Zellheim, the Eternal Radiance Church's Inquisition, the confessional.
The heavy doors closed behind him, shutting out the light from outside.
The middle-aged inquisitor knelt on one knee, his head bowed low.
Before him stretched a vast space shrouded in shadow.
The only faint light came from the golden Sun Emblem suspended from the vaulted ceiling. It cast a cold glow, like the indifferent gaze of a god.
Within the shadows, a larger figure sat on the Chief Inquisitor's throne, carved from obsidian.
He did not speak.
The silence itself was a judgment.
Fine beads of sweat formed on the middle-aged inquisitor's forehead, trickled down his nose, and dripped onto the floor tiles.
"Your Excellency, Chief Inquisitor, Lyman Klein... I have failed you. I couldn't bring him here."
The figure stirred.
"I expected as much."
The Chief Inquisitor's voice echoed through the cavernous hall.
"An old fox who's lived more than forty years won't walk into a trap like this so easily."
He paused.
"How are the preparations for the Noble Court's jury coming along?"
A cleric emerged from the shadows on the other side, bowing.
"Everything is proceeding according to plan, Your Excellency."
"Of the fifty prospective jurors, thirty-seven have close ties to the Church or are bitter commercial rivals of the Klein family."
"Whichever twelve are ultimately drawn, we will have an overwhelming advantage."
The Chief Inquisitor nodded, reasonably satisfied.
His gaze turned to the middle-aged inquisitor kneeling on the floor.
"Has Viscount Ferrier confessed?"
The inquisitor trembled slightly.
"Not yet, Your Excellency. He's tougher than we anticipated."
"Oh?" A trace of interest entered the Chief Inquisitor's voice. "Have the punishments been insufficient?"
"We have kept them strictly within the 'acceptable range,' but he hasn't said anything."
The Chief Inquisitor fell silent for a moment.
"Continue the torture at