09:00 a.m. - At High Temple Inquisition Hall, Dawnspire
The hall felt like a great mouth made of stone. Tall pillars rose like ribs. A narrow window threw a blade of white light across the floor. Tapestries of the Staglord hung heavy on the walls. Brass bowls burned with incense. The air smelled like wax, ash, and old wood. Iron rings were set into the altar rail, as if the room could shackle truth until it spoke. It was not a normal court. It was a church room. Here, religion ruled law.
(People bow to robes here. Robes pull the strings. Fine. Then I will speak plain and hold my ledger steady.)
Benches were full. Merchants in warm cloaks. Guild elders with badges on chains. Scribes with ink on their fingers. Miners with rough coats. Acolytes stood along the walls, faces still, hands folded. The Temple liked to be seen. The Temple liked to be obeyed.
On the raised bench sat Pope Thaddeus. His crimson robes shone under the cold light. His smile was soft and strange, like a man who already had the last word. Beside him stood Marcelline, tall and bright in white and gold. She held herself like a spear. The stag pendant at her chest caught every light in the room. Her calm was sharp.
(There she is. Marcelline. Strong. Beautiful. She looks like a statue that could judge a city. I should not tease. I will tease.)
Varena Kestrel sat to the left with a quiet face and dark eyes that measured everything. Odrik Stoneveil sat close by with his wrong grin and easy shoulders. They leaned toward each other like partners who knew the steps to the same dance.
Baldric Ironhand stood near the aisle, arms folded, eyes on the desk where the ledgers would sit. Aidan Thorne had come too. He carried two books and a stamped pad. He stood straight behind Ryan like a post.
Aidan (reports, low): "Ledgers, gate logs, witness list. Two‑person sign on each page. We are tidy."
Ryan (nods): "Good hands. Keep that patch neat."
A bell rang once. The sound bounced off stone and made even the dust sit still.
Pope Thaddeus (rises, voice smooth): "Citizens of Dawnspire. We gather to weigh a name and to test a rumor. The Temple holds order in trust. I will sit as judge for this hearing. We will take sworn words. We will keep the peace."
Marcelline (clear, commanding): "We do not burn for gossip. We do not spare for fear. We seek truth."
Ryan stepped to the low table. A scribe set ink and a leaf before him. He laid his ledger open. The paper felt calm under his palms.
(Hands, rules, time. The rest is noise. Stick to that.)
Pope Thaddeus (measured): "Master Ryan Mercer, owner of Technologia. You stand accused of murder in the Frosthaven pit and of dealings unfit for honest trade. We will hear witness."
Ryan (steady): "I will answer with facts. I have ledgers. I have names."
Varena's eyes slid to Odrik. Odrik smirked. The two looked like they had spoken last night and the night before.
Odrik (oily, too loud): "He makes money fast. Fast money makes bad judgment."
Varena (calm): "We ask only that the Temple test his claim to clean hands."
Pope Thaddeus (soft): "We will test."
The first witness came. A porter from Frosthaven swore at the rail and spoke of crates and carts.
Porter (nervous): "Crate A left at dawn. Jorren signed as porter. Sariel signed the gate. Murdock counted the nails. Aidan kept the list."
Aidan (to scribe, firm): "Copy those names. Each signed on the day. No gaps."
Ryan slid a page forward. His finger tapped each line.
Ryan (plain): "Here is the stamp. Here is the sign. Here are the hours. We cap float at two days and we do not lie."
Marcelline watched him, face still. She did not like him. He could feel it like cold on the neck. He answered anyway. He spoke in simple words, the kind that carried across noise. The room eased when he spoke. Heads tilted toward him. Doubt slipped. It was like a river under the stone. He did not call for it. It came on its own.
(They relax when I speak. It is not charm. It is a pressure. It is strange. Useful. Do not show that you notice.)
They called the miner who claimed to have seen Ryan at the pit. He walked with stiff legs and looked at the floor too much. He touched his hat and then wrung it.
Miner (uneasy): "I saw a man in a dark cloak at the lip. Men fell. They did not come back. I ran to the guard. I swear it."
Marcelline (firm): "Do you swear before the Staglord that what you say is true?"
Miner (swallows): "I… I swear."
Ryan let the man speak. Then he folded open the gate log again.
Ryan (calm): "My workers saw me that morning in Dawnspire. I was not at Frosthaven's pit. Check the hour marks. Check the scribes in the Guild. They saw me buy paper, then return. Names are here."
Marcelline (cool): "You ask us to take pages over a living eye."
Ryan (teasing, half smile): "Pages do not get drunk. Pages do not forget. They are simple. Like me."
A few people laughed in spite of themselves. Marcelline did not. Her eyes grew colder. She felt his small joke like a thorn in a silk glove.
Marcelline (sharp): "You make light of this room."
Ryan (shrugs): "It is better than making fire in it."
Her jaw tightened. She looked away with intent. She was done with warm words. Fine.
(Okay. She hates that. I should stop. I will not stop. I am not smart.)
Varena rose with a smooth hand and nodded to the bench.
Varena (measured): "We have concern from our traders. Men ask if his jars are safe. Men whisper he is not of clean root. I am a friend to rules. I ask the Temple to test his claim in full."
Odrik (grinning): "Test him with water. See if the light fits on him. The street is nervous."
Pope Thaddeus's face stayed smooth. He liked tests that made crowds breathe. He lifted two fingers and a junior priest brought a silver bowl and a small stoppered vial.
Pope Thaddeus (gentle): "It harms no honest man. We will show the street what the Temple sees."
The acolyte poured out clear water and dripped a few drops of oil. The light caught a thin sheen. A small prayer passed between his teeth. He offered the bowl to Marcelline first.
Marcelline (ritual calm): "In order. We will not shame, only test."
She stepped down with the bowl and stopped in front of Ryan. Their eyes met. He smiled again by habit. She did not blink.
Ryan (light, in a hush): "If I glow, please pretend it is handsome."
Marcelline (flat): "Do not joke about the gods."
She lifted the bowl and tipped it. Cold water ran over his hands, his wrists, his face. Oil glimmered on his skin like a film. It made a small cross as it broke on his brow. Nothing else happened. No burn. No smoke. No sign.
(Cold. That is all. Good.)
A hush bent around the moment. The crowd wanted a gasp. The crowd got a shrug. Baldric grunted like a man who bit into clean bread.
Baldric (low): "He stands. Water is water."
Odrik tried to speak into the quiet.
Odrik (pressing): "Some demons hide. They lie in bright rooms too."
Varena (soft correction): "We did not say demon. We asked for order. We have no proof of any other claim."
She had the sense to step back. Odrik's face turned sour for one breath and then smoothed again.
Aidan leaned forward and placed two more pages for the scribe.
Aidan (to scribe): "Stamp and copy. Witnesses sign on the back. No gaps."
The hearing moved on. More porters spoke. Murdock came to the rail and spoke like an anvil.
Murdock (steady): "We measure. We do not cut corners. If anyone says we do, they can eat my tongs."
Light laughter. The room breathed. Sariel spoke, cool and precise.
Sariel (firm): "Gate logs are kept clean. I check names each hour. The men who vanished are not on our list."
The Temple listened. The scribes wrote. The people leaned and found themselves nodding when Ryan answered simple questions. It was not because his words were grand. It was because they settled into the room like stones in a wall. Each one made the wall firmer.
(They accept it. They follow. I did not ask. It still happens. Fine. Take the win.)
Marcelline tried again, pushing at morals and motive.
Marcelline (asks): "Why not speak to the families of the men who fell? Why not go to the pit and search?"
Ryan (quiet): "Because I was not there when they fell. And when I did return to the pit later, the place threw me back out. Long story. We can speak of it another day. For now, I have proof of where I was at that hour, not a tale."
Her lips thinned. He had talked around a point and teased again. She did not enjoy being teased. She did not enjoy him.
Varena and Odrik watched like gamblers with bad cards. They exchanged small looks at each turn, as if they had prepared lines to push the room. They were too smooth.
(They are playing together. They planned this. Paid the miner. Set whispers in alleys. Expected this room to burn. It did not. Good.)
At last Pope Thaddeus lifted his hand.
Pope Thaddeus (mild): "We will pause. The Temple will examine the pages laid before us and call last witness when we return. Ten minutes only."
He struck the small block. The sound was neat. People stood. The hall let out a long breath and poured itself into the side corridors.
(I will keep teasing the sun. She will hate me. Pope will smile like silk. The two traders will plot. I will drink a breath.)
11:20 a.m. - At High Temple Side Hall, Dawnspire
The side hall was narrow, cold, and lined with icons. Gold letters ran along stone in old prayers. Servants carried trays with watered wine for the elders. The smell of incense was less heavy here, but it still clung. People formed tight circles. Words buzzed.
Ryan stood near a pillar with Aidan. Aidan set the ledgers on a small table and checked the stamps with a fast eye.
Aidan (quiet): "Numbers hold. Witnesses ready. If someone brings Temple noise, we pull the books."
Ryan (dry): "No show trials in our yard."
Aidan (grim little smile): "Stamp it and we move."
Pope Thaddeus came as if he drifted. His smile warmed fast, like a lamp that gave light without heat.
Pope Thaddeus (pleasant): "Master Ryan. You handle paper as if you were born to a scribe. I value that."
Ryan (bows a little): "You showed me a fair room. Thank you."
Pope Thaddeus (leans a touch closer): "The Temple values tools that make order. Your pens are such tools. Your jars are useful too. Many hands in my quarter would be grateful."
Ryan (plain): "We sell at fair price. We replace failed jars. We keep the books open."
Pope Thaddeus (soft): "Good rules. I suggest something else too. Friendship. Let us hold a simple tie. No bargain now. Only goodwill. In time, it may warm both our houses."
(He wants a line. He wants to hold a thread that leads to me. He is dangerous in silk.)
Marcelline stood at the far end of the hall. She watched with a face like cut stone. She did not hide that she disapproved. She and the Pope clashed in quiet ways, Ryan could see that now. They were two walls that met at an angle.
Varena and Odrik waited like dogs who did not know which master to beg. They looked at the Pope and then at Ryan and then at the doors, and their eyes did sums.
Ryan (careful): "I keep my calendar on paper. If there is a warm day, we can talk. But I do not tie my house to a hand I cannot see."
Pope Thaddeus (a little laugh): "Prudent. I like prudent. Then allow this simple thing. Meet a friend of mine. He values craft. He serves my household. If you speak with him later, you will find he can open doors in the city."
He turned his head slightly. A neat man waited in the shadow of a column. He had a careful walk and clean hands. He wore a small badge worked in silver that marked him as Temple staff. He stepped forward and bowed with a polite smile that did not touch his eyes.
Pope Thaddeus (introduces): "Master Ryan, this is Cassian Morrow, my steward."
Cassian Morrow (bowing): "Master Mercer. Your pens are a small wonder. It is an honor to greet you."
Ryan nodded. Cassian's voice was smooth like polished wood. It made no sound after it stopped. It left nothing behind.
(He is quiet in the wrong way. He makes no noise in my head. I do not like that.)
Pope Thaddeus (gentle): "Do not decide now. Only meet. Later, if you wish, Cassian will visit your hall with an order for the Temple. It will be clean. It will be public. A kind start."
Ryan (neutral): "We will speak later."
Pope Thaddeus smiled as if he had already heard yes. He stepped back with the grace of a man who did not sweat.
Pope Thaddeus (soft): "Very good. The bell calls us."
He was right. The bell rang again. The room tilted toward order. People went back in, caught by the pull of ritual and the hope of seeing a life rise or fall.
(Back into the mouth. Finish it clean. Then get out of this hall.)
02:45 p.m. - At High Temple Inquisition Hall, Dawnspire
The air felt tighter now, as if the hall had shrunk around the benches. The cold light at the window had moved on. Lamps burned steadier and thicker. Scribes had a small pile of pages now. The ink looked like a night sky that would not lift.
Pope Thaddeus took his seat. Marcelline stood a half step behind him, hands flat on the rail.
Pope Thaddeus (calm): "The Temple has heard witness. We have measured the pages. We have seen the ritual. We will now speak our finding."
The room held its breath for him. Varena leaned forward with her hands neatly folded. Odrik rubbed his fingers together as if counting. Baldric squinted. Aidan stood still as a nail.
Pope Thaddeus (clear): "In absence of proof of malice or murder, the Temple cannot condemn. The witness most heavy against Master Ryan admitted coin for his words. The ledgers stand, the gate logs stand, and the holy water did not judge him foul. Master Ryan Mercer is acquitted."
The sound was like wind hitting a wall. People gasped. Some clapped once and then stopped, unsure. Marcelline did not move. Her face had gone paler in the lamplight. The muscles in her jaw jumped once. She looked like a woman who had just watched a flood turn away from the wrong field.
(She will not forget this. She will come again with iron gloves. Good. That means I will see her again. Stop it. Keep your head on work.)
Varena's face shut. Odrik made a small, ugly sound in the throat. Then he smiled too wide again, as if his mouth could cover the day.
Odrik (thin): "Law is a maze. Sometimes honest men get lucky."
Varena (flat): "We congratulate the Temple on a clean process."
Her eyes said something else. Her eyes promised work in the dark.
Acolytes began to move people to the doors. The Pope rose, still wearing that soft smile. He stepped down from the bench and came toward Ryan with two staff at his back. One of them was Cassian Morrow. Cassian's face had no change in it. He was as neat as before. He looked at Ryan with a polite interest, like a clerk looks at a new type of script.
Pope Thaddeus (warm): "Master Ryan. You spoke well. Truth loves a ledger."
Ryan (dry): "We do the math, not the rumor."
Aidan (to Ryan, steady): "We keep the books open. We bring witnesses."
Murdock (growls): "And we keep the forge hot for liars."
Marcelline stepped down too. She did not join them. She stopped to the side, hands behind her back, eyes like hot coins. Her voice, when it came, was ice.
Marcelline (cool): "Acquittal is not innocence. We will keep our eyes on your work."
Ryan (light, maybe foolish): "You can watch any time. If you find a flaw, I will fix it. If you find me handsome, I will deny it."
Her eyes narrowed. She turned away like a door closing.
(Stop teasing her. You will get stabbed between prayers.)
Baldric cleared his throat like a drum.
Baldric (to guards): "Open a path. Carry the papers to the annex when done."
The last strange thing of the day came fast. The Pope lifted a hand toward Cassian, as if to say, "Now."
Pope Thaddeus (courteous): "Master Ryan, before we end, allow a small courtesy to my household."
Cassian stepped forward. He had that same calm. He stopped close enough to speak quietly but far enough to respect the room. He bowed.
Cassian Morrow (bows): "Master Mercer."
Ryan nodded, tired and wary. He had held his line all day. He had joked when he should not have. He had walked out clean. He wanted to go. He did not want one more twist.
(Shake the hand, say a word, leave. Easy.)
Cassian Morrow raised his hand for a polite greeting. Everyone was watching: Pope, Marcelline, Varena, Odrik, Baldric, Aidan, and half the hall that had not yet left. The Temple liked ritual. A handshake at the end of a trial made a picture the city could keep.
Cassian Morrow (offers hand): "Nice to meet—"
Ryan took the hand.
The sound was small at first. A wet pop. Then it was a crack and a rip together. Cassian's arm blew apart at the elbow. A breath later his whole body burst with a sick, heavy noise. Flesh struck the rail. Blood hit the floor in a sheet. The carved wood wore meat like a bad wreath. A piece of jaw landed on the scribe's board and the feather stuck in it.
(what the—)
Ryan (staring, shocked): "what the—"