Chapter 102: The Poisoned Verdict
The arena of echoes had never been so quiet.
The trial grounds spanned a sunken stone amphitheater, encircled by cliffs carved with centuries of names, Lunas crowned, Alphas burned, traitors flayed, and kings forgotten. The whispers of past judgments were said to linger in the walls, like breath trapped in stone.
Thousands of shifters gathered in solemn circles, seated in tiers that curved like a waiting mouth. Noble bloodlines filled the highest balconies. Warriors occupied the mid-rings, dressed in leather, steel, and ceremonial bone. The outermost rings swarmed with the restless, unmated wolves, youngbloods, and factions loyal to either crown or chaos.
At the center, a raised stone platform awaited. Magnolia stood upon it.
She wore white, not for purity, but for sacrifice. The ceremonial silk clung to her frame, shoulders bare, wrists unadorned. Her dark hair was braided down her spine, tipped with silver threads that shimmered when she moved. Her eyes met the crowd with quiet defiance.
Rhett watched from the sealed inner ring, his fists clenched so tight blood dripped from the moons carved into his palms. Beckett stood behind him like a storm waiting for a signal. Celeste stood alone, staff in hand, jaw set.
Camille was absent.
Sterling arrived late.
He entered with deliberate grace, dressed in high-elder robes of indigo and ivory, embroidered with sigils that hadn’t been seen in over a century. His silver hair was slicked back, a polished pendant of lunar ore swinging from his neck.
In his right hand, he held a ceremonial chalice.
His left hand curled around a small vial, barely visible, but Camille would’ve seen it.