Chapter Four: (The Trial)
Osir awoke slowly, rubbing his eyes as the morning light crept in. He turned to his right and saw Loki and Lenora seated on separate chairs. Lenora was engrossed in reading a book with a title so faded that Osir could barely make it out—something about "The Family of... G…"—but he paid it little attention.
Suddenly, Lenora's gentle voice rose:
"Good morning, Osir."
"Good morning, Lenora."
He paused, then added with hesitation:
"I'm scared of the trial. I wish I hadn't spoken that day."
Loki interjected calmly, his voice laced with reassurance:
"Don't be afraid. Lenora will explain everything that will happen during the trial. After that, your mind will be at ease. We're the stronger side."
He stood up:
"I'll step out for a bit. I need a moment alone."
With that, Loki quietly left the room.
Lenora turned to Osir with a confident smile forming on her lips:
"Don't worry. The trial will work in our favor. Every trial in Amentet is different, but yours is clear and simple. First, we'll respond to Ilmar's letter."
Osir interrupted nervously:
"Honestly, I don't know what to say or how to respond."
Lenora laughed lightly and teased:
"Let me finish. Every person here has a representative. Your spokesperson is Loki.
My brother is incredibly smart, a master of words and rebuttals.
But expect this: they'll accuse you of killing Prometheus."
Osir's eyes widened:
"What? Prometheus is dead? When? How? Who did it?"
"Do you know him?"
"Yes, Loki spoke of him. Was it Loki who killed him?"
Lenora denied it with an obviously false tone:
"No. Impossible. Loki was with me the entire time."
Osir's voice was filled with doubt:
"Alright… What will we do when they accuse me of the murder?"
"That's for Loki to handle."
"And if Loki fails to remove the blame from us?"
"I doubt it. But if he does fail… you'll die. The charge will stick, and you'll be sentenced to execution. No one will be able to save you."
Terror crept into Osir's heart. A question echoed in his thoughts:
"Is this how it ends?"
"Don't be afraid. You won't die. You don't know my brother. He's a genius."
"Are you reading my mind?"
She smiled softly:
"No. But your fear was all over your face."
[In the Forest]
Loki sat calmly beneath the shade of a colossal tree, its branches swaying with the gentle breeze as if dancing with the wind.
Leaning against the thick trunk, he gazed skyward in silent reflection:
"Strange, this world… everything moves in circles.
Forms change, but the truth remains the same.
It's not the strong who scream into the storm,
but the one who smiles at it and passes beneath unseen.
I've learned that too much presence weakens you,
that excessive light dulls the fire's brilliance.
That's why I chose the shadows.
Where no one sees me…
but everyone feels my presence.
In every attempt to understand this world,
I realized that wisdom lies not in entering every battle,
but in choosing the right time to fight.
Not everyone who yells is brave.
And not everyone who is silent is a coward.
Sometimes silence speaks louder than a thousand words.
Cunning, when used for survival, is not weakness—
but an art of endurance."
He took a deep breath, as if carrying a heavy weight:
"This tree didn't resist the wind… it bent with it and survived.
I won't be a branch that breaks with the first gust.
I'll be the root deep in the earth, unseen,
but nothing stands without me.
People search for platforms to rise on.
I build the platforms… and control the speech from behind the curtain."
He extended his hand and looked at it coldly:
"I'm not good… nor evil.
I'm the necessity when there is no other choice.
I am Loki—present in every scene, absent from every list."
[In the Castle of Amentet]
A tall man with flowing black hair, dark as night, stormed into King Ilmar's chamber. His expression burned with rage.
"Ilmar..." he called firmly.
The king looked up slowly.
"Steady, Kaweh."
Kaweh snapped impatiently:
"My father is dead.
The most beloved man in the kingdom.
Even more than you.
Who could have killed him but one… the Envoy?"
Ilmar replied with calm certainty:
"Of course. He's the one who did it."
Kaweh's black eyes flared with fury:
"Do you take me for a fool?
I know.
That's why I came.
Just tell me—how will we prove it?"
"You'll be with me."
Kaweh scoffed:
"With you? What am I, your wife?"
Ilmar responded evenly:
"Not what I meant.
You'll be at my side for the trial against the Envoy.
He demanded a trial to determine who shall rule—
one where the wise men judge on behalf of the people.
You will be my spokesperson."
Kaweh sneered:
"The people! What a cunning move.
But I have a question:
How does he even know he's the Envoy?
It can't be who I think it is."
Ilmar's eyes narrowed:
"Most likely it is.
He resembles Farbauti far too much."
Kaweh stiffened:
"Impossible.
They were wiped out fifteen years ago—
every last one of them, from youngest to oldest."
"We don't know for sure.
But that's not important now.
The Envoy has returned either way.
What matters is proving the guilt of the Envoy and this so-called Loki."
Kaweh nodded:
"This is my family's matter now.
Leave it to me.
I'm sure one of them killed my father."
Hours passed quickly until the time of the trial arrived—
a trial that would decide the king of Amentet.
A trial of life and death,
where one man would devour the other
and take the reins of power in both hands.
Though it appeared to be a trial between Osir and Ilmar,
the true voices would be Loki and Kaweh.
And no one knew whether Kaweh spoke for Ilmar… or for himself.
Osir stared in awe at the vast crowd gathered for him.
His eyes then lifted to the trial platform—
a massive wooden stage elevated several meters above the ground.
Two opposing chairs stood atop it,
undoubtedly reserved for Osir and Ilmar.
At the center stood a guard,
likely the one who would moderate the trial.
Osir turned to see Ilmar seated across from him—
his short purple hair and dark violet eyes strikingly unfamiliar.
Beside Ilmar stood a tall man,
with hair black as the void of space,
and coal-dark eyes that never blinked.
Osir whispered to Lenora, who stood beside him with Loki just behind:
"Why are Prometheus and his family so popular?"
"They're not just popular.
Every word they say carries a thousand meanings."
"That's why Prometheus could convince people the Envoy was cursed."
"Exactly."
Osir paused for a few seconds, then asked:
"I heard Ilmar's spokesperson is Kaweh, son of Prometheus.
Isn't that dangerous, considering he's from the same family?"
"I don't know.
He may be a skilled speaker…
but he's no Prometheus."
Their talk was cut short when Osir suddenly realized he was standing before the wooden tribunal.
He stepped forward slowly and took his seat opposite Ilmar,
meeting the man's eyes for the first time.
The soldier began the session with a commanding voice:
"Silence… and listen… the trial begins."
Loki raised his voice, delivering a refined reply to Ilmar's message:
"What I say now is an answer to your letter.
He is the Envoy… but without choice.
He carries the burden of fire his hands never sought.
How can one rule,
when the path was not chosen,
but forced upon him—
like a shadow dragged through a long night?
King Ilmar,
you fear shadows…
But we proclaim that this shadow
may one day become the dawn after a long night.
Judge him not before you hear his voice,
nor condemn him before you see his truth."
He smiled and added:
"Loki, son of Alexander, tells you:
This man, despite his burdens,
will become the emblem of light—
not darkness."
Cheers erupted through the hall,
drawn by the enchanting cadence of Loki's voice.
But moments later, Kaweh fixed his dark gaze on Loki and replied sharply:
"He came uninvited. That's true.
And fate sometimes drags us without mercy.
Still… we cannot trust one who carries the shadows of a curse.
How can we let that curse spread through the hearts of the people?
If he were truly innocent,
why would people fear his silence?
Why would words get lost in his eyes like strangers?
I don't know what to say or how to explain…
but there's something in his darkness I cannot ignore.
Maybe he's a victim…
or maybe a curse yet to come.
Between both,
we wait…
and we remain cautious."
Silence once again filled the hall,
heavy and uncertain.
Whispers passed from ear to ear.
Loki's words had inspired many—
but Kaweh's had sown new doubts.
Some believed the trial was over,
the matter settled.
But then… Loki smiled faintly,
and spoke with calm resolve:
"You wait… and you warn…
as if that waiting shields you with false safety.
But he was cast into the fire,
unwilling, unready,
like a soldier forced to fight a war he never chose.
His darkness is no curse…
it is the silence of a wound whose scream you have yet to hear.
Your fear of shadows
is fear of a bitter truth
you dare not face.
Do not hide behind hesitant words.
Do not kill the seed of hope before it grows.
If there is a curse…
let it be yours—
for denying him the chance to prove himself.
As for him…
he will find the light,
no matter how long the wait.
And history…
will bear his name—
not the name of fear."
The hall erupted once again,
a unified roar echoing from every soul:
"The Envoy… the Envoy… our true King!"
The chants rattled the high wooden walls.
Osir turned to see Lenora joining the crowd's roar,
then looked back at Loki—
his eyes calm, as if awaiting something.
The people believed the trial was over.
The final word had been spoken.
Then the soldier of the court shouted:
"Silence… silence!"
He continued with force:
"Are there any further statements before the Council declares the new king?"
Kaweh's voice cut through, full of rage and accusation:
"Yes. There is one more thing.
I accuse this so-called Loki and the Envoy
of the murder of Lord Prometheus."
A heavy silence crashed over the room—
like a poisoned arrow piercing the heart of the court.
They had been moments away from celebrating the Envoy's triumph,
only to hear a charge that threatened to destroy everything they believed.
Kaweh turned to Ilmar,
smiling a chilling smile filled with certainty:
"You've won."
But before he could continue, Loki's voice sliced in, sharp and aflame:
"How could we kill a man
who could overpower ten trained soldiers?"
The crowd stirred.Their stares turned to noise.The trial was no longer a political disputebut a brilliant performance,heavy with meaning,light on the tongue,gripping all who listened without mercy.