest exposed.

The metal bit into his skin.

Above the throne, a massive clock hung. The hands slowly moved toward the appointed hour.

2:57 PM.

Three minutes remained before the hearing began.

And Samuel… waited.

Alone. Chained. Watched.

The three minutes passed slowly. Each one seemed to stretch into eternity. Samuel, kneeling on the platform, could feel the weight of the nobles' stares pressing down on him like a crushing force.

Then the clock struck.

3:00 PM.

In a coordinated rustle, all the nobles on the benches stood, a solemn silence settling over the hall.

The large door to the left of the throne opened slowly.

An imposing man entered, draped in a long white cape embroidered with gold, worn over a deep blue royal tunic. On his shoulder gleamed a platinum epaulet. His crown, fine yet majestic, was crafted from an alloy of white gold and blue crystal, as if he wore a frozen star upon his head. His face was young, but marked with authority. Mid-length silver hair framed his temples, setting off a pair of piercing blue eyes.

It was King Elyndar Silmaris.

He walked slowly to the throne, sat without a word, and slightly bowed his head. Behind him, four knights in golden armor took their places in the compartments flanking the throne.

A man stepped forward to the center of the hall, holding a scroll. He unrolled it and addressed the crowd in a loud, clear voice:

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome His Majesty "Elyndar Silmaris", Sovereign of the Kingdom of Chronos, Keeper of the Pact, and Bearer of the Celestial Seal."

He paused for a moment.

"At his side to preside over this hearing are the seconds of the Four Fundaments. As the primary generals are currently on special missions, their seconds will represent them today."

He raised a hand toward the first compartment.

"For The Fundament of Attack, standing in for "the Scarlet Reaper", we welcome her second: Baldrek Grimhorn."

A two-meter-tall giant sat with the air of someone ready to destroy anything. His chest, broad as a fortress gate, barely fit within his dented golden armor, worn from countless battles. Arms like steel pillars emerged from the short sleeves of his armor. His scarred face bore the marks of many past fights. His dark eyes and provocative smirk betrayed a constant hunger for combat. On his back loomed the massive outline of a war mace, nearly as wide as his torso, its thick spiked head ready to crush.

The announcer continued:

"For The Fundament of Exploration, standing in for "the Pathfinder of Worlds", we have her second: Seyra Vanyrel."

The young red-haired woman saluted energetically. Her hair, tied into two bouncing ponytails, was adorned with a blue ribbon on the right side and two more on her left braid. Her youthful face, dotted with freckles, bore a confident smile. She wore light golden armor over a blue-and-gray striped tunic. Her hands were encased in large steel gauntlets, and her blue eyes sparkled with a fearless energy.

The man turned toward the third compartment.

"For The Fundament of Espionage, standing in for "the Grey Hand", we welcome his second: Vaekas Drelnor."

A chilling silence fell as the man stepped into view. Tall and lean, he exuded a sinister presence. His black, disheveled hair fell around his long, sharp face. His intense, calculating gaze, paired with a cruel smile, sent a shiver through the room. He wore sleek golden armor designed for speed and agility over a dark underlayer. At his belt hung two long, curved daggers, forged of a dark, unnatural metal—ready to strike in an instant.

Finally, the announcer concluded:

"And for The Fundament of Protection, standing in for "the Silent Wall", we have his second: Relia Luminus."

Samuel immediately recognized her. She was the woman who had arrested him.

She stood upright, impassive. Her long, wavy blonde hair flowed over her shoulders. Her noble, serene face carried the mark of unwavering discipline. She wore a resplendent, gold-engraved armor with a flowing white robe underneath—a symbol of purity. The handle of a greatsword protruded from her back: the emblem of justice.

As silence settled over the hall once again, the announcer's tone deepened.

"Lastly, as spiritual witness and guardian of divine truth, we welcome the venerable High Priest Theomar Valen, representative of the Temple of Balance."

An elderly man seated in the front row among the nobles gave a slight nod. He wore a pristine white robe trimmed with golden sacred symbols. His wrinkled face radiated wisdom, and his eyes—almost always closed—seemed to see far beyond the visible. A carved ivory cane rested across his knees.

The man unrolled a second scroll.

"It is now three o'clock. The hearing concerning Mr. Samuel Butler is about to begin."

A heavy silence fell once more.

"The charges are as follows: theft of a national treasure… crimes against humanity… attempted overthrow of the throne…"

He paused deliberately.

"And… suspicion of being the new Black Calamity."

The entire hall held its breath.

Then, murmurs swelled from the stands. Nobles turned to one another, whispering in horror or intrigue. Sharp gazes focused on Samuel, measuring him, fearing him, condemning him without a word.

And he, still on his knees, arms outstretched, chest bare, silent… waited for the judgment of a world that no longer wanted to hear his voice.