"Jordan Hayes. Your presence is demanded by the governor," a guard called out.
His voice echoed sharply through the small, austere chamber where Jordan lay on the narrow bed, staring up at the softly glowing ceiling panels that mimicked a star-strewn sky.
He nodded once, rising smoothly.
Without a word, he followed the guards through the winding corridors of the supervision center, boots echoing softly against floors that shimmered like condensed starlight.
They arrived at the trial ground, an open amphitheater carved into the heart of the capital's grand citadel.
Tiered seats of polished obsidian and crystal rose in wide semicircles around a central platform, open to the violet sky above.
High seats ringed the arena, occupied by stern-faced officials in midnight-blue robes trimmed with silver.
At the very top, in the governor's elevated throne of dark crystal, sat Nick, reptilian eyes sharp and unyielding, posture radiating unchallenged authority.
