Is this what I am?
What I'm seen as?
Am I truly no better than an animal to them?
Azareal's thoughts echoed quietly in the vast, cold chamber. Chains rattled softly as he lifted his head. The nine figures above remained motionless, their cloaks swallowing them whole, their star-shaped eyes gleaming in silent judgment.
"They claim to hear from Kaelor," he whispered, voice trembling yet sharp, "but it seems they only speak their own thoughts…"
His gaze shifted toward the great statue at the center—the kneeling figure of the Weeping Star. Its stone eyes flared suddenly with a faint eerie light, then flickered out just as quickly.
Nothing.
No divine whisper. No echo. Just silence.
> I don't think it's him...
He clenched his fists against the cold floor. "The gods have gone silent," he muttered bitterly. "At least… that's what we temple slaves whisper when no one listens."
The air in the hall shifted.
A low, guttural voice broke the stillness.
> "The Great God of Weeping Stars has spoken."
One of the cloaked figures leaned forward, his voice deep and trembling with forced authority.
> "In a vision... I saw it—a figure, blurred, human-shaped... but its body was torn open. Eyes. Eyes everywhere. Bleeding, shrieking, staring at me—"
The man's words stopped abruptly. He gasped.
> "Th–Those eyes looked back... at me!"
He screamed, his voice breaking into a distorted echo that vanished into the dark above.
Thump.
Thump.
Another voice spoke, calm but heavy.
> "Indeed... It seems you are responsible for the massacre of the temple officials."
A pause.
> "But the vision shows you were not... entirely in control."
The silence cracked. A third voice, smooth and almost curious, asked:
> "Slave. Were you fed something before your... punishment?"
Azareal's eyes flickered with cold defiance, though his voice stayed level.
> "Yes. I wasn't fed. It was put inside me. Directly."
The shadows murmured. One of the judges let out a quiet chuckle.
> "Ah. That settles it, then."
Then the same voice hardened.
> "But it does not absolve you. You reek of blood... and a priest lies among the dead."
Another voice—silky, cunning—cut through the room like a blade.
> "Oh? What's this I sense within you?"
The air turned cold.
> "You doubt the gods, don't you?"
Azareal's breath hitched, but he said nothing.
The figure sneered.
> "If the gods are silent, boy... then how does divinity flow in our veins?"
A short, harsh laugh escaped his lips.
> "It's all a well-crafted lie, isn't it? A tale for the weak to whisper when they tremble in the dark. But rebellion... rebellion always reveals itself eventually—so it can be slain efficiently."
The hall fell into stillness.
Then the voice from the center throne—colder and more ancient than the rest—spoke with divine finality.
> "Your judgment has been decided."
Azareal raised his head slowly, meeting the burning gaze above.
> "You shall no longer serve as a slave of the temple."
For a moment—just a flicker—hope stirred in his eyes.
> "But you shall not taste freedom either."
Chains tightened. The green lanterns dimmed to near black.
> "You will be sold in your captivity... to those who find use in broken vessels."