Page 20 of Saving the Alien Chieftain

“Our son, Krogoth, now stands before us, at the precipice of judgment,” Vereth’s voice bellows, resounding through each corner of the hall. His arms extended toward the sky, reaching for the divine guidance of the gods. “Great Gods, cast upon us your divine illumination so we may discern truth from deceit!”

“Dagdorix, God of Valor, bless us with the strength to act,” he intones, his voice a solemn dirge. His staff descends, a firm and resonant clack punctuating his words.

“Dagdorix, bless us with the strength to act,” the assembly of elders reciprocates, their voices united in a harmonious echo, a chorus of age and wisdom.

Three elders belong to clan Magaxus, two to clan Sanaxus. I think assuming the one beside Vereth is from Sanaxus. Anothertwo to clan Aquaxus. If I recall, the topknots are a hallmark of their heritage.

“Machsin, God of Compassion, sprinkle us with your mercy,” Vereth continues, his voice a whisper against the stone. His staff meets the floor again, another clack leaving a lingering resonance in the still air.

“Machsin, bless us with your mercy,” the elders repeat, their voices interweaving into a solemn chant, ringing out in the cold stone hall.

One to clan Astranix, denoted by his dusky complexion. One to clan Virennix because of his distinctive forked white beard. There are four others I cannot place.

“Ecneius, God of Wisdom, grant us your discerning sight,” Vereth chants, his staff striking the floor once more, the sound echoing like a heartbeat in the silence.

“Ecneius, grant us your discerning sight,” the elders echo, their voices a sacred mantra filling the chamber.

What are they thinking? If only I could read their expressions!

One by one, they call to each god in our pantheon, each plea echoing off the ancient stones, filling the room with their collective prayer for justice, wisdom, strength, and mercy. A pause, a breath, then Vereth’s hands meet in a resounding clap, a signal for the next phase.

The patter of delicate feet on the stone floor draws my attention. Two female Argorians glide towards me.

“Unburden our son, that his intentions be laid bare before all gathered here today. May his true self be revealed, his mind and soul an open book.”

The two women begin gently disrobing me.Another indignity intended to instill vulnerability, but I was never one for modesty.The reverberating echoes of my clawed cloak and leather attire meeting the cold stone floor punctuate the eeriestillness of the hall. One of the scanty clad women picks up my clothes before they both move out of the room.

They didn’t take my wrist console or loincloth, a small mercy.

Chapter 9

Krogoth

Elders

Vereth assumes his seat,the staff cradled across his lap. “Excellent, now then. Zyraxis, as the accuser of Krogoth’s honor, you shall open the proceedings,” he asserts, his gaze fixed upon Zyraxis, the harbinger of my trial.

Zyraxis rises as a figure of authority. “Very well.” His voice is sharp and commanding. He directs an accusatory finger towards me. “Krogoth has committed treason!” The pompous fool paces back and forth for dramatic effect. “His ship, once repaired, was due to report back to the front lines under command of our esteemed War Chieftain. However, he defied those orders. Instead, he went to a planet called Earth. Following Earth, he went to Terminus Exile Station. Finally, he turns up here. As if he’s done nothing wrong.” The weight of his accusations settlesupon me, and I stand, resolute, under its burden. “Everything I say can be verified. I present the ship’s logs and Krogoth’s military orders.”

I can feel the eyes of the elders upon me, their scrutiny like the weight of this mountain on my shoulders.

Above, a holographic display shimmers into existence, casting an azure glow across the darkened halls. The intricate dance of light paints a stark contrast against the solemnity of the chamber.

Vereth turns to the oldest Klendathian I’ve ever laid eyes on, a query passing between them. “Nyxius, have these reports been verified?” His voice is calm and measured.

Nyxius, the image of great age and wisdom, rises with effort. Each movement seems to carry the weight of centuries, but he stands tall and unwavering. “Yes, I can confirm these reports are legitimate,” he affirms, his voice steady. He eases back into his seat, the exertion of the moment evident.

Zyraxis continues his indictment, “I came to Krogoth in friendship to discuss this matter privately, to resolve this amicably without the need to disturb you, my fellow esteemed elders. And true to his rebellious blood, he viciously attacked me.” His accusation hangs heavy in the air.

I bristle at his lies, struggling to hold my tongue, but to speak now would be a mistake. Instead, I store every word of Zyraxis to use against him when I have my chance.

A top knotted elder stands up. “Zyraxis speaks falsely. I’ve reviewed the security recording of this incident.”

“Please show the council, Phaedroth,” Vereth requests, his gaze now fixed on him. The holographic display responds to the command, flickering to life, the ethereal projection of the incident playing out before us.

As I watch the recording from the Last Resort. I struggle to suppress a laugh when it gets to the part where I kicked one ofthe Magaxus warriors into Zyraxis. Seeing him crashing to the ground from another angle is a joy to behold. As the fight plays out on the display, some elders gasp in shock at particularly brutal blows. The bone-idle weaklings have clearly never seen true warriors in battle.

Towards the end of the recording, it can clearly be seen that whilst I moved to the fallen Zyraxis, I left him unmolested before leaving.

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