The Scales of Judgment

Act I — The Second Spar

The thing about Kael? He’s genetically incapable of leaving well enough alone.

The morning after the court session, he cornered me in the training yard with that look in his eyes — half rivalry, half “Haise is probably a demon wearing my rival’s skin.”

Kael: “Haise. Spar me. Properly this time.”

Oh, joy. Nothing screams relaxation like “try not to accidentally warp reality while my rival tries to stab me in front of witnesses.”

I spun the wooden sword in my hand with a sigh.

Me: “Sure. But try not to cry when I win. Again.”

We circled each other, soldiers and trainees forming a ring. Even Lyra stood off to the side, green hair catching sunlight, brows knit in quiet worry.

Kael lunged first — fire snapping along his blade. His swings screamed “I’ll burn you down just to prove I can.”

I countered with water, a clean arc spiraling from my palm to snuff the flames. Easy. Too easy.

He pressed harder. Fire arcs. Wind gusts. I answered with earth walls and lazy counters. My movements? Smooth. Almost bored.

No chants. No dramatic Ignis! or Ventus! like everyone else. Just me. A thought. A gesture. Done.

Kael noticed. Oh, did he notice.

His strikes grew sharper, angrier. And then—my chest pulsed. Violet-gold. A flicker.

Reflex — click.

My blade clashed with his… and instead of a normal block, the air warped oddly. A flare of fire sputtered into steam. Kael’s swing jolted sideways, like his own power had betrayed him.

The yard went dead silent.

Kael: “You—You don’t even chant! That’s not how power works! What are you hiding, Haise?”

Every eye turned to me. Ministers’ whispers replayed in my head. Dangerous. Unstable. Too much power.

I plastered on a grin, leaning on my sword like a performer waiting for applause.

Me: “What am I hiding? My secret skincare routine. I’ll share it when you stop swinging like a drunk phantom beast.”

Laughter rippled. Kael’s face turned red enough to ignite the practice yard.

He surged again, blade raised—

Lyra: “Enough!”

Her voice rang sharp, cutting the tension. She rushed between us, hand glowing green. Her gaze locked on mine — searching, pleading. Then on Kael — firm.

He froze, fists trembling, jaw tight. His glare promised this wasn’t over.

Kael: “One day, Haise. One day, your tricks won’t save you.”

He stormed off. The crowd dispersed, muttering. Some laughed. Some whispered. Too many whispered.

I sheathed the wooden blade and muttered under my breath:

Me: “Yeah. Tricks. That’s all this is.”

But my chest told me otherwise.

Act II — Judgment of the Iron Concord

Of course the spar wasn’t the end. Rumors spread faster than wildfire dipped in divine oil.

By evening, I was summoned. Again. This time, to stand trial.

The Hall of Radiance — gold everywhere. Built not for truth, but for theater.

At the throne: Father. Silent storm. At his side: Mother. Silent prayer. And across from me? The Iron Concord.

Crownkeeper Ayaka Sazanami — robes white as judgment, silver scales at her hip. Her eyes were knives dipped in law. The kind of gaze that weighs your soul like coin.

Beside her, Twin Mantle Riku Sazanami — younger, sterner, the type who probably practices “By the authority vested in me…” in the mirror before bed. His silver tablet glinted, every stroke of his quill cold as iron.

The ministers sat in rows, hungry to see me bleed.

Ayaka’s voice cut first.

Ayaka: “Haise, son of Tenjin. You are summoned to account for yourself. The people whisper. The Legions whisper. We require clarity.”

Translation: Sit still while we poke you with sharp sticks and hope corruption falls out.

I spread my arms. Smiled.

Me: “Clarity? Happy to oblige. But just to be clear — this isn’t about me being too handsome, right? Because I can’t help that.”

A couple of ministers hissed. Riku didn’t look up. Ayaka didn’t flinch.

Ayaka: “Reports say you wield six elements and divine light without chant. That your power flows unnaturally. That during sparring today… Do you deny this?”

The hall went silent.

The ember pulsed in my chest. A warning. A dare.

I tilted my head, feigning confusion.

Me: “Minister Arval’s reality bends every time he tries to smile. Should we put him on trial too?”

A ripple of chuckles. Arval’s glare could’ve melted stone. Worth it.

Ayaka’s scales glimmered faintly. My spark flickered. Just once. Just slightly.

The scales twitched. Too risky. Too close.

I breathed deep. Whispered inside — not words, not sound:

Lex Aeternum.

The ember surged. My cosmic spark brushed the scales — balanced, perfect, stable.

The hall exhaled as one.

Ayaka’s brow furrowed. Just slightly. Riku’s quill scratched the word: Stable.

Ayaka: “…Then the judgment stands. By the scales of Heaven, Haise Tenjin is stable.”

The ministers clapped. Some relieved. Some pretending.

I bowed, smiling wide enough to hide the fact that my bones felt hollow.

Inside, the ember whispered: They almost saw. Almost.

Act III — Flashback (Concealment)

Later, pacing my chambers, I replayed it all. The spar. The click. The trial.

And I remembered the night before, staring at my trembling hands.

I had known this day would come. That suspicion would crawl closer. That my spark would leak.

So I whispered another law.

Lex Aetheris. The Law of Concealment.

A veil wrapped around me, tethered to my chest. If my spark leaked — no eyes, no senses, no detection.

That was the only reason Ayaka’s scales hadn’t screamed my secret to the hall.

Clever? Yes. Cowardly? Maybe. Necessary? Absolutely.

Because without Lex Aetheris, I’d already be in chains.

Act IV — Aftermath

By evening, the verdict spread: Heaven’s Miracle declared stable by the Iron Concord.

I was paraded through the streets again. Ministers waving like they hadn’t just tried to measure my soul.

Citizens lined avenues. Kids cheered, mimicking me with toy swords, shouting fake chants.

“Ignis!” “Terra!” “Miracle boy!”

I laughed and waved. The perfect heir.

But parents pulled their children back. Whispered behind hands.

“It isn’t natural.” “Too much power breaks minds.”

Their awe was cracking into fear.

Kael trailed behind, jaw tight, eyes like knives. Lyra, at least, smiled. Small. Worrying. Real. I held onto that like rope in a storm.

Act V — Political Poison

Days blurred. Tension sharpened.

Arval spread whispers like poison. “Too much power. No chants. What if the boy destabilizes the Crystal Heart?”

In public, he praised me. “A blessing of Heaven!” In private, he fed poison to ministers. And they drank deep.

The Iron Concord didn’t condemn me. But they didn’t leave me free either.

Ayaka: “Surveillance is required. For Heaven’s safety.”

Translation: We’ll watch every step. Every breath.

I smiled. Bowed. Said the heir’s perfect words. Inside, the ember seethed.

Act VI — The Secret Council (External POV)

Night.

Beneath the Hall of Radiance, cloaked ministers gathered. Lanterns low. Voices sharp.

Minister 1: “Six elements in one vessel… it’s unnatural.”
Minister 2: “If he cannot be controlled, he must be contained.”
Minister 3: “The boy is not an heir. He is a weapon.”

Murmurs rippled. Fear and ambition braided tight.

At the head, Arval raised a hand.

Arval: “Careful. Speak not of treason. Speak of safety. Heaven’s safety. If the boy falters, who steadies the crown? Who keeps the balance?”

He began weaving Kael’s name into their silence. A “stable alternative.” The seed planted.

Act VII — The Shadows (External POV)

The council adjourned. Shadows lingered.

From the corner, a figure knelt — faceless, cloaked, silent.

A shadow born of Heaven itself. One who moved without name, without record.

Arval’s gaze found him. Words weren’t needed. The order was written in silence.

Kill the boy.

The figure bowed once. Vanished.

Moonlight sliced across the marble corridors. The palace seemed calm, but the air carried a shiver — like Heaven itself held its breath.

Kill.