General Odin, the Iron Wolf of Carles and a pillar of Northem’s might for nearly three decades, now knelt in disgrace beneath the arched ceiling of the Justice Hall—once the seat of his honor, now the stage of his humiliation. Beside him, his four sons—Asael, Galahad, Bener, and Percival—also bowed on bended knee, heads low, encircled by Northem’s elite knights. Their drawn swords glinted coldly in the sunlight, each blade aimed mercilessly at the back of the Norse bloodline.
General Odin lifted his head as he gaze into the man who was seated on the throne, cloaked in a resplendent robe of gold, the insignia of a soaring eagle stitched across his chest in silver thread. The embroidery dazzled the eye—so much so that one might overlook the prince’s youth, his untested hands, or the hard curve of arrogance on his lips.
Odin slowly lifted his gaze, a tempest burning behind his eyes. His voice, hoarse from days of silence, cut through the heavy air.
"What is the meaning of this, Your Highness?" he demanded, each word deliberate and thunderous. "You summon us from Carles under royal decree—only to meet us with blades and shame? Are we criminals, that my sons and I are treated like traitors?"
He had once stood proudly in this very hall, not as a prisoner, but a celebrated hero. Two years ago, the hall rang with laughter and goblets clinking, honoring their triumph over the Estalis invaders. Today, it was a hall of betrayal.
Prince Reuben leaned forward, a crooked smirk on his face. "Why ask me, General Odin?" he said, his voice laced with youthful contempt. "Surely, you already know the crimes you’ve committed?"
"I beg Your Highness to enlighten me," Odin replied, rage simmering beneath the surface of his words. "Because I am truly in the dark."
The prince’s smile curled further. "Very well, if you insist on this charade of innocence—"
"We are innocent!" Galahad snapped, his temper igniting like dry tinder. His outburst echoed sharply—then thud! A brutal kick slammed into his back, throwing him face-first onto the cold, unforgiving stone floor.
Espiyor, Reuben’s knight stood arrogantly looking down at the fallen man.
"Galahad!" Asael and Bener cried out, but Odin raised a hand, silencing them.
"That is the price of insolence," Reuben said coolly. "Disrespect the Crown Prince, and you will be punished."
Odin bowed his head—not in submission, but to hide the fury flaring in his eyes. His fists clenched, blood rushing to his knuckles.
"Prime Minister Grio, do the honor of telling General Odin and his sons what their crimes are." Prince Reuben said with theatrical authority.
The former defense minister, Grio Defensor who was promoted to Prime Minister a year after Reuben was appointed the heir to the throne cleared his throat as he unravelled a scroll.
"This petition," he began, "signed by senior generals and court ministers, charges General Odin and his sons with the grievous loss of over five hundred Northem soldiers. They were lured into the Meander Pass in Mount MarNubes, ambushed by enemy forces due to inaccurate intelligence provided by the Norse family. These letters"—he gestured to crumpled envelopes on a nearby table—"bear Asael’s handwriting and implicate them directly. Some were recovered from the dead commander’s belongings, others from the Norse estate."
Odin’s pupils narrowed to slits. He surged to his feet, fury lacing every syllable. "Lies!" he thundered. "I never dispatched men through Meander Pass! I know that cursed place too well. Two years ago, I walked its trails and barely escaped with my life. Do not twist my name into the rope of your treachery! You know too well how I value the lives of my men."
The hall froze. Even Reuben’s breath hitched as the weight of Odin’s voice bore down upon the room like a warhammer. For a heartbeat, even the prince felt like a child caught in a storm.
"Restrain him!" barked one of the knights.
"Do not touch me!" Odin commanded, not with panic, but with authority. "I am not doing anything, I am just standing. What do you want to do?"
The knights froze. He was right. He wasn’t attacking. He was simply standing—tall, unbroken, defiant.
The knights instinctively stepped back.
Grio recovered. He straightened his back then pressed forward, lifting the incriminating letters. "But the evidence speaks—"
"They are forgeries!" Asael cried, his voice trembling with disbelief. "I never wrote those letters. This is a setup!"
Then, a new voice entered the hall—soft, sorrowful, and treacherously familiar.
"Father... brothers..." said Mira, the daughter Odin once raised as his own and the sister that the Norse brothers once doted on. She stepped gracefully into view, dressed in a flowing white gown, her beauty a mask for betrayal. "If you confess and plead for mercy, the Crown Prince might lessen your sentence. Please... do not force his hand."
She paused, her voice growing colder. "They also found secret correspondence between Asael and the Prince of Estalis. Its content... suggests rebellion."
A ripple of shock passed through the brothers. But before anyone could speak, a dark, sudden laughter shattered the tension.
The laughter echoed through the marble hall—low, bitter, wild. It silenced every tongue. Even Mira froze, her expression faltering.
When it faded, Odin’s gaze turned to her—piercing, unforgiving. Mira instinctively took a step back.
He swept his eyes across the dais, taking in every face: his cousin Marlon Norse, now silent and complicit; Duval of Edenia; Lord Malik; Lord Solanio, the three men who were part of Reuben’s inner circle. And the court ministers, men who once toasted to his victories, now nodding at his downfall, cowards in velvet masks.
After sometime there was only silence. Even Grio did not know what to say and how to react.
"Your Highness," Odin said, voice like molten steel, "after a lifetime of service—after bleeding for Northem while others drank wine behind safe walls—this is the reward? Lies? Humiliation? Treason cloaked in justice?" He shook his head. "I almost pity your father. Were he not already on his sickbed, this farce would surely kill him."
He turned to Mira. His voice, when it came, was fire. "I once called you daughter. I dismissed Lara’s warnings as jealousy. But now—now I see. I see everything. The snake in our garden. What a vicious heart you have, the shadow behind the abduction of my true daughter. And Marlon..." He turned to his cousin, voice like a death toll. "It was you, wasn’t it?"
Mira gasped, stepping back again, her face draining of color.
And the hall, once filled with murmurs and whispers, was now thick with silence—heavy, tense, waiting for the next move.