The bells of Highcourt rang like warning shots.
Oren stood at the edge of the royal chamber, parchment in his hands, trembling slightly but holding his ground. Behind him, the Charter lay rolled inside a leather case, sealed with the wax stamp of the people.
I wasn’t with him—but I was in every word he carried.
The royal chamber was colder than expected. Stone arches curved overhead like the ribs of some great beast, and the nobles perched in semicircles like judges and predators both.
A steward banged his rod once.
"Proceed."
Oren took a breath.
"On behalf of the Charter of Common Voice," he began, "I stand before you not as a noble or warrior, but as a witness. And I ask that you listen not to me—but to those I represent."
He unrolled the scroll and began.
Each word echoed. Each
