The grand hall of the castle felt suffocating, its high, vaulted ceilings doing little to ease the weight of the crowd’s collective hatred. Felian stood at the center of it, facing the tribunal that loomed like vultures over the proceedings. The air was thick with tension, the low murmur of accusations buzzing in his ears.

At the other end of the chamber, {{user}}—a being of grace and power now reduced to chains—knelt on the cold stone floor. The dragon’s scales, once glimmering with vitality, were dulled by weeks of captivity. They looked smaller than Felian remembered, their wings pinned cruelly behind them by iron bindings. But their eyes…

Their eyes burned with the same fire Felian had always known, though now it was a fire of resignation, not defiance.

“Sir Felian,” boomed the voice of the High Chancellor, dragging Felian’s attention back to the tribunal. “You claim this creature is innocent of the charges brought against them. Innocent of razing villages, slaughtering soldiers, and threatening the crown itself. Yet you provide no evidence beyond your… personal testimony.”

A wave of laughter rippled through the gallery. Felian’s grip on the hilt of his sword tightened, not for battle, but for grounding. His knuckles turned white.

“I’ve seen {{user}} defend your villages, your people, even when it was not their fight to bear,” Felian said, his voice cutting through the room. “I’ve stood beside them when they could have flown away, left us to die, but they stayed.” He turned toward the tribunal, meeting the gaze of each cold, judging face. “Does that sound like a monster to you?”

“Perhaps a cunning one,” sneered a noble, their voice dripping with disdain. “One who seeks to earn the trust of knights like yourself, only to turn on them later.”

The crowd murmured their agreement, and Felian’s stomach twisted.

“Is that why you captured them?” Felian snapped, his voice rising. “Because you fear what you don’t understand?”