The dim lanterns cast elongated shadows across the cold stone walls of the detention chamber. Elias sat in silence, his fingers loosely intertwined, his mind a battlefield of uncertainty. The conversation with Ettore still lingered in his thoughts, but no amount of contemplation could prepare him for what was to come. A sharp creak interrupted the stillness. The iron-banded door swung open, revealing Ettore standing in the threshold. His expression was unreadable, but the weight in his gaze told Elias everything he needed to know.


    He stepped into the dimly lit chamber, his heavy boots echoing against the cold stone floor. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and candle wax, the silent weight of past judgments lingering within the ancient walls. He cast a glance toward Elias, who sat in the accused’s seat, his hands bound in enchanted manacles that dulled his connection to magic. The young mage''s expression was calm—too calm, Ettore noted, as if resignation had already settled in his bones.


    “The time has come,” Ettore announced, his voice even but firm. “You will now stand before the magistrates.”


    Elias gave a slow nod, exhaling through his nose before pushing himself to his feet. There was no point in resisting—not when the eyes of the law were already upon him.


    Elias took a slow breath, exhaling the tension that had built up within him. He stood, smoothing out the creases in his clothes. There was no point in delaying the inevitable. Flanked by two enforcers, he followed Ettore down the long corridor. The rhythmic clank of their boots against the stone floor echoed through the halls, each step drawing him closer to the chamber where his fate would be decided.


    <hr>


    The grand courtroom of the Continental Magic Association was an architectural marvel, yet its splendor did little to ease the tension that thickened the air. Rows of robed figures occupied the balconies, murmuring amongst themselves, their faces barely illuminated by the ambient blue glow of the floating orbs that lined the chamber. At the far end, the high magistrates sat atop an elevated dais, their robes adorned with insignias representing their respective divisions within the Association.


    Elias was led to the center of the circular courtroom, where a solitary platform awaited him. It was a subtle yet deliberate design—standing alone in a room full of scrutiny, one could feel the crushing weight of judgment before a single word was spoken. Ettore was among them, though not as an enforcer this time—he had taken a seat in the neutral observer''s section. His presence was both reassuring and unnerving. A silent promise that the hearing would be fair, but also a reminder that fairness did not mean mercy.


    “The court is now in session.” The booming voice belonged to High Magister Callidus, an aged man whose mere presence seemed to quiet the hall. “The accused, Elias Vael, stands before us on charges of reckless spell use, unsanctioned arcane activity, and endangerment of the public.”


    A murmur rippled through the crowd. The charges, while severe, were not entirely uncommon. Yet, given the state of the world, any reckless magic use was taken with the utmost gravity. The prosecution stepped forward—a sharp-eyed woman draped in a silver-trimmed robe. “The accused not only engaged in unsanctioned magic but did so in a manner that could have exacerbated magical debt accumulation, hastening the next Eclipse of Remembrance.”


    The mention of the Eclipse sent a shudder through the chamber. Even now, the world’s collective arcane burden was an ever-growing shadow, its toll unknowable. The defense, a reserved but capable mage by the name of Alder Veyne, countered, “My client had no intentions of harming others. While he did mismanage his magical debt, he did acknowledge the Association''s restrictions on debt-heavy spells. It was never his intention to shoulder his debt to the victim, Lior.”


    A ripple of murmurs followed. Callidus raised a hand, silencing them. “We will review the evidence.”


    Magical projections flickered to life, replaying the incident in question. Spells ignited the air, debris flew, and amidst it all, Elias'' magic surged. The jury, including Ettore, watched in horror as the grotesque transformation of Lior was replayed, the sound of his eyes cracking grating into their every nerve ending. They could see the stunned look on the healer''s face and Lior''s parents desperation. There was immense grief in the scene, but also a recklessness that could not be ignored.


    Elias felt as if he were reliving his nightmare—not just watching it, but drowning in it. His breath hitched as the air thickened around him, suffocating, constricting his chest like unseen chains. Every crackle of distorted magic in the recording reverberated in his bones, each moment dragging him deeper into the horror he''d tried so desperately to forget. His fingers twitched against the wooden armrests of his chair, nails pressing into the surface as if grounding himself could stop the past from clawing its way into his present.


    The image of Lior—his skin splitting, his limbs twisting into something no longer human—seared into Elias’ mind anew, branding itself behind his eyelids whenever he blinked. The sound of Lior’s screams rang in his ears, high and agonized, blending with the desperate sobs of his parents, a cacophony of suffering that pressed in from all sides. He wanted to look away. He needed to look away. But his body refused to move, frozen between guilt and the raw terror of seeing it unfold once more. His throat was dry, and a bitter taste coated his tongue—regret, fear, the knowledge that no matter how much he willed it, he could never undo what had happened.


    A tremor ran through his hands. Did anyone else notice? Could they see the way his body recoiled ever so slightly at each horrifying moment? The way his breath turned shallow, his vision tunneled? He felt exposed, laid bare before the jury, their judgment weighing down on him even before the trial had truly begun. And yet, worse than their scrutiny was the undeniable truth playing out before him—this was his doing. His magic had caused this. No matter how much he had told himself there had been no other choice, no way to predict what would happen, the image of Lior''s broken form shattered every defense he had built.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    Ettore’s gaze was unwavering. He had seen it firsthand, and now, he was watching it unfold again—except this time, there was no room for second chances.


    <hr>


    The prosecution’s voice cut through the dim light. “The Eclipse is not a myth. It is a force beyond any of us, and every unsanctioned use of magic brings us closer to another cleansing. We do not have the luxury of reckless mages playing hero.”


    The words stung, and yet, there was truth in them. Alder’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And yet, without action, none of us would have attained our current understanding of magic. Spells are meant to be used, and they are the pinnacle of the New Federation''s education. Despite the accused''s reckless usage of magic in unnecessary situations, it is clear that he never had the intention to initiate this debt transference phenomenon. It was out of his control.”


    A brief silence fell over the chamber. Ettore, standing off to the side, remained impassive, offering no indication of his thoughts. Another magistrate, a younger man with an expression of measured skepticism, spoke next. "You claim the accused did not intentionally start the process. Do you have proof?"


    The defense counsel fell silent as Alder discussed the implications of this question, carefully weighing every word. He gestured for his assistant to hand him a small stack of research documents, its institution emblem clearly bearing the insignia of the Continental Magic Association. His resolve unwavering, Alder''s voice cut through the murmur of the crowd.


    "According to Professor Celeste''s research on magical debt management, she has described this ''debt transference'' phenomenon as a process that occurs when two people have an extremely close bond to each other. When this phenomenon happens, one will transfer all of their debt to the other, granting them the ''Blessing of the Eclipse.'' The other person bears the weight of their combined debt, effectively signing their own death sentence."


    The lead prosecutor narrowed her eyes, stepping forward with an air of unshakable confidence. "An interesting theory, but theoretical research does not absolve the accused of responsibility. If anything, it only proves that he was careless in his actions. Regardless of intent, the phenomenon still occurred. What guarantees can you provide that such recklessness will not happen again?"


    Alder’s expression remained composed. "It is clear that this was outside of my client''s control. The study mentions that magical debt is like a funnel. The larger the debt, the larger the funnel. Hence, the higher the probability for it to merge with a nearby funnel. This is what caused Lior''s demise. Magic is not the enemy here—ignorance is.”


    He tapped the research papers. “The very knowledge we are debating now exists because individuals have tested the boundaries, learned from mistakes, and refined their understanding."


    The prosecution countered without hesitation. "A dangerous perspective. The Eclipse does not discriminate between intent and accident. Each spell cast adds to the debt, and the world pays the price. The accused may not have meant harm, but harm was not averted. The loss of Lior and his transformation are tangible evidence of the consequences of his crime. If we allow this as precedent, what stops another from claiming the same ignorance and casting spells without restraint?"


    <hr>


    Before Alder could respond, the magistrate raised a hand. "We have heard much debate from both sides, but now, we must listen to those who have suffered most."


    The heavy doors of the courtroom creaked open, and two figures stepped forward. Lior’s parents.


    The atmosphere shifted instantly. Murmurs spread among the audience as the grieving mother and father made their way to the witness stand. Their presence alone weighed upon the chamber like a thick fog. The mother, a woman whose face had been carved by sleepless nights, clutched a handkerchief in trembling fingers. The father, his eyes dark and sunken, stood rigid, his jaw set in barely restrained grief.


    The magistrate nodded solemnly. "You may speak."


    Lior’s mother was the first to break the silence. Her voice, though trembling, carried the weight of a thousand unspoken words. "My son was not reckless. He was not careless. And yet, he is gone."


    She turned her gaze toward Elias, and for a moment, the accused felt the full force of her grief. "You speak of magic as a tool for progress, as something to be studied and understood. But tell me—where in your research is my son? Where in your logic does his life fit?"


    The courtroom remained still, the air thick with emotion. Even Alder, always calm, felt the tide shifting against him. Lior’s father spoke next, his voice raw and bitter. "You argue about knowledge, about research—but what knowledge will bring my son back? What progress is worth his life?"


    The prosecution seized the moment. "This is the cost we speak of. Not theoretical debates. Not abstract philosophy. Lives. Lives that cannot be restored, only remembered."


    <hr>


    Alder inhaled deeply. He could feel the weight pressing down, his argument’s foundation beginning to crack under the sheer force of grief.


    His grip on the briefcase tightened. The tide of the trial had shifted against him, and he could see it in the magistrates’ eyes—the weight of grief, of responsibility, of fear.


    He had one final move to play. Alder''s hands trembled, fully knowing the significance of the parchment he is about to present. With the prosecution''s pressing advantage, he had no choice. With shaking hands, he undid the brass clasp and withdrew a single, aged document, the movement fluid and practiced, attaining to his dual-profession as an attorney of law and a scholar. Unlike the previous research papers, this one bore no institutional seal of the Continental Magic Association, nor any insignia of the New Federation’s governing bodies.


    Instead, pressed into the parchment in deep violet ink was an emblem few would recognize—a single, stylized bloom, its petals twisting in a pattern that defied natural symmetry.


    A Bloom of Tenacity.


    Murmurs rippled through the chamber. Ettore raised an eyebrow at the flower, his memories resurfacing. The magistrates exchanged wary glances, but none dared to speak first. Even the prosecution counsel hesitated, their earlier confidence faltering at the sight of the insignia. They knew of it. Alder placed the document on the table with deliberate care. "Honored magistrates," he began, his voice steady but edged with urgency. "I ask you this. Should the Eclipse take more lives, or should it be ended?"