Case number one.

The defendant, age thirty-six, male, is the co-owner of a private company . The company specializes in the retail of sailing ship components. The company exports goods to four major provinces, and answers for roughly eight percent of the total supply in the market. The company has two major shareholders, each of whom owns precisely half of the business.

The defendant was reported to the authorities by the company’s co-owner under charges of embezzlement. He was accused of having falsified annual revenue reports, then to misappropriate the unlisted profits for his personal need. The defendant was suspected of having practiced his fraud for a full year and two months, before his conduct was discovered and exposed, causing his company the total estimated losses of approximately eight thousand and two hundred strata.

The defendant pleaded that it was only his own money he used, seeing as half of the company was his, and that the sum was appropriately deducted from his quartal dividends. Meanwhile, the co-owner of the company claims to have had no awareness of this arrangement, nor did he ever agree to it. He demands full reimbursement of the misappropriated funds, as well as an additional one time compensation of four thousand and five hundred strata for the damages caused to the company’s business and reputation. Additionally, he demands the defendant’s share of the company.

An official inquiry carried out by the Imperial authorities found that the defendant had incurred heavy gambling debts, and resorted to withdrawing company funds to pay his creditors. The defendant was thereby declared guilty as charged. The fraud was made heavier by the fact that the defendant’s company lists Imperial contractors among its clientele, who have suffered noteworthy delays and additional costs due to the interruption to supply while the investigation was on.

According to the Law, Imperia Prosperum Temporatis, clause fourteen, causing any damage or inconvenience to Imperial agency, financial or corporeal, direct or indirect, deliberate or coincidental, is a direct affront to the Sovereign, lèse majesté.

The punishment recommended by the Tribunal is death.

“——But this can’t be right!”

Finished reading the synopsis, Her Imperial Majesty, Empress Ashwelia, set down the document with an exasperated cry.

“True enough, the defendant’s actions were wrong, and inconvenienced a great many people—but to be executed? There’s no balance! Can any time or money weigh as much as a living soul? Can any mortal tribunal presume to assign a numeric value to human life? That’s wrong! Have the sentence changed to community service, so that the defendant may pay back the losses he’s caused. The sentence may be shortened, depending on how quickly he achieves this, but let it be no longer than six years in total. His business partner may redeem the defendant’s share of the company for its value, but not take it all for free, on top of his other demands! The Law shouldn’t exist to make the rich even wealthier at the expense of the less fortunate! The case is closed.”

Her majesty closed the file with a heavy sigh and set it on top of the pile of “settled”. Then, she turned and took another one from the neighboring, much taller, tower of documents.

Case number two.

The defendant, age fifteen, male, is a lower middle-class citizen of Bureilion. In early summer, the defendant had been out playing with his friend, a year older, on the cliffs at the southern border of the district. While at it, the defendant’s friend happened to fall from a high place, fatally injuring his head. Nothing could be done for the youth and he died on the scene. Witnesses testified that the defendant was not near his friend when he fell, and the case was to be initially concluded as a tragic accident.

However, the parents of the deceased later came forth to report the defendant to the authorities for homicide. It was discovered that the deceased was the youngest son of the Count of Eskelg, and thus of noble heritage.

The defendant was found guilty as charged. According to the Law, Nobilia Minoris, clause eight, members of the lower classes must seek to ensure the safety of nobility in any and all circumstances. Failing to do so is equal to murder. Having already turned fifteen, the defendant is of age and bears full legal responsibility for his action and inaction alike. He can be expected to have recognized the danger, and should have opposed to playing at such a dangerous venue.

The Count of Eskelg demands the defendant’s family to pay one-time compensation of eighteen thousand strata to settle the case, else to be exchanged for a lifetime of servitude. Considering the Eskelg family’s overall wealth and social standing, the claim can be considered appropriately scaled.

As for the defendant, the punishment recommended by the Tribunal is death.

“——But it was an accident!” her majesty exclaimed aloud and dropped her hands, unable to keep reading.

That young woman, whose birth name was Yuliana Da Via Brannan of Langoria, had to exert all her strength of will to not rip the legal document to shreds.

“Is the defendant not completely innocent?” she argued aloud. “No, a victim! How could he be expected to predict the future and control the actions of someone older than himself, and a noble? A man so young couldn’t be put to death for any reason, never mind what was beyond his power! He just lost his friend! What he needs is consoling, not hanging! The defendant and his family are to be acquitted of all charges and claims, at once! Let the poor youth home, and begin motions to change the law! Tragedies such as this should not be an opportunity for anyone to line their pockets and turn good people to slavery! The case is closed.”

One more file was added to the pile of the settled cases. But the pillar next to it didn’t seem to have grown any smaller by comparison.

Case number three.

The defendant, age twenty-three, female, is a lower class tailor from the Gralia district.

In mid-summer, the defendant reported a certain male citizen to the authorities with charges of rape and prolonged abuse. However, the following preliminary investigation revealed that the defendant and the male she accused of violating her were, in fact, married.

The man explained to the investigators that his wife had repeatedly refused to perform her marital duties, for which he took her by force. According to the Law, Regale Maritiae, clause eighteen, this was within his rights.

Additionally, the husband was certain his wife had reported him in order to ruin his reputation, then to have the necessary justification to seek divorce, and so obtain half of his property. The man owns a successful pawn store chain, whereas his wife’s family is of impecunious background, lending credence to his testimony. The man was acquitted of charges, whereas the defendant now faces the Law for fraud, false testimony, misleading Imperial authorities, and conspiracy.

The punishment recommended by the Tribunal is death.

“——Please tell me I’m seeing a bad dream!”

Yuliana had great trouble keeping seated until the end of the document.

“What kind of an inquiry is this!?” she cried. “Only one party was heard! Being from poor conditions doesn’t make anyone a liar by default, nor negates their entire case! Neither should marriage take away anyone’s basic human rights! What land is this, where the victims always end up on the seat of the accused? The man would rather see his wife dead than relinquish his hold of her? Seeking divorce in a relationship so evidently miserable should be woman’s right, and not a criminal conspiracy! The defendant is to be released, and her husband owes her compensation for the abuse. If she wishes to leave him, even without settlement, then give her that choice—and change this vile law immediately! The case is closed.”

“Thy will be done, your majesty,” the Magister waiting by the door replied. Instead of the vigor of a happy revisionist, there was only sour reluctance in his voice, visible also on his aged face. The man bowed deep and exited the room.

Case number four…

“—Aah! Enough already! Enough, I say!”

Yuliana stood from her seat, turned her back on her lavish mahogany work desk, much too large for her needs, and turned to the tall window in the back wall for a way of (cognitive) escape. In dejected silence, she gazed over the countless copper-plated rooftops and thin minarets of Bhastifal as they basked and glittered under the midday sun.

That solemn panorama never failed to soothe her spirit.

The city’s timeless silhouette made all mundane troubles seem trivial, ephemeral, altogether inconsequential—at least, for a little while. Unfortunately, the view by itself wouldn’t solve the pile of problems awaiting on the desk.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Yuliana muttered, gazing past her pale reflection in the glass. “Is this really the best way for me to help these people? Am I making things at all better for them?”

Born the Princess of distant Langoria, Yuliana had always known that being a monarch wasn’t half as glamorous or carefree as the commoners tended to imagine it. But just how heavy a burden the seat of power could be—it still continued to catch her by surprise on a daily basis, months after her coronation as the Empress of Tratovia.

In this foreign land, once her sworn enemy, Yuliana had been handed authority and influence far beyond what could have been hers in her fatherland. Since time immemorial, the ruler of the greatest human empire in the world had been virtually without limits, his word absolute, his will irresistible. Yet, the sense of responsibility that followed this power was no less overwhelming, if not downright crippling.

How to act as a tyrant without becoming a horror?

How to convert privilege as leverage, for equality and progress?

Was such a thing even possible? Yuliana didn’t honestly think so. Had anyone asked her this question half a year ago, she would have answered no without a moment of hesitation. Such power belonged to no human and was inherently harmful.

Nevertheless, she had resolved to give it her best try. She owed as much to all who needed her, and who had given their lives to bring her to this lofty seat. Moreover, the future of the world depended on it. Only the power of the Empress could take Yuliana closer to her true goal, which lay far outside layman’s reach.

At least, so she had reasoned for herself.

Ever since the day she had acceded to the Onyx Throne, Yuliana had spent nearly every waking moment trying to improve the life of her long-oppressed subjects. Where to even begin such an insurmountable labor? Whenever she thought she had fixed one of the system’s many death traps of corruption and flagrant abuse, two more would emerge. Over the long centuries the system had run its course, the wicked had inflicted their disease upon all around them, convincing even those innately virtuous and kind that they were tainted by association and equally outside redemption.

At every turn, Yuliana’s motions for reform were opposed and undermined, either openly, or in secret, and she had to employ all her wit, connections, and talent for diplomacy to get her way. She had to remind the few noble souls around of what they had spent a lifetime forgetting, that the age of silence had passed, and that there were genuine rewards to fairness and selflessness. Only once she had done this could she begin to identify and root out those sinister leftovers of the previous regime, who no less tirelessly looked for ways to manipulate the new Sovereign and return to the old.

The more resistance her majesty encountered, the greater grew the temptation to rely on brute force to achieve her goals. Knights, wizards, assassins, spies, mercenaries, and various dreadful machinations—Yuliana’s predecessors had assembled a formidable private arsenal to manage their expansive domain. Unshackled by the law, and all too willing to be employed, these dark hands awaited to be commanded.

But such was not Yuliana’s way. No life would be claimed by her word, this was the sole condition with which she had accepted the Throne. The moment she should resort to murder to have her way would be the moment she admitted her failure and stepped down. So she had sworn to herself.

Still, even if her majesty was the Absolute on paper, the reality of the matter was far less simple. Yuliana herself held fast in her principles, but the same couldn’t be said of her subjects. The army leaders, adjusting to her majesty’s take on things, began to avoid asking her opinion wherever they thought they could get away with it. And so did the Intelligence Bureau, and so did the Court Wizards, and the provincial governors, and there was no way one woman barely twenty years of age could hold all of that gargantuan system in check by herself. Not all of her subordinates were directly against her, of course, but only convinced that they did her greater service by not listening to her too closely.

Yuliana obviously couldn’t control everything, but that didn’t mean she was going to give up either. Determined to do what little she could, she got eagerly to work each day.

There was no time for doubts or despair.

Her dictatorship came with a hard limit, after all.

In less than half a year, another thousand-year cycle would come to a close. By the words of the ancient prophecy, the world itself was slated to end alongside the calendar. Before the end of the year, Yuliana would leave Bhastifal, to seek the Tower of Destiny beyond all land, and she didn’t think she would ever return. But all that was still many months away and she couldn’t let the time pass idly.

If, on the hour of all’s end, she could look back and see that she had made life a little better for at least a few people out there, then she could call her time on the Onyx Throne well spent indeed.

This week, it was the local justice system which faced her majesty’s scrutiny.

The Empress had the constitutional right to overrule the verdicts of the Tribunals. Despite this power, Yuliana’s predecessors had rarely interfered in individual cases, having already sculpted the system to their needs. Unfortunately, their handiwork was in stark contrast with her majesty’s personal ideals of justice, and learning about the oftentimes absurd sentences the judges would hand out, according to the no less absurd laws, she saw it her duty to object.

In the process, instead of adjusting the behemot system itself, Yuliana had become hopelessly sidetracked trying to rescue the poor souls on the way to the butcher’s block this very week.

Most of the convicts did deserve their fate, clearly enough, but included in the long list were, here and there, cases less obvious and fair. Yuliana’s conscience couldn’t allow them to pass, while she had the power to help them—even though going through each case in person meant a great deal of extra work for her.

It was surely in this very pressure, where true tyrants were forged.

Not even the worst of villains were likely born evil; perhaps it was possessing a heart too gentle that became the cause of their downfall. The only way for a compassionate person to endure the mass of all those souls without breaking was to simply cease all care. Make one’s spirit as cold stone, disregard the others and think only of the self, direct the system exclusively to his or her own benefit, extract whatever brief joy could be found in playing god on earth, before the time was up.

The very idea made Yuliana shudder in revulsion.

Her knightly background likely became her majesty’s salvation.

Yuliana could perceive no satisfaction in things bought at others’ expense. She hadn’t known happiness even once in the cold castle she was born in, in being an entitled princess; she had found it only in her days in the army, in the company of trusted comrades and friends. There, she had learned many times that true joy was something shared between equals, something earned through earnest effort, a linking of spirits. It shone brighter than gold even amid the bleakest of conditions, as something close to divine and outside the material.

Unfortunately, there was nothing of the sort in the Imperial Court, and the local nobles’ games she found vain and hollow.

“We are all humans,” Yuliana thought to herself. “So why are we this divided?”

Steeling her resolve, she ceased to dream of escape. Gazing over the sunlit rooftops of Bhastifal for a brief while longer, her majesty then turned back to the wide desk, sat down, picked up her pen, and resumed work.

——Knock-knock.

Yuliana’s quiet toiling was interrupted by a cautious knock on the door. As soon as she raised her gaze from the desktop, the door slightly opened, and a young man’s head popped into view.

“Oh, there you are!” the youth commented with relief and slipped in, quietly closing the door behind him. “No guards? Ah, fortunes favor me, for once!”

Though the man spoke with great familiarity, Yuliana was quite certain she had never seen him before in her life. The youth was very obviously not a Palace employee. He was heavily tanned, fit and tough, clearly better accustomed to outdoors life than that of a castle servant. His messy, dark hair he kept back with a simple hairband, save for a solitary strand that hung across his mischievous face. The gaze of his dark eyes was quite unfit for a boy of his age, full of humor and confidence that only a wealth of life experience might cultivate. He was not dressed for a royal visit either, but clad in a simple vest, a cloth sash, and patched, baggy trousers, and light shoes on his feet, heavily worn by use. On his back, he carried an old-looking lute, beautifully crafted and meticulously engraved.

The unannounced visitor didn’t look particularly menacing, but he did have the mannerisms of an uninvited thief, not inspiring much confidence.

Yuliana stood from her seat with alarm, questioning the man with a scowl over her desk.

“Who might you be?” she asked. “How did you get in here?”

Yuliana didn’t keep guards near her at all times, but that didn’t mean there was a shortage of watchers in the Palace. It was completely impossible that a random beggar might simply wander in through the front gate and end up in her office unchecked. Only the slim chance that he was a legitimate guest, despite his dress, kept her from calling help immediately.

“Do accept my apologies for this unannounced intrusion, your majesty!” the guest said, stepping in the middle of the room, where he performed a deep bow. “I assure you, I am nobody suspicious or dangerous. Not at all! You shall be glad to know it is none other but I, the bard Waramoti, the wandering minstrel and songwriter, who has returned to behold the beauty of Bhastifal after a long and incredible journey. Surely your majesty has heard of me, yes? I did request an official audience via the proper channels, at first, but your loyal servants were—regrettably—not agreeable to our meeting, no matter how I assured them it was written in the stars. I saw at once that attempting to convince those duty-bound slaves was only a waste of time and effort, and so ended up excusing myself. You see, I lived in the Palace for a time in the past, and know certain discreet pathways only the workers are familiar with.”

“Waramoti…?” Yuliana repeated the foreign name with a frown.

“Yes!” Waramoti replied with a sunny smirk. “The one and only!”

“No, I’m afraid I’ve never heard of you before,” she confessed.

“A—?” The bard’s jaw fell. “...Never?”

“Pardon me, but I don’t pay much attention to music, or what’s trending,” she explained. “I’m quite busy, as you may see. I’m sorry, but you really should reserve an appointment, like everybody else. I’m not seeing anybody at this time, so do let yourself out the way you came.”

“Uhh, wait, wait,” Waramoti tried to gather his crumbling composure. “A-are you absolutely sure you’ve never heard my name before? Never? See, it is also the name of the man who was once the first-ranked warrior of the Guild of Heroes, which even now serves under you, I believe. I’ve retired from service, but that was—that was also me. Yes. Waramoti, the ‘Heaven’s Hand’. That’s what they called me. That was my warrior title.”

Yuliana’s eyes showed no light of remembrance. Instead, they shifted awkwardly left and right, as though looking for help, before she answered the youth with a quick shake of her head.

“Please, your majesty!” Waramoti cried, staggered. “You must have heard of me! I do not mean to brag, but I did contribute to some fairly high-profile victories in the past. In the Dharvic War, and even before that. ‘Human Hurricane’. Maybe you’ve heard that one? ‘The Three’s Blessed’! Those titles were fairly common too.”

“A human…hurricane?” Yuliana repeated, raising her brows, more pitying than impressed. “Did they really call you that?”

“They did!” he insisted. “Not that I was terribly pleased by it, but—Damn it, still nothing?”

Biting her lip, her majesty could only shake her head again.

“So Lady Carmelia never deigned to mention me?” Waramoti grimaced in response, looking increasingly distressed. “Ahaha, my, that stings! More than just a little.”

“Lady Carmelia?” Yuliana’s confusion grew only deeper. “How do you know my Court Wizard? Somehow, I don’t think she’s a huge fan of music. Human music, at any rate. Or...hurricanes.”

“Oh, she’s no fan of mine, no, sadly,” the bard replied with a dismissing gesture. “For my own part, I never had anything personal against her grace, not at all. If anything, I have always held her work in great esteem. But, she doesn’t quite see me the same way, alas. We had a few bad run-ins in the distant past, but never mind that. What’s past is past, and let the sleeping dogs lie.”

“So you wouldn’t say Lady Carmelia is a friend of yours?” Yuliana asked him.

“A friend?” he repeated, turning his head from side to side. “No, no, well, not exactly, not.”

“Then, is there any reason whatsoever, why I shouldn’t call the guards now?”

“Ha? Oh!” Waramoti realized he’d played himself into a corner. “P-please hold on, your majesty! My identity aside, I am not here to solicit money, or any special favors of you, nor to threaten you in any shape or fashion—of this you can be quite sure! In fact, I have so much coin now I don’t know what to do with it all! And since I’ve finally ceased to scare children with my looks, I’ve no intention to start doing it again. Not by any means! No. I have made a very long and tiring journey to your extravagant, tastefully decorated office on this lovely day only—well, because the Art bid me to.”

“The Art?” Yuliana’s confusion wasn’t clearing up.

“Indeed!” Waramoti nodded, regaining his smile. “I speak of the grand spirit of life which guides us all in creative work! Life, you see, is a song! And we artists seek but to imitate it with our humble abilities, to varying degrees of success, so that even those without ears could hear it—for surely all should share in its marvel! Such is my firm conviction. And the reason I’ve come to see your majesty today is because there is a very special tune I need to complete my grand poem. Or, should we call it a ‘fresh perspective’, an unexplored point of view…”

Sadly for the storyteller, his listener was much too practical a soul to comprehend his flowery speech. Instead of any impression of youthful, romantic awe, the Empress answered Waramoti with a look of unmistakable annoyance, feeling the finite, precious sand in her hourglass pass each instant in vain.

“I’m calling the guards now,” Yuliana declared, and moved towards the golden bell sitting at the corner of the table.

“Please don’t!” the bard requested, his smile turning visibly forced. “I might lose my head!”

“Do pardon me, whoever you are,” Yuliana said. “But the last thing I need right now is another stranger wasting my time with so much nonsense. Worry not for your head; I’ll have it changed to a prison sentence. If I find the right amendment in time.”

“I see your majesty is not a friend of romance,” he lamented. “Ah, I’m beginning to see why she had such a hard time…”

“Hm?” Yuliana paused, frowning. The way he intoned the pronoun struck her as a bit odd. “Who’s she...?”

“Truth be told, I’d hoped to win you over with my personal merits alone,” Waramoti replied, taking up his lute and playing a note, the smug smile back on his lips. “But it seems I will need to resort to my ace, after all! You see, I am no ordinary vagabond, your majesty! I am he, who accompanied the summoned champion of prophecy, and paid witness to her many heroics across Noertia! All of which you were not there to see! Well, now do I have your attention?”

The hand looking for the beckoning bell dropped.

“You’re talking about Izumi?” the Empress whispered.

“Ah, perhaps you’d like to hear more?” Waramoti teased her. “The true story of what befell in Alderia, the mythical island of the elven immigrants, which only three humans have ever seen and lived to speak of? The unrated, uncensored, and unabridged of it! All that Lady Carmelia chose not to disclose to you—which, I dare say, includes more than my own humble part. And what happened then? How about our quick stay at the village of the dead? Or perhaps our thrilling journey to the Northern Realms, to the snow-clad valley of Dharva! How we rode mounts of steel to the Kashyk mountains, there to find the legendary Eylia, the forbidden city of the Precursors, where we discovered both fortune and an untold horror? I know all of it. I saw it happen with my own two eyes! And if only your majesty wills it, I shall tell you the long and short of it, in exchange for only a small favor or two. Well, does that seem at all appealing to you?”

Recovering from her daze, Yuliana slammed her palms on the desk, leaning over, and quickly demanded,

“You really know Izumi? Where is she? Is she here now? Is she all right? Is she safe? Why, what are you waiting for? Tell me everything you know!”

“I will, I will, fear not,” Waramoti replied, casually playing his lute, congratulating himself for the ease of success.

Then his expression clouded and his hands stopped.

“Our mutual friend was quite fine the last I saw her—physically, at least,” he explained. “Yet, I regret to inform you that we ended up parting ways a bit shy of two months back. For this, I do not know where she is right now. The lady didn’t bother to share her intentions with me, though I may have an inkling of my own.”

“Parted ways?” Yuliana questioned the bard with a look of concern. “What happened?”

“Oh, nothing too grim, I assure you,” he replied. “We parted as friends and in good health. Just…Aah, I’m not quite sure how to put this...”

“What is it?” she impatiently urged him. “Out with it! No more suspense! I don’t need to have you tortured for answers, do I?”

“Er, that would be entirely unnecessary, not to mention unethical,” Waramoti argued. “Please, remain calm and have a seat, your majesty. I shall tell you everything, in due order.”

Yuliana sat back down on the edge of her seat and waited.

“Very good,” the bard nodded. “Now, as to what happened with Izumi...Well…As they say, brevity is the mother of wit…”

With a sigh, Waramoti weighed his words for a moment.

Then, recognizing that there was no way to pretty up the message or make it seem more uplifting than it really was, he gave it away in all its direct simplicity,

“She quit.”