That night, the corridors of the palace were filled with elongated shadows, the flickering candlelight creating an atmosphere of tension. Fitran had not slept since receiving reports from his spies—letters, messages from the people, and the dark whispers that reached his ears about Liam, the young servant whom he had once trusted in the palace kitchen. The sound of Fitran's footsteps echoed in the cold stone corridor, with towering walls adorned with ancient carvings. His eyes blazed with anger and disappointment, while his breath felt heavy as if burdened by an unbearable load.
In the underground interrogation room, filled with dampness and a chilling atmosphere, Liam sat with his hands bound, his face weary, and his red eyes reflecting fear and regret. The dim light cast shadows on his face, highlighting the lines of despair etched upon it. He knew that no lie could save his life this time. In the silence that enveloped him, his heartbeat sounded like thunder in his anxious ears.
The iron door creaked open, shattering the silence. Fitran entered without uttering a single word, his posture rigid and authoritative, exuding an intimidating aura that enveloped him. He gazed at Liam for a long time, as if searching for truth in the depths of his darkest eyes. His expression was flat, yet a flicker of anger ignited within his gaze.
Fitran (coldly, his voice booming):
“Do you know why I despise treachery, Liam? Because a single tiny lie can slay a thousand hopes. This new world has already bled to stand, and you’ve chosen to stab the knife into our backs.”
Liam attempted to respond, “I… I just wanted—”
But Fitran raised his hand, silencing Liam's words in an unforgiving gesture. He stepped closer, lifting his left hand, and from his palm, a blue light began to shimmer, forming a spiral pattern intertwined with dark red shadows dancing in the air. The light hung between them, creating an illusion of space vibrating with tension.
Fitran:
“You haven’t just betrayed the people. You’ve betrayed the chance to be honest, even in front of those who still want to believe in you. Therefore, feel this… Veritas Doloris—The Truth of Suffering.”
Fitran's magic enveloped Liam's head, invading his mind and bringing forth all the betrayals and regrets he had ever committed—not as mere scenes, but as visceral emotions: the stinging regret, the fear of losing his family, the bitterness of choosing between his own life and the fate of the world. In this small interrogation room, with towering pillars resembling giants, the ancient carvings on the walls seemed to witness every second of his torment. The dim light from the candle flickering in the corner cast eerie shadows, creating a chilling atmosphere that weighed heavily around them.
Liam's body trembled violently, shackled by an overwhelming sense of guilt. He screamed, his voice muffled by the intricately carved walls that seemed to absorb all his laments. It was not physical pain that tormented him, but the burden of every hidden wound. Through the magic, he felt the weight of his betrayal reflected in the eyes of everyone he loved, from the people to his own mother. There was nowhere to hide. Every decision felt like an unhealed scar, as if the stone walls were silent witnesses to the turmoil of his soul. In the depths of silence, his gaze became vacant, as if trapped in a labyrinth of mistakes.
Suddenly, the interrogation room door was forced open, the loud creak of the wood reigniting the tension. Joanna rushed in, her face filled with determination, showing no fear towards Fitran. Her steps were quick but steady, reminiscent of a glimmer of hope breaking through the darkness. She positioned herself strategically between Fitran and Liam, as if intending to bridge two opposing worlds.
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Joanna:
“Enough! Father, don’t!”
Fitran turned sharply, his gaze cold and full of repressed fury. However, beneath that look, there was a flicker of guilt that was hard to conceal. He gripped the armrests of the heavy wooden chair, his fingers turning white from the pressure. Yet, Joanna stood firm between Fitran and Liam, her body shielding the servant, creating a barrier that reinforced her resolve and love. In this tense situation, their breaths seemed to halt, hanging in the air; the chilling silence awaited the next reaction.
Joanna:
“You said this new world should not be born from hatred and violence! If today you kill a child who is merely scared, what makes us different from the old world?”
Fitran fell silent, his breath heavy and uneven. His hands still glowed with magic, a silvery-blue hue that sent fragments of light dancing through the air, forming ethereal shapes that were intimidating. The moment stretched on, each second feeling like an hour. He restrained the anger that threatened to overflow, the space around him growing increasingly tight and suffocating. In his eyes, a flash of guilt and doubt flickered, as if a glimpse of a brighter, more hopeful past had crossed his mind. This cold interrogation room, with its stone walls and dimming light, held a glimmer of hope for an alternative that might exist, if only time could be turned back.
Liam, weak on the cold floor, lifted his tear-streaked face, moisture clinging to his skin. Around him, the dark-painted walls of the palace emanated a magical aura, accentuated by towering pillars and ancient carvings that vividly recounted the dark legends of the past. The air felt heavy with silence, laden with doubt and tension.
Liam:
“I... I truly regret it, Sir. I didn’t know... I...” His voice was barely audible, drowned out by the lingering rush of magic in the air, sparkling gently as it flowed around him.
Joanna looked down, her gaze soft yet burdened as she gently placed her hand on Liam's shoulder, offering a touch of reassurance. However, her fingers trembled slightly, reflecting the turmoil brewing within her heart.
Joanna:
“There can be no forgiveness without honesty. But no new world can emerge without a second chance.” In her voice was a barely contained hope, almost tangible—like warm morning dew.
Fitran gazed at Joanna with a deep, lingering look, as if trying to decipher the dreams hidden in her eyes. Slowly, the magic in his hands faded, leaving a shadowy trace that made his heart tremble. He let out a long sigh, his heavy voice quivering with the anger still simmering within him, like a slumbering flame ready to ignite once more.
Fitran:
“I will not execute a traitor in front of my daughter. However, justice must still be served. Liam, you will serve your sentence in the dungeons until this world is truly convinced that you can be trusted again.” His eyes burned with resolve, yet there was a softness in his gestures as he reached out, as if trying to project his strength onto the beaten Liam.
Liam could only weep, his body trembling as he fought against the lingering effects of the Veritas Doloris spell, which felt like a painful, suffocating weight enveloping him. Cold sweat trickled down his back, amplifying the emptiness in his heart. Joanna nodded at Fitran, signaling her understanding but also her disappointment in her father's method of punishment. A longing to save him flickered in her gaze, full of hope yet trapped in despair.
Fitran commanded the guards in a voice that rumbled like thunder, instructing them to take Liam to his cell before turning to Joanna with an expression heavy with sorrow, as if carrying the weight of untold stories.
Fitran (softly):
“Forgive me… I am only human. Sometimes, I become so afraid of losing hope that I forget that every person has their reasons for falling.” His face radiated profound regret, as if he felt guilt each time he recalled the decisions he had to make.
Joanna embraced Fitran without saying a word, sharing warmth amidst the suffocating silence. In that embrace, two generations of a new world found strength in each other—vowing to navigate the chasm between betrayal, justice, and second chances. The scent of aged wood and dusty earth that filled the room served as a reminder of a history spanning decades.
