How do you plead?"
The echo of the judge's question resounded through the courtroom—a room of cold, gray walls, where every corner seemed to absorb all hope. A deep silence settled in, heavy as fog, while every eye fixed on the young defendant.
"You can't do this! He's only fourteen!"
A man's voice thundered through the room, filled with outrage. He was a man in his mid-thirties, his face marked with scars, his right hand amputated, leaning on a crutch—yet still possessing the strength to shout in defense of what he believed to be right.
"Silence!"
The judge's command was sharp, as firm as the gavel he slammed against the bench to impose his will. Seated on a high chair, cloaked in a black robe, the man appeared more like an imposing force than a mere human. In his eyes, the gleam of authority consumed everything.
The young boy, his messy brown hair tousled by the constant tension, couldn't help but let out a bitter smile.
"Just another monster..." he muttered, releasing a frustrated sigh. His brown eyes, burning with suppressed rage, scanned the courtroom before he raised his voice.
"Really... do we always have to obey? What even are we? Humans?"
He swallowed hard, trying to compose himself before continuing.
"And you? Who gave you the right? Idiots!"
The murmuring erupted. As if his words had been a spark in a room full of gunpowder. Whispers rose like a cutting wind, eyes darting between the crowd—surprised, confused, some disgusted. Lips moved, but no one dared interrupt the defiant boy.
"Silence!"
The judge shouted again, this time his voice cracked with frustration, though it barely quieted the rising storm. The tension in the air was palpable, like a thread on the verge of snapping.
"I will ask you one more time, Kian Blackwood. Do you plead guilty or not guilty?"
The man spoke, devoid of emotion, from his elevated throne. The high seat made him seem even more distant, as though he sat above everyone, beyond remorse.
The boy didn't hesitate.
"Does it even matter...?"
His voice rang out, defiant and laced with restrained fury. But before he could go on, the judge cut him off again.
"Guilty or not guilty?"
The weight of his words bore down on the boy.
"Let me remind you, Mr. Blackwood, you stand accused of murdering one of the most powerful families in this nation. The world sees you as a monster for using your abilities destructively. I ask you again... how do you plead?"
The boy, bound from head to toe in chains, tried to break free. His body strained against the restraints, but in the end, his efforts crumbled like sandcastles under the tide of judgment. His gaze darkened, but there was no fear in it—only resignation.
"I plead guilty."
The words left his mouth like a heavy whisper. In that instant, the courtroom exploded. A torrent of screams filled the air, as if a volcano had erupted. Murmurs of disdain became insults, and the crowd stared at him as if he were a plague. Each word hurled at him was a curse. Everyone in the room seemed to share the same disgust. Everyone—except one man in the corner. The man with the crutch remained silent, watching the boy with an unreadable expression.
"Let me finish!"
Kian shouted, but his voice was drowned by the furious roars of the crowd. No one wanted to listen. No one cared to know more.
"And no one needs to listen, Mr. Blackwood. You are a murderer. A being who used his power for destruction. Now, you will be punished..."
The judge leaned forward, his face rigid as stone, as though the words he spoke were the final truth this world would ever hear.
"With death."