The courtroom was silent, save for the faint scratching of pens against legal pads and the soft shuffle of papers. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. At the center of it all, a man known only as the Iron Judge presided, her expression as cold and unyielding as the steel gavel she wielded.
No one had ever seen her smile, and those who had, rarely lived to tell the tale. The case today was peculiar, not for its crime or its accused, but for the presence of a small boy who had somehow made his way into the courtroom without an adult.
The boy was no more than eight years old, dressed in clothes that had seen better days, his hair tousled as if he had been running through the wind for miles. He looked up at the Iron Judge with wide, earnest eyes, and for a moment, the courtroom seemed to hold its breath.
Whispers rippled through the room. Some of the lawyers leaned over to their colleagues, shaking their heads, incredulous that someone so young could have any business in such a stern place. The Iron Judge, however, did not flinch. Her eyes, sharp and unforgiving, fixed on him like a hawk studying its prey.
“I’ll heal you if you free my dad,” the boy said, his voice steady and unwavering despite the curious stares surrounding him. The words echoed in the silent courtroom, bouncing off the cold stone walls.
A ripple of laughter spread almost immediately, starting in the back rows and making its way forward like a wave. The lawyers chuckled behind their hands, the bailiffs snickered, and even a few jurors dared a suppressed laugh.
The Iron Judge raised an eyebrow, a motion so subtle that many thought it was merely the twitch of an eyelid. “Heal me?” she asked, her voice low and measured, carrying the weight of authority and disbelief all at once. “Do you know what you are asking, child?”
The boy nodded, clutching a small leather pouch to his chest. “Yes, Your Honor. I know.” He stepped closer, undeterred by the intimidating figure before him. “I’ve seen people who couldn’t walk, people who couldn’t speak. I’ve seen doctors give up. But I can help. I just… I just need you to let him go.”
Laughter ceased abruptly. There was a moment—a heartbeat long and heavy—where the room held its collective breath, unsure of what would happen next. The Iron Judge’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And why,” she asked slowly, “should I believe a child can do what even the best physicians have failed to achieve?”
“Because I’ve done it before,” he said, his voice carrying a quiet confidence that defied his size. “I know it looks impossible. I know it sounds like magic. But it’s not magic. I know the body. I know how to listen to it. I know how to ask it to fix itself.”
The courtroom was silent again, the kind of silence that makes a person’s own heartbeat sound like a drum in a cavern. Some jurors exchanged nervous glances. Lawyers shifted in their seats. The Iron Judge’s piercing gaze never wavered, but a faint twitch ran through her hand—the one that held the gavel—though none of the spectators noticed.
“I cannot,” she said finally, her tone more cautious now than cold. “I have rules to follow. Justice cannot be compromised by… by illusions or childish promises.”
The boy’s eyes brimmed with determination, yet they did not waver in the slightest. “I’m not asking for illusions,” he said. “I’m asking for a chance. Just a moment. I can make you feel what it’s like to be whole again. I can make you feel strength in your own body. You don’t even have to trust me… just let me try.”
A murmur spread through the courtroom. People leaned forward, captivated by the audacity of this tiny figure standing before one of the most feared figures in the judicial system.
The Iron Judge’s gaze softened—not much, but enough for a perceptive observer to notice. She set down the gavel and, for the first time in years, her expression betrayed a flicker of curiosity.
The boy nodded solemnly. He knelt in front of her, placing his small hands gently on her knees. He closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath.
He whispered words so soft that only he could hear them, words that seemed to hum with a strange, unearthly energy. The room watched in disbelief, waiting for some sign, some hint of what was happening.
