The Scales of Judgment

Act I — Judgment of the Iron Concord

The following dawn, the judgment bells tolled.

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: “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 multiple elements.

That during your spar… the Aether itself warped.”

Her tone hardened.

“And at that same moment, the Solar Aegis flickered.”

The hall went silent.

Even Father’s gaze sharpened. Archangels stirred faintly above the gallery, wings shifting in unease.

Ayaka: “The Aegis does not blink. Yet it did. Some believe your awakening disturbed Heaven’s equilibrium.”

The ember pulsed in my chest — a warning, a dare.

I forced a grin.

Me: “If my breathing breaks reality, maybe reality’s too fragile.”

Minister Arval: “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 unmade spark (Cosmic Spark) flickered — once, barely.

The scales twitched. Too risky. Too close.

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

Lex Aetheris. Lex Aeternum.

The ember pulsed. The silver scales fractured into violet-gold fractals — then stabilized, perfectly balanced.

Above, even the Archangels fell silent, feeling the law hesitate before obeying.

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, Prince 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 pulsed like: They almost saw. Almost.

Act II — Flashback: The Concealment

Later that night, I stood by the window, the palace drowned in silver light.

I replayed it all — the spar. The click. The trial.

And I remembered the blink.
The way the Aegis flinched. That had been me.

That night, I hadn’t awakened the veil; I’d only forged it — a law without life, sleeping beneath my skin.

Heaven had felt its birth and blinked once — the Solar Aegis flinching as if it heard a word not meant to exist.

During judgment, when I whispered the two names — Aetheris and Aeternum — the veil finally breathed.

One hid what I was.
The other balanced what I became.
And in that moment, even the Aegis forgot it had ever blinked.

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.

No relic stirred. No angelic sense twitched. The Solar Aegis slept.

Now, only I could see the fractures — faint violet veins webbing the air, invisible to all else.
Heaven didn’t hide my power. It pretended it never existed.

For the first time, the world looked calm.
Only I knew it was lying.

That was why 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 III — Aftermath

By dawn, the verdict spread: Heaven’s Miracle stable.

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

Citizens lined the avenues.
Children 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.

I smiled through it — the perfect heir again.

Kael’s glare followed like a blade.
Lyra’s quiet smile — small, real — kept me standing.

Act IV — 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.

The ember pulsed — warm, sharp, amused.
Heaven’s perfection didn’t feel so perfect anymore.

Act V — The Secret Council

Night.

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

“Six elements in one vessel… it’s unnatural.”
“If he cannot be controlled, he must be contained.”
“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 VI — The Shadows

The council dissolved. But one shadow lingered.

From the corner, a figure stood — faceless, cloaked, silent.
A shadow of Heaven. One who moved without name, without record.

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

End the boy.

The figure vanished.

Above, the Solar Aegis shone steady — flawless, calm, unbroken.

Its light hummed, pure and perfect, unaware of the veil now woven through creation.

Only a few Archangels stirred, wings rustling faintly,
as though their instincts remembered something their minds could not.

Moonlight sliced across the marble corridors — the palace serene,
yet the air trembled, as if Heaven itself dared not breathe.

Theme: Heaven chooses silence over truth.