“Casmira Dalca,” Elder Vespera’s voice boomed, amplified by the hall’s acoustic arches, “you are hereby placed under summary arrest for the magical poisoning of a patient!” The declaration hung heavy, thick as the dust motes dancing in the Conservatory’s light-streams. Casmira stood still, allowing the accusation to wash over her, cataloging the Elders’ expressions. Vespera’s fury was a calculated performance, a sharp edge honed by decades of judicial theatrics. The second adjudicator stepped forward, his knuckles scarred from ancient light-duels, his expression devoid of theatrical fury. “The evidence is clear,” he stated, his gravelly tone vibrating across the vitreous flagstones. “The patient, Floriana Mesti, exhibits advanced Prismatic Rot, exacerbated by prolonged exposure to destabilized hard-light signatures. Your recent unauthorized installations in this hall have been volatile, Dalca. Your guild credentials in Pellucir are hereby revoked, effective immediately.” Casmira felt the unfamiliar focal-ring on her finger thrum, a silent invitation. She had seconds before this pronouncement solidified into irreversible fact. Her gaze shifted to Basilio, who leaned against a support spire, tracking the tribunal with detached curiosity. He offered no immediate defense, allowing the situation to reach a critical inflection point. He was testing her, or perhaps, testing the system itself. Floriana, meanwhile, resumed muffled sobs inside her medical orb. The curved barrier distorted her outline into a bowed, trembling posture, drawing sympathetic murmurs from nearby acolytes. Casmira registered the calculated timing, the almost imperceptible swell of dramatic light Floriana seemed to be drawing to herself. “Adjudicator,” Casmira cut through the rising melodrama, her tone level. “While my recent installations were unorthodox, stripping my credentials on circumstantial complaints violates guild charter. Such an order demands quantifiable proof of causation.” The magistrate's lips flattened. “Are you denying the symptoms, Dalca? Or your ability to inflict them?” “Neither,” Casmira countered, lifting her hand, the focal-ring catching the light. Its surface, smooth and dark, seemed to drink the ambient luminescence. “I am demanding a precise, calibrated analysis of the alleged ‘Prismatic Rot’ signature against my own active light-weave frequency.” The adjudicators exchanged glances. Such a petition was typically reserved for formal trials, but guild law prioritized measurable frequencies over hearsay. With a flick of her wrist, Casmira cast upward. The focal-ring released a precise beam over Floriana's enclosure, branching into a cobalt lattice of equations and geometric diagrams that charted known decay frequencies. A second overlay followed: Casmira’s current resonance, rendered in clean viridian curves. Laid beside the crimson decay markers, the waveforms failed to intersect by several orders of magnitude. “As demonstrated,” Casmira stated, “my resonance bears zero harmonic overlap with this decay pattern. A causal link is mathematically null.” The senior magistrates studied the hovering numbers, their posture stiffening. Even Vespera leaned closer to verify the coordinates. Before they could render a finding, a wet spasm rattled the containment sphere. All eyes snapped toward Floriana. Floriana doubled over, clutching her sternum. With a sharp shudder, she expelled a faceted, blood-colored mineral that struck the inner wall with a dry tap, tumbling onto the floor. Gasps erupted through the gallery. Solid mineral expulsion was a storied marker of terminal rot, instantly shifting attention away from Casmira's numeric graphs. “Look!” Floriana cried, reaching toward the red pebble. “She did this to me!” Vespera stepped toward the perimeter. “This bypasses debate, Dalca. Spontaneous ossification at this velocity indicates immediate assault.” The scarred magistrate struck the marble balustrade. “Abstract equations do not outweigh physical contamination. You are remanded to the tribunal immediately.” Casmira processed the escalation without flinching. Her prior self had predicted Floriana’s taste for stagecraft, but not this exact physical prop. Then the rationale clicked: the memory excision. True ignorance was her only functional shield against empathy probes. Floriana had likely primed a resonance-trap to register guilt. Casmira's gap in memory ensured zero detectable malice, shielding her from automated psychic inquest while obscuring her own blueprint. She needed forty-eight hours to reassemble the breadcrumbs she had hidden from her own mind. “Adjudicators,” Casmira intervened loudly over the assembly. “Under Article 7 of the Grand Weavers' Charter, an accused practitioner denied direct cross-examination may invoke an Evidentiary Trial of Fabrication. I demand a forty-eight-hour trial.” The bench went rigid. The trial statute was an antiquated codicil, reserved for catastrophic malfeasance. Vespera’s gaze pierced Casmira, a calculated assessment. “A duel? Against whom would you issue this challenge, Dalca? Your accuser is incapacitated.” “Not against a peer,” Casmira said. “Against the charge. If I assemble an installation in the courtyard that permanently isolates and disproves this foreign contamination, I am cleared. If it falters, I submit to sentence.” Basilio gave an infinitesimal nod, noting the tactical pivot that transformed a summary sentencing into an unignorable civic display. The magistrates huddled, violet silk rustling. Precedent left them no procedural loophole to deny the petition without breaching founding statutes. Vespera emerged from the huddle, her visage taut. “The trial is granted, commencing in six hours within the Auroran Atrium. Fail to substantiate your claim, Dalca, and you will face immediate exile to the Under-City, alongside complete neural expungement of your craft.”

The Trial of Tears