The world folded like the pages in a book as Lukas was not pulled by hands but by a force that could only be explained by the mystic arts. One breath he had been fighting upon the dunes of Khaitish; the next, he was transported into another reality altogether, colder in a way that had nothing to do with desert wind and everything to do with the distance from his own flesh.

Lukas knew, before his eyes could register it, that this place was not a place at all but simply a construct of magical energy.

This was Anriette's will made tangible, a sculpted space in which her authority was the only which existed.

He found himself standing within a courtroom.

It was an edifice of precise, severe lines—a high dais carved from quartz and granite, a pale stone that drank light and returned it soft and muted. Pillars had stood in measured intervals, their fluting leading the eye upward to a ceiling etched with concentric sigils, each one the same script that had crawled across the margins of Anriette's Codex.

There had been benches, but they were empty, their shadows straight and untroubled. There were none to witness Lukas' sentencing.

For Anriette herself was judge, jury and executioner.

When Lukas looked up, he saw Anriette where a magistrate should be, not softened by mercy, not theatrically stern, but composed with the absolute calm of someone who carried law as a second breath.

The Codex remained poised on the lectern before her, the same book of law that she carried with her during every waking hour, it was the foundation of this Divinity itself. The book seemed renewed in this reality of her Divinity's creation, untouched by age or wear.

Here, that Codex held center like a reliquary.

The lectern itself was simple and formal in design, its wood grain faint beneath a lacquer that seemed to hold a tiny tide within it when the light had hit. Her thumb rested on the margin as though the page were one she could read by touch.

When she finally spoke, the silence shattered like glass beneath a careful heel.

"Lukas Drakos," Anriette declared, her tone neither loud nor soft but weighted, the syllables of his name falling like struck bells. "You stand charged under the Codex of Naval Law and Wartime Judgment."

Her gaze had lowered to the page but Lukas knew that she had likely memorized every word written within that book of law.

"By Article IX of the Codex of Naval Law & Wartime Judgment—Theft of Property," she intoned, each word clear and succint. "By Article XIV—Refusal to Comply with a Commanding Officer in Service of the Nozari Navy." Another pause, deliberate and heavy. "By Article XV—Threatening an Officer of the Nozari Navy with Harm or Coercion." Her hand had moved across the page, finger resting at the next line like the closing of a seal. "And by Article XXIII—Assuming and Manifesting Draconic Form, an offense against the Covenant between the Church and the People."

Lukas remained silent as Anriette's voice carried through the hollow chamber, each law spoken with the precision of ritual. The sound of her words echoed off the unseen walls, then fell still, leaving only the faint hum of the Divinity that bound them both. He did not flinch when she spoke his name, nor when she recited the charges that would seal his fate.

His eyes simply stayed fixed upon her, studying what lay beyond, what lay within.

Anriette, the other hand, could not even look him in the eyes as she listed the crimes he had committed, the laws he had broken before her eyes. Instead, her eyes remained fixed on the empty benches as though seeking an audience that did not exist, on witnesses that would never come.

Then, finally, she spoke again.

Her tone was softer now, but it still carried the authority of the court she had created. "How will you plead?"

Lukas stared at the Codex, at its immaculate pages that gleamed with their own inner light, before lifting his eyes back to her. "Guilty," he answered. "I plead guilty."

Anriette's composure fractured, if only for an instant. Her brows drew together, confusion flickering in her eyes. "I'm afraid you don't understand," she said to him, shaking her head, the motion small but certain. "I am giving you a chance to make an argument for yourself, to defend your innocence."

But Lukas' expression did not change. "I plead guilty," he repeated, slower this time.

Maybe he had gone insane.

Why would he not defend himself against the crimes he had been accused of?

But maybe, what Lukas saw in her eyes did not lie.

Something in the air shifted.

The glyphs that flowed across the open pages of the Codex began to lift, glowing with a pale, judicial light. They twisted through the air in careful spirals before merging into form, solidifying into the shape of a gavel. The handle and head were carved from pure light, its edges precise as if cut from crystal. The instrument of judgment drifted gently through the air until it landed in Anriette's hand.

There was no more discussion to be had.

The rules of this courtroom—her Divinity of Justice—left no room for hesitation once the plea was made.

Only the verdict and its sentence remained to be delivered.

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Lukas watched the gavel's glow reflected in her eyes, wondering what punishment awaited him within this realm of spirit and soul.

It was this magic, this power to pass judgment without blade or bullet, that had silenced countless criminals before him.

Lukas could only assume that the only reason why Daerion had never made her something more, never tried to manipulate her like he had Celina, was because she could not be corrupted.

The Codex was the law she believed in, not whatever twisted reality the King of Nozar wished to create.

But what if that belief was torn apart?

What if it no longer made sense to Anriette?

She raised the gavel yet it never fell.

Anriette's hand trembled, and for the first time since he had known her, she seemed uncertain in the law that she had fought for her whole life.

The silence between them stretched, heavy and alive.

In that moment, the Crown flared to life.

A pulse of white light radiated outward from Lukas, and in that instant, the connection between them snapped open like a door unbarred. The Divinity's courtroom wavered as something older and stronger than Nozari law bridged the space between their minds.

Anriette gasped, her breath sharp and sudden, as a flood of images—his memories—struck her like a storm breaking over stone.

She saw herself sitting across from Lukas, when she had still believed him to be a bounty hunter, laughing as they ate alongside men who had been put under her charge. Anriette watched through Lukas' eyes as she appeared before him within the Inner Cities of Nozar. She even saw herself standing beside Thomas Harrow and Magnus Elarion within the Magic Tower, a place she yearned to be in more than anything but a place that she did not think she deserved to be in.

Each memory bled into the next like flashes of warmth, of laughter and of friendship.

Anriette staggered, taking a step back from the lectern, the gavel still glowing in her hand.

The Codex's pages fluttered, disturbed by a wind that did not exist. The perfect order of her Divinity began to waver, its edges bending under the weight of what she felt.

She knew the words.

She knew the sentence she had to give.

But she did not speak those words.

How could she? How could she deliver judgment when the law demanded one thing and her heart another?

Lukas spoke to her then, his voice echoing through the chamber, joined by the resonance of the Crown that connected their minds. "Why did you abandon your title as Vice Admiral?"

Anriette blinked, caught off guard. "What…?" All this time, she had spoken as if she were still a member of the Nozari Admiraly but here she stood, her uniform stripped away and her pride for the navy non-existent.

"Why didn't you fight during the invasion of Easthaven? Why didn't you fight for Nozar? When it happened, you fought not alongside the navy but with the mages of the Magic Tower. But why?" Lukas pressed, bombarding her with questions that ate away at what was left of her resolve.

Thomas had told Lukas that, without Anriette, the Magic Tower might have fallen the night of Nozar's Invasion of Easthaven.

Anriette shook her head slowly, refusing to give him an answer.

"By Nozari Law," Lukas urged, his tone deepening, "you are to eliminate any dragon that stands before you. Did you not say that yourself? I am a dragon. It is your duty to kill me right here and now, Anriette. The Codex says that I am guilty."

Anriette could not deny that truth.

That law had been written in the Codex and she knew it, she herself had recited it just moments ago.

"It says that I am guilty because of what I am. But do you?" His words grew stronger, echoing across the empty courtroom.

The light of the Crown pulsed between them, connecting their thoughts and memories.

Through that link, Lukas saw flashes of her own memories. Moments of that night, the night of Nozar's Invasion of Easthaven, watching as her own fellow marines began to turn on the people, the streets burning as comrades she once trusted became executioners of the innocent. The former Vice Admiral had cut through men she thought believed in what she did, in justice, in the law that the Codex itself had decreed.

Anriette's lips trembled. "I don't know," she whispered.

Lukas took a step forward, closing the distance between them. He looked up at her, his eyes unwavering. "Do you believe in what the Codex stands for?"

"I don't know!" she suddenly screamed. The sound shattered the silence, raw and unrestrained. Her composure broke as she slammed the Codex shut, the sound ringing out. In that instant, the illusion began to fracture. Cracks spread through the marble pillars; the air trembled with instability as her magic began to falter.

"I don't know what is right or wrong anymore," she cried. "I don't know who to believe, what to believe...I don't know what to do, Lukas."

Her voice broke into a sob. She clutched the Codex to her chest like a lifeline.

That was why she had sought out the Mandate.

Anriette had hoped that by winning the Tournament of Khaitish, the High Septon would give her an answer, that she would be able to tell her what she should do.

Lukas watched her quietly for a moment before he spoke again, his voice softer now. "You say you do not know what to do. But you do."

She lifted her head, meeting his gaze.

"You know the answer, Anriette Vale. You have always known it. The answer has always been you, Anriette Vale," he said. "A book does not decide what is just and what is not. This Codex does not dictate who you are. It is you who chooses what to fight for, and what you believe in your heart to be true."

The space around them continued to crumble—walls fading to dust, the benches of the courtroom dissolving into light—but Lukas's words seemed to hold her steady.

"It's time to stop running from who you are," he said gently, extending his hand toward her. "You are more than this Codex."

Anriette stared at him for a long moment, eyes glistening.

"You are my friend, Anriette. And you will always be my friend."

Then she reached out and took his hand.

"Okay," she whispered.

The world around them gave one final shudder. The great courtroom of Anriette's making—her judgment, her Divinity and even the Codex itself—collapsed into a cascade of shimmering motes, dissolving like mist. And when the light faded, they found themselves within the Kingdom of Khaitish once more.

The first rays of morning stretched across the dunes, painting the sands gold.

The air was still, calm, and quiet.

Their battle had come to a close and the court was adjourned.

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