The silence in the Room of Judgment was deliberate. Manufactured. The kind of silence born not from peace, but from control.
Five men sat beneath the emblem of the World Government—not on thrones, but on elevated seats of rule, each one carved into marble like a scar. The Gorosei did not need height to command. They had history. Power. And fear. Today, all three belonged to someone else.
She stood alone in the center of the chamber, hands clasped behind her back. Tall. Immaculate. Dressed in a ceremonial black suit lined in silver thread, the crimson-white cloak of the Celestial Dragons draped over her shoulders like a mockery.
Her hair shimmered silver; her eyes, dull red and faintly glowing. A black cloth was wrapped tightly around the long weapon at her hip—an object the Gorosei had forbidden anyone to touch, study, or even name aloud. But they all knew it: Soul Edge.
Zenka inhaled softly as the doors sealed behind her. She could taste the air here—sharp, artificial, still. The Room of Judgment always smelled like sterility and secrets. It reminded her of the first time they tried to drug her into compliance. Of the surgeon who hadn't come out.
"You summoned me," she said, her voice calm, perfectly measured.
"There's unrest," Saturn began. "The Florian Triangle. Byrnndi World's insolence... questioning our authority."
"Then sanction his death," Zenka replied.
One of the elders gave a long, dry breath. "We'd rather you begin integrating into the God Knights."
Her eye twitched—almost imperceptibly. "Integration is not control," she said.
"It's perception," another corrected. "You will operate under the role of God Knight Consultant. You will carry the title publicly. Appear at diplomatic functions. Advise in controlled environments."
Zenka didn't answer. Her gaze drifted, unhurried, across the room. One of the elders' fingers trembled. Another's lips were dry. She catalogued their tells without expression.
"No," she said at last.
The word cut through the chamber like her blade never had to.
"You misunderstand," Saturn said, his tone flat. "This is not an offer. It's a reclassification. You are to function within a defined perimeter, or you will be contained again."
Zenka turned her head slightly. The edge of her smile could have been carved from marble.
"Try," she said.
Another pause. The Gorosei didn't move—but they didn't repeat the threat either.
"You'll have influence," Saturn said, adjusting. "You'll have access. Favors. Autonomy… within structure."
Now she turned fully to face them.
"Then say it," she demanded. "Say you're afraid. Say you're binding a miracle with bureaucracy because chains didn't work."
None of them spoke. So she let them sit in it. "I want access to Impel Down," she said finally. "All levels. Especially Six."
"Why?"
"Because I enjoy it."
A pause.
"Granted."
She turned to leave, the long folds of her cloak brushing the floor. As she walked, the soft hiss of her boots against stone was the only sound.
"Zenka," one of the elders said, "that sword. Soul Edge. Why do you still carry it?"
She stopped.
"Because you couldn't destroy it," she said. "And because I did."
"It's not sanctioned. Even the Celestial Dragons wouldn't be allowed—"
"They don't need it. They have walls."
"That blade changes you," Saturn said at last. "It feeds."
Zenka didn't look back. "Then be glad I'm already broken."