The chamber was vast and cold—a dome of blackstone and silver threads that pulsed faintly with binding magic.
Twelve tribunal seats curved like a crescent moon above Karun, their occupants cloaked in the insignias of the Great Union: humans, elves, hooded figures, dwarves, beastkin, and two pale vampires whose crimson gazes cut sharper than any blade.
Karun stood in the center on a silver sigil etched into the floor. Its light pulsed with every heartbeat, tracking every flicker of his mana.
He kept his hands behind his back, posture straight, face unreadable.
A booming voice broke the silence.
"Karun Verimer," spoke the presiding magistrate, an elven woman draped in robes of emerald silk. Her tone was razor-sharp, devoid of warmth. "You were given an assignment classified as Grade-School Cultural Integration, not a covert operation, and certainly not a unilateral intervention in Beastkin sovereign territory. Explain why you acted against Union protocols."
Karun's eyes lowered briefly to the floor, then lifted again, calm and unwavering.
"I believed time was critical."
The murmurs rippled through the chamber. A minotaur official snorted. A vampire arched a brow.
The magistrate's tone hardened. "The system exists for a reason. The Welfare Department collaborates with international law enforcement for precisely these cases. Why not follow the chain of command?"
Karun's jaw tightened. "With respect," he said quietly, "in a trafficking case—every moment matters. Every hour delayed is another hour of suffering, another scar etched into a child's mind. Long-lasting trauma leads to broken lives, fractured psyches. I couldn't let that happen. Not when I was responsible for her."
A pause hung like a blade over his head. The air vibrated faintly with restrained power.
One of the vampire lords leaned forward, voice silk over steel. "And yet," he said, crimson eyes narrowing, "you admit you failed. The victims were already brutalized. Were your actions not, then, meaningless?"
Karun didn't flinch.
"They suffered," he said softly. "Because I was too late. I admit that. But if I'd waited for the system, they'd still be there. And others would have joined them."
The chamber fell silent.
Before the magistrates could speak, Agatha stepped forward from the observer's platform.
Her dark robes shimmered faintly with restrained lightning.
"With all due respect," she said, voice cutting like a thunderclap, "my subordinate acted without clearance, yes. He violated procedure, yes. But his intentions were pure—and his results speak for themselves. Lives were saved. A trafficking ring that spanned three nations was dismantled. Do you really intend to condemn that?"
A dwarf magistrate grunted. "Intentions are irrelevant to law."
Agatha's eyes sparked like stormlight.
"Then factor in his record. Five years. Flawless. Not one complaint. Not one failure. If you can't find leniency in your codes, then find it in the good sense the Union claims to represent."
The silence stretched. Eyes turned toward the presiding magistrate. She raised her hand, silencing the murmurs.
"Very well," the magistrate said. "We will recess to deliberate."
An hour later, Karun was escorted down a quiet silver hall to a chamber lined with shimmering wards.
Only one figure waited inside—a man in a black mantle embroidered with the crest of the Union itself.
His presence radiated power so heavy it made the wards hum.
"Karun Verimer," the man said, his voice calm but laced with something dangerous. "Sit."
Karun obeyed.
The man studied him for a long moment, then spoke.
"Your record is exemplary. Your instincts are… troublesome, but effective. We cannot ignore your transgression—yet neither can we afford to lose someone like you."
Karun said nothing, waiting.
"So," the man continued, "here is our solution. You will not be dismissed. Instead, you will be reassigned—to a special operations unit within the Department of Social Welfare. A unit that reports directly to me and the top members of the Union Council."
Karun's brow furrowed. "A… special unit?"
"Yes. Its work is classified. You will not speak of it. Not to Agatha. Not to anyone. Your public face will remain as it is: a substitute social worker—called in only when no one else is available. In reality…"
The man's eyes hardened like iron. "You will handle cases that can break or forge nations. Political power kegs. Cultural flashpoints. Incidents where a single misstep can start a war."
Karun's voice was quiet. "And if I refuse?"
The man leaned forward, his expression never changing as he spoke the words like they were fact, not threat.
"Then you disappear."
The silence between them was a blade-edge. Karun stared back, his jaw set.
Finally, he nodded once.
"Understood."
"Good," the man said, sitting back. "Your first assignment will come soon. When it does, you will answer without hesitation."
Karun rose slowly. His thoughts churned like storm clouds, but his voice was calm.
"If this means I can still help people—even in the shadows—then I'll do it."
The man's smile was faint. Almost… approving.
"Excellent. Then welcome to the Union's most invisible hand, Karun Verimer."
The door hissed open behind him, and two silent wardens stepped in to escort him back.
As Karun walked out of the chamber, he felt the weight of unseen chains settle on his shoulders—not chains of steel, but of duty, secrecy, and consequence.
The tribunal chamber doors closed behind him with a low metallic thud that echoed through the marble corridor.
Karun walked in silence, his steps steady, though inside his chest, a storm raged.
He had agreed. He had no choice.
"Karun."
The voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
Agatha stood leaning against the wall at the end of the hallway, arms crossed over her dark robes, her gaze sharp as a dagger.
"Come with me," she said curtly, turning without waiting for him to respond.
He followed her into a quiet corner of the Union complex—a lounge with muted lighting, rows of vending machines humming in the corner, and the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air.
Agatha didn't sit. She faced him, her expression torn between anger and something softer.
"Listen carefully, Karun," she said, voice low but firm. "If you're in trouble—any trouble—you call me. You don't think, you don't hesitate, you don't try to handle it alone. Especially now."
Karun tilted his head slightly. "Now?"
"Yes." Her eyes hardened. "Because you're in their clutches. The Union doesn't… recruit. Not unless they see something they want to own. And when they own you, Karun, that means more danger than you can even imagine."
Karun stayed silent, the weight of her words settling over him like cold iron.
She exhaled sharply and softened her tone just a fraction. "Make time for coffee with me when you can. They didn't say you can't see your friends, right?"
His lips curved faintly, a shadow of a smile. "No, they didn't."
"Good." Agatha's gaze lingered on him for a moment. "Then don't disappear completely, or I'll drag your sorry ass back myself."
Karun chuckled under his breath. "I'll try."
Agatha studied him, her sharp features softening. Then she sighed. "Why'd you have to be so damn foolish? Look where it got you."
Karun didn't answer. There were no words for that.
After a beat, Agatha reached out and patted his shoulder—not gently, not roughly, just… firmly.
"The victims," she said, her voice quieter now, "they send their thanks. All of them. And Lirielle…"
Karun's throat tightened.
"Lirielle wishes she could thank you in person."
Karun swallowed hard and forced out a whisper. "Tell her… welcome back."
Agatha froze, then smacked him across the arm. Hard.
"Ow—"
"How dare you make me deliver a message like that," she snapped, glaring at him. "You should tell her yourself."
He shook his head slightly, forcing a small smile. "I might break down if I did. Because… I'm not her mentor anymore."
Agatha stared at him for a long, heavy moment. Then, finally, she sighed again, looking away. "…Fair enough."
She turned and walked toward the exit. Before leaving, she threw one last glance over her shoulder.
"Don't make me regret defending you, Karun. And for the gods' sake—stay alive."
Karun stood there long after she was gone, staring at the faint reflection of himself in the polished floor.
Her words lingered, but it was the faces that haunted him—the hollow eyes of children who had already lost too much.
He clenched his fists slowly.
If only I'd been faster…
The memory cut like a blade, leaving him with nothing but silence—and a vow burning deep in his chest.