The great hall of the Tribunal was silent as a tomb. The only sound was the slow, rhythmic tap of the Archon's staff against stone—a metronome counting down the final moments of a man's legacy, who would ever been recorded by history in one way or the other, entirely based on the result of his endeavor.
Unfortunately, he had lost, and now he was set to pay the price for that.
The voice of Archon Vesperian rang out, ancient and yest strong as the scriptures themselves:
"By the Grace of the Gods—their Justice and their Infinite Compassion—on this, the twenty-fourth day of the eighth month in the four hundred and sixty-fifth year since the Foundation of the Great Shepherd… the accused may walk forward."
The great doors groaned open, their hinges screaming like damned souls.
And there he stood.
Elyos . Once Voice of the Faithful. Once the man who had set the world ablaze with his sermons.
Now?
A hollow thing.
