Judgment Hall — Part I Location: New Berlin – Justice Hall 3A Date: Year 931 — Month 1 — Day 1 Time: 09:00 a.m.
The air was bitter. Stone walls lined with steel beams reached upward into the high dark. No windows. No warmth. Only lights.
Harsh white lamps hung in metal cages, humming with current, casting long shadows across the floor. Rows of guards stood silent. Their rifles glinted in the glow. Their uniforms were black. Their expressions colder than the walls.
At the far end of the chamber, above a raised black-iron platform, hung three banners.
Tall and blood-red. Each one stitched with the black symbol of the Reich — the sun-wheel surrounded by twelve broken rays. They reached from the rafters to the floor behind the judges' bench. Unmoving. Unyielding.
Two smaller banners hung behind the jury. One to the left. One to the right. A pair of eyes that never closed.
They did not flutter. They loomed.
Every noble saw them. Every soul in the room felt them.
They were not decorations. They were declarations.
Judgment had come.
Below the banners, thirty-four nobles stood shackled to a steel rail.Rings stripped. Hair cut. Uniforms torn and repurposed into gray coats marked by black-stamped numbers.Not names. Numbers.
Some stared ahead, glass-eyed. Some muttered prayers. Others wept.
Not one smiled.
Behind them stood rows of riflemen.Boots planted. Breaths steady. Fingers resting on cold steel triggers.
The jury sat to the left.Twelve men and women. Miners. Factory workers. A baker. A nurse. And one girl. Sixteen.Her face pale. Her hands clasped. She had watched her father burn in Norhadar.
She did not blink.
The balconies above were packed. Civilians stood shoulder to shoulder, wrapped in coats, mouths quiet, eyes locked forward.
Some had walked miles. Others rode trams all night.
They brought no food. No drink. Only presence.
To see. To witness. To remember.
Three cameras whirred on tall iron tripods. Steam coiled from their vents. Glass lenses glowed red. One captured wide shots. One panned over the jury. The third focused only on the accused.
In the corner, artists stood behind long wooden tables. Charcoal sticks moved quickly over canvas. One painted in oils. Another dipped ink onto scrolls.
And beside them, a man in uniform stood by a metal desk. A microphone held to his mouth. A brass radio console beside him.
The wire ran along the wall into the broadcast line.
He pressed the switch. His voice low.
"This is New Berlin Radio. The Tribunal begins. Year 931 Month 1 Day 1. The People's Judgment."
The chamber door opened .A bell rang once. Sharp. Cutting through the stillness.
All stood.
Three black-robed judges emerged from the rear corridor. Their steps slow. Deliberate.
At the center walked Chief Judge Arno Krieger.Once a schoolteacher. Now a man with no mercy left.His face was lined by years in the camps.His gavel was carved from the whip that once lashed him.
To his left, a man with an iron hand.To his right, a woman who had lost her leg in the Southern Mines.Both survivors. Both unblinking.
The judges sat. Krieger looked forward. He raised the gavel.
BOOM
"This tribunal is now in session."
Silence followed. The cameras clacked softly. The radio hummed.
Then a new figure stepped from the right corridor.
A tall man. Black coat. Leather gloves. Eyes sharp. Jaw clenched.
Prosecutor-General Emil Weiss.
He stopped at the center podium. Unbuttoned his coat. Unrolled a single sheet of paper. Then looked up.
He did not address the judges. He did not address the jury.
He looked only at the accused — and spoke.
"You thirty-four stand before the people of the Reich as traitors to humanity. You stand not as lords, but as criminals."
He took a breath. Read nothing. Spoke only truth.
"You enslaved generations. You starved your cities. You burned villages for sport. You broke children like tools. And now, you will answer."
Gasps rippled from the balcony. A pen snapped in an artist's hand. The microphone caught it all.
Weiss turned to the judges."I call my first witness."
A door opened at the far right.
Three women entered. Dressed in gray. Hair tied. Eyes steady.
They walked to the witness stand. Not one looked at the nobles.
One stepped forward.
Chief Judge Krieger leaned forward."Name."
"Mara Ellsen. Age forty-two. Former laundry maid of House Vellin. Fourteen years."
"Do you recognize any of the accused?"
She raised a finger. Her hand did not tremble.
"That one. Number twelve. He branded a child in the cellar. Said she stole a loaf of bread. She was five."
The courtroom did not breathe. A man in the balcony gripped the railing. A tear slid down a young boy's cheek.
Krieger spoke."You may continue."
She did.The trial had begun.
The banners watched silently above.Unmoved. Unforgiving.
The silence was long.The microphone picked up everything.Even the sound of Mara's breath.
She stood upright. Gray dress plain. Collar frayed.
But her voice had weight. Years behind it. Blood behind it.
"She screamed for her mother. But they sealed the door. I heard the lock click from the laundry hall.
When they opened it the next day she wasn't moving."
She stared ahead. Not crying. Not angry. Just… hollow.
"They said I was lucky. They only broke my ribs."
In the gallery, a woman covered her mouth. An older man lowered his head.
Krieger nodded once."Thank you. Step down."
Mara walked away without looking at the nobles.
The next woman approached. Short. Late twenties. Hair chopped at the neck. A scar above her lip.
"Name."
"Selra Myrin. Personal servant. House Calven."
She turned immediately."That one. Number 18. He used to light matches between our toes for fun."
Gasps. A man from the balcony shouted. Guards raised rifles. The judge raised his hand.
Silence returned.
Selra's voice shook now.
"He made us drink the water they used to clean the kennels. Said it would teach us humility.When one girl refused he broke her jaw with a cane. Then made me hold the cloth while he fed her like a dog.
She bled all over my hands."
The girl juror leaned forward. Tears in her eyes. But no expression.
Krieger looked down. Scribbled a note.
Weiss stood still. No interruption. No questions. Only listening.
Selra stepped back.
The third woman came forward. Elderly. Mid-fifties. Back hunched. Hands stiff.
She struggled to lift the microphone.
"Do you need help?" Krieger asked.
"No," she replied. "I still have strength. Unlike them."
A pause. She looked at the nobles.
Her voice cracked. But it didn't break.
"I watched them slit a pregnant girl open because they thought she was stealing grain.They didn't find anything."
Her eyes filled."I had to clean it."
No one moved. The courtroom held its breath.
Then she said,"And her name was Delle. Don't forget it."
Krieger struck the gavel once.
BOOM
"Let it be recorded. The name Delle. Victim of House Vallin. Died with child. Age: Seventeen."
He looked toward the jury. They did not move. But the girl — the one who hadn't blinked all morning — finally did.
Once.
Prosecutor Weiss stepped forward. "We will now present evidence."
Two guards wheeled in a black cart. It was locked in three places. Marked with a red wax seal.
Another guard carried a sealed wooden crate. Heavy. Bound by two iron straps.
Weiss unlocked the first cart. He reached in. Pulled out a set of small black ledgers.
Each one bore the sigil of a noble house. Each one was a ledger of crimes.
He held the first up.
"House Fhaeros. Inventory log. Dated Year 927 Month 6. Page 14."
He opened it. Read aloud.
"Seven maids sold to Norhadar. One sick. Two virgins. All obedient.Payment received: One barrel silver, three casks grain, nine arms-lengths silk.Signed by Lord Alben of House Fhaeros."
Alben lunged forward screaming."Lies! Fabrications!"
A rifle struck him across the jaw. He dropped to the floor, gurgling blood.
Weiss did not flinch.
He opened the second ledger.
"House Garesh. Page 22.Body count following the Purge: 94 confirmed. Ash pits sealed. Livestock unaffected. Burned homes will not be rebuilt. Execution efficiency improved with blade rotation schedule."
Gasps.
The man at the radio whispered low, "They're reading the death books."
An artist dipped his brush again. Painted the image of Alben screaming. Chains clinking. Blood on the tiles.
Krieger struck the gavel again.
BOOM
"Order."
Prosecutor Weiss turned to the sealed crate. He undid the straps. Lifted the lid.
Inside were painted boards. Charcoal drawings. Ink-stained canvases. Collected from the ruins of noble estates.
Each one drawn by survivors.
He lifted the first board.
"Depiction recovered from the House Fhaeros cellar."
It showed figures in chains. Skin marked with lashes. Guards laughing behind them.The artist had written beneath it in black ink:'I drew this by candlelight, the night before my sister was sold.'
Weiss held up another.
"Found in Norhadar, near the west kiln. Ash field labeled 'Reclamation Site 4.'"
The charcoal lines showed hundreds of bodies. Twisted. Collapsed. Lying in rows.
Gasps filled the hall. The jury averted their eyes. The youngest one began to cry.
Weiss placed the next before the judges.
It showed a hall of nobles. Draped in furs. Holding chains that led to women kneeling before them.
The style was fine. Professional. It had been drawn by one of their own artists. For display.
"Proof," Weiss said coldly, "that they celebrated it."
The artist in the corner broke her charcoal stick. Her hands shook. Paint dripped down the canvas in streaks of black.
The radio crackled softly.
"Listeners… what we describe cannot be unseen. Paintings of horror. Proof of the old world's sickness."
One noble fell to his knees. Another turned and vomited. A third cried openly.
But one did not.
Lord Garesh. Old. Pale. But unbroken.
He stood straight. Raised his chin.
"All of this was necessary. They were less than us. You're just peasants with guns now. It won't last. The world always returns to order."
The room erupted. Screams from the balconies. Shouts of rage. Guards stepped forward.
Krieger slammed the gavel.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Silence returned.
The banners above swayed faintly in the heat. Red and black against the gray walls.
Krieger leaned forward.
"Then you will not beg when the sentence comes. And you will not be buried in silence. You will be remembered. As a beast who called himself noble."
Garesh said nothing. He sat back down. Still smiling.
But even he knew —
The trial had only just begun.