B8 - Chapter 55: The Sentence

Zeke did not give anyone the time to protest.

He straightened, posture rigid, expression cold and distant, the faint trace of something regal settling over his features. When he spoke, it was not to the prince, but to the ten Archmages seated along the chamber’s sides.

“I sentence all of you to forced labor.”

The words fell like a blade.

No preamble. No justification. Spoken with the finality of a royal decree, as if the verdict itself needed no defense.

For a heartbeat, the room stood frozen. Then the reaction came.

Voices rose, sharp and indignant, several Archmages half-rising from their seats as protests spilled from their mouths. Yet even in their anger, there was hesitation. The fury was thinner than expected, brittle rather than explosive.

Zeke raised a single hand.

The gesture was unremarkable, almost lazy, but the effect was immediate. The voices faltered, then died away entirely, as if the air itself had been pressed flat.

He continued.

“The conditions are simple. Forced labor until the end of the war, or until I leave Rukia. During that time, you will be protected. You will be housed properly. You will have food, warm beds, and no expectation of direct combat.”

A murmur rippled through the chamber.

“You will serve,” Zeke went on. “Nothing more. Nothing less. Logistics. Construction. Support. Whatever is required.”

He paused, letting the words settle.

“In cases of exceptional service. I will issue commendations for your contributions.”

Silence followed. Not the tense, fearful silence from before, but something heavier. Something thoughtful. The meaning of his words had fully sunk in.

No danger. No battlefield. No risk of death.

Comfort. Protection. And more than that, the faint possibility of redemption.

For men and women who had fled, who had abandoned their posts and stained their names, such a thing was priceless. Proof, written and recognized, that they had contributed something of worth when it mattered most.

Though Zeke had spoken of punishment, the sentence was astonishingly lenient.

One by one, shoulders eased. Tension drained from rigid backs. The clamor that might have followed never came. As a group, the Archmages fell silent, no longer as defiant, no longer afraid.

They were begining to accept it.

Zeke had expected as much. These people were cowards, but that did not mean they were evil. They had simply crumbled under the pressure of war. Was it shameful? Certainly.

But just because they had achieved success in their magical pursuits did not mean they were warriors. It did not mean they enjoyed warfare. It did not mean they were suited for this life.

Zeke could see it in many of their faces. They had fled not because they lacked love for their country, but because they lacked the courage to fight.

People like these, he could use. Not as soldiers, certainly, but aboard the Alexandria. They could contribute to the war from a place of safety. It was the perfect solution, allowing them not only to redeem themselves in the eyes of the people, but even more so in their own minds.

In the first place, it had been a mistake to expect them to become generals. Was that a role someone could fulfill simply because they were ordered to? It was like telling a novice to paint a masterpiece. Would urgency alone make it possible? Would skill appear just because lives were on the line?

The answer was no.

This approach was far more appropriate.

He gave them a task they could actually fulfill. Something they were capable of doing. Their silence now spoke volumes. These men were not unwilling to contribute. They had simply been unable to live up to the roles they had been forced into.

For these Mages, who had long been drowning in self-loathing, this verdict must have sounded like the sweetest words they had ever heard.

Now, only a single voice could still be heard protesting.

“This is absurd!” Prince Edras shouted, rising halfway from his throne. “Who would ever accept punishment from you? I categorically reject such a demeaning sentence!”

Zeke turned his head slightly.

“The sentence was not for you,” he said.

The prince stopped mid-breath, mouth still open, stunned into silence.

Zeke continued, his gaze steady. “You are useless to me. As such, I will take you into protective custody until the end of the war.”

Edras froze. Color rushed to his face, anger flaring in his eyes as he drew breath to protest.

He never got the chance.

Dark tendrils rose from his shadow. Firm hands seized his arms from behind, locking them in place. His mouth was gagged a moment later, his neck constricted. The prince struggled, but the grip did not budge. Within a heartbeat, he was bound so tightly that he could not move a single muscle. The dark cocoon had enveloped him whole.

Everyone understood what that meant. Another Archmage had appeared.

All eyes turned to the spectacle of the struggling prince, each reaction different. None of them had sensed the arrival of this new presence. It was a testament to his skill. There could be no doubt about his level. With that realization, their gazes toward Zeke grew even more careful.

First Raileh, then Irisen, and now this new person. How many Archmages did this young human command? 

Zeke's expression hardened as he looked at the restrained prince. "It was not a suggestion," he said coldly.

The prince, expectantly, couldn't even protest anymore. Tied up like a slab of meat, there was nothing he could do. 

The difference struck them at once.

Edras had raged, issued commands, and unilaterally passed judgment. Yet despite all that, nothing had happened. His words had remained just that, words, lacking the power to shape reality.

But when this human spoke, the subject was immediately restrained. His words were law itself. This was authority. This was power.

No one in the chamber missed the dichotomy. They couldn't help but recall the earlier words: A prince whose orders were ignored was no prince at all.

It was a bitter truth laid bare. The old order was gone. Titles remained. But the systems that had once given them meaning had collapsed. That also meant that their former titles, their old privileges, were likely just as meaningless as the prince's.

No lords or ladies. No rulers or tyrants.

They were just ordinary people now, with nothing left but the clothes on their backs, the coin in their purses, and the strength of their magic.

Worst of all?

There was no one else to blame. They were all complicit. The country had truly fallen.

It was into that somber, sobering silence that Zeke spoke once more.

"I like the looks on your faces," he said.

It sounded like an insult, as if he believed despair and hopelessness were all they deserved. But that was not what he meant. Not exactly.

Zeke continued. "Nothing has changed from a moment ago. The Legion did not grow stronger. Your country's forces did not diminish. Yet you all look so hopeless now, when you were so chipper before. Can you tell me what exactly has changed?"

Only silence greeted him, but that was fine. Zeke knew they had realized it as well. What had changed. Still, this was not an atmosphere in which one could easily speak, especially when the answer was so humiliating.

Zeke answered his own question.

"You have finally begun to open your eyes and accept the true state of the world."

While they still had the prince, their roles, their places, it had been easy to pretend that nothing had changed.

They had clung to the old, nostalgic order of the past. It was a fairytale they had all indulged in together, with no one daring to rock the boat, keeping the lie alive for as long as possible.

Even Irisen had not been able to defy her ingrained instincts. Had she not also struggled to oppose a mere servant of the palace? That was how strong the influence of learned behavior could be.

But Zeke would not let them cling to it.

He had ignored all conventions, ignored all rules, and stood before their prince to boldly challenge his authority.

Was it confidence? Not really.

He simply understood the fragility of the facade. The fleeting nature of the lie.

It could not withstand scrutiny. The moment he challenged the system, it collapsed on its own. Not because of his power, but because of the hollow foundation on which this hierarchy had been built.

Now, it had all come crashing down. With it, these dreamers were forced to wake from their pretense. They now faced the real world amid the crumbling remains of what they had believed in.

A country in ruins. The enemy at their doorstep. No power to fight. No room to escape. The situation was so hopeless that many likely wished the lie could return, if only for a moment.

In this atmosphere, Zeke spoke once more.

"Scary, isn't it? This unfamiliar world..."

These were the words everyone was thinking, yet no one dared to voice. To speak them aloud was to admit cowardice. And yet Zeke said them with ease. More importantly, there was no judgment in his voice.

Zeke could sense it instinctively.

These people did not need to be judged. Judgment would not drive them to action. They had been given impossible tasks to begin with and they had failed spectacularly.

No. He had already torn them down enough. What they needed now was not to be broken further. What they needed, what they truly needed, was to be led.

"Do not worry," Zeke said softly. "I know the way."

It was a statement as simple as it was absolute.

"No matter how dark it gets, you do not need to fear losing yourself. Just keep looking at me."

Now all eyes were on him. Not only the ten seated on the thrones, but even Irisen at his side watched him as if entranced.

"If you cannot see the path forward. If you do not believe Rukia can be held. If you think even yourselves beyond saving, I will accept it all."

His words were a sweet temptation.

"Follow me, and I will lead you through this darkness. I will show you that which you cannot see with your own eyes..."

The tension hovered on the brink as every gaze hung on his lips.

"I will show you victory."

A simple declaration. A promise so straightforward that it left no room for excuses. Victory. Something no one here dared to dream of anymore. Not escape. Not survival. Victory.

It was a claim so bold that most would not even whisper it to themselves. Yet Zeke had spoken the word aloud, as if the outcome were already decided. 

Maybe, just maybe, he truly did know the way. Otherwise, how could he speak so lightly? Maybe it really was possible.

Victory.

It was a word these fallen lords, these shamed deserters, had long driven from their minds. Yet as they tasted it once more, a long-forgotten ember stirred in their chests.

It was not that they were unwilling to fight. They had simply lost hope. When no path forward could be seen, what reason was there to endure? 

But what if they did not have to see? What if all they had to do was follow orders? No room for doubt. No room to waver. As long as they followed orders, victory would await them.

The spark in their chests flared brighter.

This human, this young man, had been chosen by the elven lords to lead them to salvation. He had pierced their facade and subdued the prince. Everyone present could feel his will, his unwavering conviction.

If not now, then when?

They had nothing left. Driven into a corner, even a rat would bite. So what about them? With their backs already against the wall, would they still cower? Would they sink even lower than the basest of beasts?

The fire became a roaring flame.

The first to act was Eryth Sil. Perhaps he felt the need to prove himself, but his gesture was dramatic. He rose from his throne, then immediately lowered himself to one knee. A posture of allegiance. A posture of submission.

"Chosen of the tree," he said, his voice subdued yet filled with spirit. "Please. Show me the way."

Before Zeke could react, a second person dropped to their knee.

"Please..."

Thud. A third.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Before long, all ten had assumed the same posture.

Zeke took in the sight. A satisfied expression slowly formed on his face. Then, unexpectedly, he heard another thud. An eleventh. The sound came from right beside him.

Irisen had lowered herself as well. Her earnest eyes looked up at him.

"...Please, show us the way."

Zeke was surprised. He had not expected his words to reach even her. He had only sought to restore hope to the hearts of these fallen men. Yet it seemed Irisen had needed that encouragement just as much. 

Zeke nodded slowly. He did not take their gestures lightly. The trust they had placed in him, he would cherish.

"The enemy is at the gates," he said. "Let us go and kill them."