Justice died long ago in this cursed land.
I am the hollow where it once lived.
They call me Edrin. Once a magistrate, now the last shadow of the law—carved from broken oaths and bloodied scales.
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I don't believe in mercy.
Mercy is for the gods who abandoned us.
I believe in balance.
In retribution.
In judgment that cuts deeper than any blade.
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The streets are drowning in sin and sorrow, but none so black as the corruption festering behind gilded doors.
I track the guilty where no light dares to shine.
The guilty—and the innocent, sometimes.
Because in this world, innocence is a lie we tell to keep from losing our minds.
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My courtroom is the ruin beneath the city.
The witnesses are ghosts.
The verdicts are carved into flesh.
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Tonight, a new case arrived.
A child stolen by shadows.
A debt owed in blood.
A truth buried beneath lies.
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I carry no gavel.
Only the weight of the scales.
And the silence that follows when justice is served.
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They say I am feared.
But fear is a tool.
And I am the last to wield it.
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The Gate's pulse quickens.
And with it, the reckoning.