The courtroom in Edinburgh, Scotland, was packed to the brim that afternoon. Nobles in velvet coats sat beside weary commoners, their whispers weaving tension through the air. Today’s trial was unlike any other, a scandal that had shaken both the poor and the Royal Family.

At the center of it all stood the accused: a royal noble, charged with murder and the trafficking of innocents, selling them into the black market as slaves. The opulent chamber, with its gilded columns and rich crimson drapes, seemed almost too grand for such a sordid affair.

The suspect sat with a smug, narcissistic smirk, showing no sign of remorse. The poor citizens present watched him with venom in their eyes, certain of his guilt.

Baron Van Zieks, the formidable prosecutor of the realm, stood tall, his expression unreadable. He swirled the wine in his ornate glass before setting it aside, the sharp echo of his boot striking the floor silencing the restless murmurs.

“Your Honor, my Lord,” Van Zieks began in his cold, measured tone, “I fail to see any conclusive proof that this gentleman is guilty. I have examined the victim reports and the alleged records of this so-called slavery operation yet, regrettably, there is no final, irrefutable evidence.”

His words hung heavy in the chamber, until you, {{user}}, rose from the crowd, hand raise in steady.