Night Before the Judgment

My cell looked exactly the way I’d imagined it would: damp, reeking, with a generous layer of half-rotten straw on the floor and a bucket in the corner that had clearly seen better decades. A charming little place — four stars out of five — perfect for a romantic getaway if you enjoyed tetanus and dysentery.

"Well, at least," I muttered, settling awkwardly onto the stone slab that passed for a bed, "it’s cleaner than some on-call rooms I’ve slept in back at the hospital."

Pururun, who the guards had allowed to stay with me — probably because they thought she was just some harmless pet — was quivering indignantly in the corner. Her colors flickered between furious red and anxious violet like a mood ring having an existential crisis.

"Calm down, jelly," I told her gently. "We’re not dead yet."

She gave me something that could only be described as a reproachful look. For a blob of semi-sentient gelatin, her ability to express judgment was honestly impressive.

The day dragged on endlessly. From time to time, I heard footsteps in the corridor, distant murmurs, keys clinking. Around noon, a guard brought me a bowl of lukewarm broth and a chunk of stale bread that could probably double as a weapon.

"Why, thank you for this exquisite feast," I said as I examined the dubious liquid. "I suppose the three-star menu is reserved for noble death-row inmates?"

The guard — a squat man with a badly trimmed beard — stared at me blankly.
"You’re to appear before Lord Aldwin tomorrow morning," he grunted. "The priest said — "

" — that I’ll be executed before noon. Yes, I heard. Charming man, that Reverend Father. Real sunshine."

The guard shrugged and shuffled away. Philosophy clearly wasn’t his forte.

***

The afternoon brought a surprise. Familiar voices echoed in the corridor, followed by Marta appearing behind the iron bars, escorted by a guard.

"Ethan!" she whispered, eyes red and swollen. "We… we came to testify for you."

Behind her stood Lena, a few of the inn’s regulars, and even old Martin, the beggar I’d treated for a nasty infection the week before.

"You shouldn’t have," I said honestly. "This could get you in trouble with the Temple."

"We don’t care!" Lena burst out with her usual fiery energy. "You healed my mother when she had the fever! And all these people too! That priest is full of crap!"

"What the lord’s doing ain’t right," Martin grumbled. "You never harmed no one. Quite the opposite."

A strange lump formed in my throat. In my previous life, I’d treated hundreds of patients, but very few had ever lifted a finger for me when bureaucracy came crashing down. Seeing these people here… it hit somewhere deep I didn’t expect.

"Thank you," I said softly. "That… means a lot."

Marta stepped closer to the bars, lowering her voice.
"Lord Aldwin will receive you at first light tomorrow. He’s a fair man, but the Temple holds a lot of sway. You’ll have to — "

" — prove I’m not the charlatan Matthias says I am. Don’t worry," I cut in. "I have a few ideas."

Lena opened her mouth, tears shimmering in her eyes.
"Ethan…"

I forced a grin and raised a hand to stop her.
"Hey, none of that sentimental stuff. I’m not dead yet. Tears have no place on that pretty face. And I promise — tomorrow, I’ll be able to tell you you were in all my dreams tonight."

Her cheeks flushed pink, and despite everything, she let out a small, embarrassed smile before wiping her tears away.

They left after wishing me luck, their footsteps echoing down the corridor. Pururun, who had silently watched the entire scene, slowly rolled toward me and pressed herself against my side. For all her temperamental antics, her presence always warmed me when loneliness started creeping in.

***

Night fell slowly, wrapping the cell in thick darkness. The only light came from a torch down the corridor, its flickering glow casting uneasy shadows across the walls.

I lay back on the cold stone bench, hands behind my head, staring at the ceiling that smelled faintly of mildew and regret.

Technically speaking, I was in deep sh*t. A fanatical priest wanted my head on a pike, I’d committed public blasphemy in front of a dozen witnesses, and this was a theocracy where the words “fair trial” were about as realistic as unicorn dentists. Normally, this situation ended with either a bonfire or a swift decapitation before lunch.

But I wasn’t entirely without cards to play. I had the testimonies of the people I’d treated — real, tangible proof that I wasn’t some dangerous heretic. And then there was my Chirurgia Arcana. If the lord was as pragmatic as rumors suggested, a small demonstration might tip the scales in my favor.

Of course, “small demonstration” did not mean showing off like some medieval street magician, or worse, using my abilities to attack anyone. Hurting Aldwin or his guards would be suicide.

"Think we’ll make it out of this, jelly?" I asked softly.

Pururun shimmered into a golden hue I’d never seen before. Hope, maybe? Or she was about to concoct a new cleaning agent. With her, you never really knew.

"Either way," I continued, "if things go south tomorrow, don’t do anything stupid. This world’s already a mess without you adding to it."

She vibrated in protest, but I shook my head.

"I mean it, Pururun. If I die, find yourself another partner. Someone less suicidal. I’m sure you’d get along with Lena eventually."

She immediately flared bright red and turned her back to me in dramatic outrage.

"Alright, alright," I sighed. "We’ll see. Just… promise me you won’t get yourself killed doing something reckless."

A guard walked by, the torchlight throwing dancing shadows across the walls. I watched them flicker and twist, imagining tomorrow’s courtroom like some medieval theater. One misstep, one poorly chosen word, and the curtain would fall for good.

I could only hope that Lord Aldwin had more brains than the average zealot. Because if not, well… I’d be paying another unexpected visit to Lady X’s office upstairs.

And honestly? Dying a third time was starting to feel like a bad habit I needed to kick.