"I forget nothing." Red interrupts. He pulls out a leather satchel bulging with documents and dumps the contents across the arena floor. Scrolls, ledgers, maps marked with strange symbols, correspondence written in multiple hands. Under the Mhlaryan lightwork woven into the arena, every page gleams clearly visible to the thousands watching above.
"These documents detail a conspiracy that makes Hrolf's rebellion look like a child's tantrum," Red announces, his voice carrying to every corner of the colosseum.
The fourth elder takes a threatening step forward. "You dare—"
"I dare because I've spent years investigating reports of missing elves, dwarves, and orcs along our borders. Entire villages vanishing overnight. Families disappearing without a trace." Red kicks one of the scrolls, unrolling it to reveal detailed maps. "Want to know where they went?"
A terrible silence falls over the arena. Even the hooded elders seem frozen.
"They went to feed the Aeonians," Red snarls. "These honorable elders have been harvesting lives like grain. Using their corrupted servants to drain the life force from innocent beings to fuel their own power."
Gasps echo through the crowd. Council members lean forward in their seats, straining to see the evidence scattered below.
"The protective barriers around Aelfheim designed by Casimir?" Red continues, kicking another document into view. "They claim to maintain them for our safety. But the truth is they've been siphoning energy directly from our realm's life force. Weakening our very foundations while growing stronger themselves."
Lord Ctibor's voice booms across the arena. "These are serious accusations, Knight Garrett. Do you have proof?"
"Proof?" Red's brow lifts. "I have the testimonies of three escaped Valorians who broke free from their conditioning. I have ledgers detailing harvests of life force. I have maps showing the locations of mass graves where they dumped the drained husks of their victims."
He holds up a particular scroll. Even from our viewing box, I can see it's covered in dark stains. "They have a system. Each Valorian was required to bring them a certain number of offerings per month. The elderly and children were taken. They didn't discriminate as long as the life force was strong."
The crowd's murmur grows uglier. But now it's directed at the hooded figures standing in the arena.
Red pulls out another ledger. "The rebel orcs attacking our southern borders? Guess who's been funding them? Supplying them with weapons and Asterdust? These parasites have beendeliberately weakening Aelfheim from within while you fools trusted them to protect us!"
The lead elder's composure finally cracks. "Lies! Fabrications! You dare impugn the honor of—"
"Honor?" Red strides forward. "Show them your honor."
He lunges toward the Aeonian closest to him. His hand catches the edge of the lead elder's hood and yanks it back.
Someone in the front tier screams. Then everyone near them does.
The face beneath is distorted, warped by power that was never meant to be contained in flesh. Veins of darkness run beneath the skin like black lightning. When he breathes, those veins pulse with stolen light.
The other Aeonians begin revealing themselves one by one. Each reveals a face transformed by centuries of consuming life force.
"By the gods," someone screams from the stands. "What are they?"
"Abominations," Red declares with distaste. "That's what you've become after feeding on stolen life force for centuries. You're no longer truly elven."
The fourth elder lets out a sound that might have been laughter. "You think exposing us matters? You think your little revelation changes anything?"
Their voice has lost all pretense of dignity. "We are beyond your ability to stop us."
"Yes, we have fed on your realm." The second elder's voice carries multiple tones now, as if several beings speak through one throat. "Yes, we have harvested your people. And we will continue to do so, because we can."
"And you, little elfling queen, will be the sweetest meal of all," the lead elder hisses at Rhianelle. "When we drain you dry, we will become gods."
The arena erupts into chaos. Some elves flee toward the exits while others surge forward, screaming for the elders' blood. But the four abominations merely stand there in their corrupted forms.
"You want the Aethon Mor trial by combat?" the fourth elder asks, their black-veined eyes fixed on our viewing box. "Very well."
Rhianelle stands. "I accept your challenge."
Red, Shade, Darstan, and Aelfric form a protective circle around Rhianelle as she descends to the arena floor.
"Oh, little queen."
