The great hall of the Special Court was cloaked in shadows, the only light coming from the flickering flames that adorned the walls. Dikke stood at the centre, her black judge’s robe flowing like a dark tide around her as she studied the documents presented before her. Another trial, another life teetering on the edge of judgment. This time, the accused was an arcanist, bound in chains and flanked by two guards who looked more uneasy than authoritative.
She glanced up, her piercing blue eyes fixing on the figure before her. The accused held their head high, but there was a tension in their posture, a flicker of defiance mingled with fear. Dikke’s hand rested lightly on the hilt of her flaming sword, a silent reminder of her authority.
“An arcanist accused amidst these cursed witch hunts,” she thought. "Verily, this doth reek of desperation and suspicion. Yet truth shall be unearthed, though it be buried deep within falsehood and fear." She stepped forward, her voice steady yet cutting through the silence like a blade. The trial had begun, and justice would demand the truth, no matter how deeply it was buried.