The Trial Begins

**Shaira's POV**

Dawn arrived with a bone-chilling cold. I was abruptly awakened in my cell, the creak of the door pulling me from a restless sleep. Two guards approached and forced me to stand, their rough hands gripping my arms as they tied my wrists tightly. I felt weak and sore, but the cold of the ropes against my skin shook me from my lethargy. The trial had arrived, and I had no choice but to face it.

As they led me, the morning’s dampness soaked the air, and the ground was slippery beneath my feet. Each step towards the place of judgment felt like a nightmare repeating itself, one that Angro had rescued me from before, only now he wasn’t there to give me strength. As we moved forward, the murmurs grew. The village was already awake, and the inhabitants emerged from their homes, observing the procession with expressions of astonishment, confusion, and, in some cases, indignation.

I could feel their gazes on me, some filled with curiosity, others with judgment, but not as much contempt as I would have expected. It was as if the people didn’t know what to think, as if amidst Omawit’s accusations, there was still room for doubt. That uncertainty on their faces puzzled me. I wondered if they were remembering when Angro had intervened to save me in this very place, when his words and bravery had pulled me from the brink of slavery. The memory of that moment returned forcefully, and I felt my chest tighten at his absence.

The platform in the center of the village loomed ahead, surrounded by a broad circle of spectators. The murmurs grew louder as I was pushed forward, the guards releasing me roughly, and the echo of my footsteps resonated on the old wood. My gaze swept over the crowd, searching for a familiar face, and then I saw him. There stood Omawit, with a smug grin stretching across his face, his eyes fixed on me as if he had already won. Beside him was Amari, the sister who despised me, looking at me with coldness. The hatred in her eyes was palpable, and her lips twisted into an expression that showed as much pain as resentment.

The weight of what was about to happen fell on me like a slab. I felt my strength leave me for a moment, but then a whisper in my mind reminded me that I couldn’t allow myself to fall. No matter how alone and vulnerable I felt, no matter how much Omawit and Amari wanted to crush me, I had to resist.

The crowd gathered for the trial filled every corner of the space around the platform. It was as if all of Zuwua had decided to attend to witness my fate. I could feel the weight of their stares on me, some full of morbid curiosity, others of evident disdain. However, despite the hostility from some, there was something different in the atmosphere, something I hadn’t perceived the last time I was in this very place. Among the stern expressions, I also saw glimpses of concern and sympathy on some faces. It was as if the village wasn’t entirely convinced of the guilt Omawit had placed upon me.

My gaze wandered over the crowd, desperately searching for a familiar face, a sign of support that I could cling to in the midst of all this uncertainty. Then I saw her. Zania was among the people, not far from the platform. Her eyes met mine, and I could see the attempt to offer me encouragement in her gaze. From a distance, she gave me a small nod, as if to say that I wasn’t alone. Just seeing her there gave me a faint glimmer of hope, though it barely lasted a moment. Despite the comfort her presence brought, the loneliness still wrapped around me, tightening my chest like a winter cold that refused to fade.

I turned my gaze ahead, where Omawit and Amari stood like dark figures awaiting my downfall. Omawit stood tall, shoulders back, wearing an expression that teetered between self-satisfaction and arrogance. He seemed to revel in the power he believed he had over me, in the chance to drag me to humiliation in front of the entire village. Each time my gaze met his, I saw the gleam of anticipated victory in his eyes, as if he could already taste the moment when I would become his possession.

Beside him, Amari did not hide the contempt she felt. Her lips were pressed into a thin line and her jaw was tense, but her eyes, cold and hard as steel, watched me with an almost tangible hatred. It was as if the very thought of me still breathing filled her with rage. I remembered her expression when she had seen me with Angro, the way her feelings towards him had turned into resentment towards me. The intensity of her disdain wasn’t just the reflection of a broken promise; it was the manifestation of a deep wound inflicted on her pride.

For an instant, I felt the force of their stares crushing me. But despite the fear stirring within, I forced myself to keep my head held high. I would not give them the pleasure of seeing me defeated. If I was going to face this trial, I would do it with all the dignity I had left. I knew I couldn’t expect mercy from Omawit or Amari, but at least, for a moment, I sensed that the crowd wasn’t as determined to condemn me as they were.

The murmurs of the crowd ceased when Owan made his entrance. The leader of the opranchi strode firmly to the center of the platform, and the weight of his authority was felt immediately. He wore his ceremonial cape, adorned with feathers and braided leather, a symbol of his position and the power he held over his people. When his eyes rested on me, I shuddered, noticing in his gaze a mix of sternness and perhaps a faint hint of compassion. Unlike Omawit, Owan seemed willing to listen and judge fairly. But I couldn’t deceive myself; this wouldn’t be easy.

Owan raised a hand to call for order and addressed the crowd. "This trial," he said in a deep voice, "will not be driven by emotion or hatred. It is our responsibility as a people to ensure that the truth prevails and that justice is administered impartially. Shaira will be judged by the council of elders, and they will determine her fate based on the evidence and testimonies presented." He paused, letting his words sink into the people surrounding him. "We will not allow any undue interference to disrupt this process," he added, casting a meaningful look at the crowd, as if warning both those who sympathized with me and those who despised me.

The silence grew thicker, and Owan turned towards Omawit, who was eagerly awaiting his turn to speak. "Omawit," the chief said solemnly, "present your accusation formally."

Omawit stepped forward with a barely concealed expression of satisfaction. His eyes shone with a mixture of emotion and hatred. "This woman," he began, pointing at me with a contemptuous gesture, "is not who she claims to be. She is an eteri, an enemy of our people." His voice rose, filled with conviction and bitterness. "From the beginning, she infiltrated us with lies and deceit, endangering the safety of our people. She has taken advantage of our hospitality, manipulating many with her false story. But today," he added, casting his gaze towards the crowd as if to ensure everyone could hear, "the truth will come to light."

Every word he spoke was like a poisoned arrow aimed at me. I forced myself not to look down, to not allow his hatred to crush me. I could feel his accusation resonating in the air, but I also sensed that not the entire crowd was convinced by his words. Some faces showed doubt, while others displayed genuine concern over what was being said.

Owan watched attentively, maintaining his composure as Omawit continued. "She is a spy," he declared vehemently, "and there is no doubt that her loyalty lies with the eteri, not with us. For months, she has deceived us all, including my own brother, Angro, whom she has led down a path of betrayal and shame."

My heart skipped a beat at the sound of Angro's name. Hearing his name on Omawit's lips was a slap that made me hold my breath. I tried not to give in to rage or despair. If I succumbed to those feelings, Omawit would win. Instead, I needed to focus on maintaining the calm and strength that I still had.

Finally, Omawit turned to his father, still pointing at me. "Father, I ask that this woman be judged with the severity that an enemy of our people deserves. Her actions have brought shame to Zuwua, and we cannot allow her to continue mocking us."

Owan nodded slowly, showing no emotion on his face. "The accusations are serious," he said, addressing the crowd. "The council of elders will deliberate on these words, and Shaira will have the opportunity to defend herself." Then, he looked directly into my eyes. "You will have a chance to speak, and I expect you to present the truth."

I felt a knot form in my throat, but nodding slowly, I replied, "I will." I didn’t know if my words would convince anyone, but as long as there was a small chance for my side to be heard, I would fight with all my strength to make the most of it.