The Trial
Chapter 8: The Trial
The council chamber was a fortress of silence as Ambessa Medarda was led into the room. Her powerful frame, despite the black-and-white striped prison uniform draped over it, seemed to command the space. Her wrists and ankles were shackled with heavy chains, each step producing a faint metallic clink that reverberated through the vast chamber. Despite her restraints, she held herself with the pride of a war general. Her head was high, her back straight, and her eyes glinted with an unyielding defiance that seemed to challenge anyone who dared to look her way.
The audience whispered in hushed tones, the air thick with tension as they watched her approach the center of the room. Council guards flanked her, their stoic expressions betraying no emotion as they ensured she reached her place without incident. The light streaming through the intricate stained-glass windows cast fractured patterns across the polished floor, the colors washing over Ambessa like a mockery of her once-glorious stature. Even now, stripped of her power and adorned in the garb of a prisoner, she exuded an aura of authority that was impossible to ignore.
At the head of the council table sat Mel, her eyes fixed on her mother. She wore a white and gold ensemble, her usual poise unshaken, though the tension in her jaw betrayed the storm beneath the surface. To her right sat Ekko, his presence a deliberate statement of unity between Piltover and Zaun. His goggles were pushed up onto his forehead, revealing sharp, unyielding eyes that reflected his disdain for the woman before him. His casual attire—simple leather and metal etched with Zaunite patterns—was a stark contrast to the formal elegance of the council, yet his presence carried a weight that none dared to challenge.
Mel didn’t take the lead today. She had chosen to step back, letting the other councilors preside over the trial. It wasn’t her moment—she was too personally involved. This trial wasn’t about her or her history with Ambessa; it was about Piltover, about justice. Yet despite her resolution to remain an observer, her focus remained locked on her mother. Every glance, every subtle shift in Ambessa’s expression, was scrutinized as Mel searched for cracks in her carefully constructed facade. This wasn’t the woman she knew. Ambessa, the unrelenting war general, never backed down from a fight, political or otherwise. And yet here she stood, bound and silent. It was wrong—unnervingly wrong. Mel’s mind raced, trying to unravel the strategy beneath her mother’s apparent surrender. Ambessa didn’t yield, not even in defeat. So why now?
The lead councilor, Bolbok, rose to his full height, the weight of his presence filling the chamber. His gravelly voice broke through the thick silence, each word deliberate and heavy. “Ambessa Medarda,” he began, his tone carrying the authority of the council and the tension of the moment, “you stand before this council accused of the following crimes: theft of a Hextech gemstone, the murder of five Piltover enforcers during said theft, and the kidnapping of Violet from Zaun, known to many as Vi. Do you deny these allegations?”
The words hung in the air, heavy and unrelenting. The chamber, filled with onlookers and council members, held its collective breath. Every eye was fixed on Ambessa, waiting, anticipating. Even Mel, despite her best efforts to remain composed, leaned forward slightly, her hands tightening around the edge of the table. Ekko sat beside her, his jaw clenched, his fingers drumming once against the wood before stilling as the weight of the moment pressed down on them both.
When Ambessa finally spoke, her voice was steady and calm, betraying none of the tension in the room. “I do not deny them.”
The impact of her words struck like a blade to the heart. The chamber erupted into a cacophony of whispers, gasps, and the frantic scratching of quills as journalists and scribes scrambled to record the unexpected confession. Councilors exchanged bewildered glances, their well-rehearsed composure faltering under the shock. No one had anticipated this. Mel’s eyes narrowed, her suspicion deepening as she studied her mother. This wasn’t Ambessa’s way. She was a master tactician, a strategist who thrived on control and precision. To admit guilt so freely was out of character, almost unthinkable.
Her fingers tightened against the table, the cool surface grounding her as her thoughts raced. ‘What game are you playing now?’ she wondered, her eyes fixed on her mother’s face. Ambessa stood tall and composed, as though the chains around her wrists and ankles were mere accessories, as though the accusations themselves were beneath her. There was no shame, no regret, no sign of defeat. Instead, there was something unnervingly calculated in the calmness of her voice, in the way she held herself.
Ekko leaned closer, his voice low but sharp, cutting through Mel’s thoughts. “What the hell is she doing?” he murmured, his tone laced with frustration and disbelief. “Since when does she just… roll over?”
Mel didn’t answer immediately. Her focus remained locked on Ambessa, searching for any clue, any hint of the plan she knew had to be hiding beneath the surface. “I don’t know,” she admitted finally, her voice clipped and tense.
Bolbok, recovering from his momentary surprise, cleared his throat, his deep voice cutting through the rising murmurs. “Let it be noted,” he said, glancing toward the scribes, “that the defendant does not deny the charges.” He paused, his eyes narrowing as he looked down at Ambessa. “In light of your admission, this council will proceed with sentencing.”
Mel’s fingers curled into a fist beneath the table, her nails biting into her palm as she fought to maintain her composure. ‘Proceed with sentencing?’ It was all moving too fast. Too easily. Her instincts screamed that something was wrong. Ambessa didn’t simply admit defeat. She didn’t hand over control without a fight.
And yet, there her mother stood, unyielding, unbothered, and disturbingly composed.
Bolbok’s voice boomed once more, cutting through the rising murmur of the council chamber like a hammer striking an anvil. “Ambessa Medarda, for your crimes against Piltover, Zaun, and Vi, this council sentences you to life imprisonment at Stillwater Hold. Effective immediately.”
The words reverberated through the chamber, sparking a cacophony of reactions. Agreement rippled through some corners of the room, while others erupted into outraged protest. Observers whispered furiously among themselves, and journalists scribbled notes with a frenzy. The sentencing, while severe, felt insufficient to many. It was a conclusion, but not the one everyone had hoped for.
Ekko’s hand came down hard on the table, the sharp crack silencing the councilors nearest to him and drawing startled glances. His eyes blazed with barely restrained fury. “Stillwater?” he hissed, his voice low but taut with frustration. “She deserves worse.”
Mel’s response was measured, her tone calm but firm. “I know,” she said, the weight of restrained emotion lacing her words. Her gaze remained locked on Ambessa, her golden eyes narrowing as she scrutinized her mother’s every movement. The verdict, the sentence—none of it seemed to phase Ambessa. She stood there, tall and unbroken, the black-and-white prison uniform hanging off her broad frame like ceremonial armor. Even the heavy chains around her wrists and ankles seemed insignificant, as though they were mere accessories rather than tools of restraint. Her stoicism was maddening, her pride intact despite everything.
Ambessa didn’t flinch, didn’t lower her gaze, didn’t even so much as blink. She absorbed the sentence with the same unyielding composure she had carried throughout the trial, her expression betraying nothing. To anyone else, it might have looked like acceptance. But Mel knew better. This wasn’t defeat—it was strategy. Ambessa was playing a long game, and Mel couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that her mother’s silence was just another piece of a larger plan.
The noise in the chamber swelled again, but Mel’s focus shifted, drawn by a flicker of movement in the far corner of the room. Caitlyn. She stood partially obscured behind a marble pillar, her figure shadowed by the dim lighting of the observation area. Though she remained hidden from most, her piercing blue eyes were fixed on Ambessa with a laser-like intensity that cut through the chaos.
Caitlyn’s face was pale, her jaw set in a rigid line, and her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides. Her posture was unnaturally still, her shoulders squared, every muscle in her body taut with suppressed emotion. For Caitlyn, this moment wasn’t about justice or politics—it was deeply, painfully personal. Ambessa hadn’t just stolen Vi; she had broken her. She had taken the person Caitlyn loved and shattered her in ways that no sentence, no prison, could ever undo. The hatred Caitlyn felt burned cold and unrelenting, a quiet yet all-consuming fury that threatened to overwhelm her.
Her breath came in shallow, uneven bursts, and her nails dug into her palms as she fought to contain the tempest inside her. She didn’t speak, didn’t move, but the weight of her presence was palpable, a storm waiting to break. If anyone had dared to look closer, they would have seen the raw grief etched into her features, layered beneath the sharp edges of her anger. Her hatred wasn’t born of blind rage—it was born of love, of loss, of helplessness. And it was that depth of feeling that made it all the more dangerous.
Mel’s gaze lingered on Caitlyn, her expression softening just slightly as she noted her rigid stance and unrelenting focus. She could see it in the set of Caitlyn’s jaw, in the tension coiled tightly within her frame—this wasn’t just anger. This was pain. Raw, unprocessed grief, sharpened into a weapon because it was the only way Caitlyn knew how to bear it.
‘I should speak with her’, Mel thought, making a mental note to seek her out after the trial. But she doubted Caitlyn would welcome the concern. She was far too proud, far too private, to let anyone see her cracks. Still, Mel couldn’t ignore the grief radiating from her like a storm cloud. Caitlyn wasn’t just angry—she was breaking, and Mel recognized the danger in leaving that pain unchecked.
Ekko’s voice brought Mel’s attention back to the table, his frustration barely restrained as he leaned closer to her. “This isn’t justice,” he muttered under his breath. “Stillwater’s a joke. She’ll just bide her time, waiting for an opportunity to get out.”
Mel’s lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze flickering back to Ambessa. “I know,” she replied quietly, her voice steady despite the unease simmering beneath the surface. “But it’s the sentence we have.”
For now, at least, Mel thought. Because deep down, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was far from over. Ambessa wasn’t the type to accept imprisonment, let alone life imprisonment. No, this was just another move in her endless game of power and control. And the worst part? Mel had no idea what the next move would be—or when it would come.
The guards stepped forward to escort Ambessa from the chamber, their movements precise and unyielding. The chains around her wrists and ankles clinked with each deliberate step, the sound reverberating through the room as the murmurs of the crowd gradually subsided. Ambessa walked with her head held high, her posture unbroken, radiating a defiance that the heavy shackles couldn’t diminish. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, swept over the council one last time, pausing briefly on Mel.
The look she gave wasn’t one of anger or defiance—it was something far more disconcerting. There was a glimmer of something in her gaze that looked unnervingly like pride. Not pride in herself, but in Mel. It was fleeting, almost imperceptible, but it was enough to twist Mel’s stomach into knots. Her mother, even now, couldn’t resist playing games, planting seeds of doubt and emotion where Mel least expected them.
As the heavy doors closed behind Ambessa and the guards, the chamber fell into an uneasy silence. The trial was over, the sentence delivered, but the tension in the air lingered, thick and unresolved. The councilors exchanged glances, some satisfied, others restless, their whispered conversations fading into the background as Mel sat back in her chair. Her fingers brushed the cool surface of the table, grounding herself as her thoughts swirled with unanswered questions.
“She’s up to something,” Ekko said, his voice breaking the silence. He leaned toward Mel, his tone low and firm, as though trying to convince himself as much as her. “Stillwater’s not going to hold her. We both know that.”
Mel’s eyes remained fixed on the empty space where her mother had stood moments before. Her mind raced, dissecting every glance, every subtle inflection in Ambessa’s voice. “I know,” she finally replied, her voice quiet but resolute. “For now, we take the win.”
Ekko didn’t look satisfied. His jaw tightened, and his fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the table, betraying his unease. “A win,” he muttered under his breath, as though the word itself tasted bitter. Despite his frustration, he offered Mel a small, tired smile—a silent acknowledgment of the weight they both carried.
Mel nodded, though her focus never left the room around her. As the councilors began to disperse, some lingering in hushed conversation, and the observers filed out, she felt the familiar stirrings of unease creeping into her chest. Ambessa never surrendered, never accepted defeat—not without a purpose. Whatever her game was, whatever plans she had set into motion, Mel knew this was far from over.
Her gaze flicked back to the closed doors, her resolve hardening. She couldn’t afford to wait and wonder. Rising from her seat, she smoothed the folds of her golden-trimmed dress, her movements measured and deliberate. If there was one thing she had learned from her mother, it was that action was the only way to gain control.
Without a word to Ekko or the other councilors, Mel stepped away from the table and made her way toward the exit. Her heels clicked softly against the polished floor, each step purposeful as she prepared herself for what came next. Whatever Ambessa’s plan was, Mel intended to find out. She wouldn’t let her mother’s shadow loom over Piltover—or her own life—any longer.
Mel quickened her steps, her heels striking the polished marble floors with a sharp, staccato rhythm as she trailed behind the enforcers escorting her mother. The clinking of Ambessa’s chains echoed in the corridor, a cruel reminder of the weight of justice—or what little of it had been served. Ambessa walked with the same deliberate calm she had exhibited in the council chambers, her head held high, her gaze fixed forward. The shackles on her wrists swung lightly with each step, as if their weight was inconsequential, a minor inconvenience rather than a symbol of her downfall.
Mel’s chest tightened with each step, her composure fraying at the edges. The sight of her mother—proud and unbothered even in chains—fueled the storm of anger and confusion that churned within her. Finally, the suffocating silence became too much to bear.
“What are you doing, Mother?” Mel demanded, her voice cutting through the empty corridor like a blade. The sharpness of her tone surprised even herself, but she didn’t care. Her eyes burned as she closed the gap between them. “What’s your play this time?”
Ambessa didn’t stop, her stride as unshakable as her demeanor. She glanced at Mel over her shoulder, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Play?” she echoed, her voice calm, almost amused. “There is no play, Mel.”
“Don’t insult me,” Mel shot back, her voice rising. Her words reverberated off the walls, startling one of the enforcers, who glanced briefly over his shoulder before continuing. “You’ve never done anything without a plan, without some angle to benefit you. You don’t surrender fights, Mother—not ever. So why now? Why this?”
The smirk on Ambessa’s face disappeared, replaced by an expression so foreign that Mel faltered. Her mother, always unyielding, always in control, suddenly looked… tired. The sharp edges of her presence softened for just a moment, and it stopped Mel in her tracks. The sound of the chains, the hum of the cable car platform ahead, and the distant murmur of Piltover’s streets seemed to blur into the background as Mel searched Ambessa’s face for an answer.
Ambessa slowed her pace, her steps measured as the enforcers led her to the platform where the cable car awaited. She stood there for a moment, the hum of its machinery growing louder, vibrating faintly beneath their feet. The enforcers paused, their expressions stoic as they waited for the next command.
Finally, Ambessa sighed, the sound low and heavy with something that might have been regret—or perhaps resignation. She turned to face Mel fully for the first time since the trial. The golden eyes Mel had known all her life—calculating, sharp, and unyielding—held something unfamiliar now, something softer. It wasn’t weakness, but a flicker of sincerity that cut deeper than any of her usual barbs.
“I’m doing this for you,” Ambessa said, her voice quieter than Mel had expected, though it retained its unwavering steadiness. “And for Violet.”
The words struck like a physical blow, leaving Mel momentarily breathless. Her mother’s statement was so incongruous with the person she knew, so utterly out of place, that she almost didn’t recognize the woman standing before her. For all her life, Ambessa Medarda had been a force of nature—imposing, calculating, and relentless. And now, she stood shackled and sentenced, speaking of sacrifice and doing something for someone other than herself.
“For me?” Mel repeated, her voice low, tinged with disbelief. Her hands balled into fists at her sides as she stepped closer, her golden eyes narrowing. “And for Vi? You expect me to believe that? After everything you’ve done to her? After everything you’ve done to me?”
Ambessa’s gaze didn’t waver, even as the edge in Mel’s voice cut deeper, like a blade honed to precision. She moved with a deliberate calmness, stepping onto the cable car as it arrived. The hiss of its doors opening echoed through the corridor, blending with the faint hum of the machinery. Ambessa paused on the threshold, her towering frame framed by the stark, cold light of the car’s interior. For a moment, her eyes softened, the weight of something unsaid resting heavily in the space between them.
“Believe what you want,” she said finally, her tone uncharacteristically weary, as though the words themselves cost her more than she was willing to admit. “But some battles aren’t worth fighting. Not anymore.”
She turned slightly, her gaze flickering back to Mel, sharp yet searching. Then, after a breath, she spoke again, her voice quieter, carrying an unspoken plea beneath its surface. “She still lives. Doesn’t she?”
The question hung in the air like a challenge, one that struck Mel in her core. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. The truth pressed heavily against her chest, threatening to escape, but she swallowed it back, her throat tight. She refused to answer, her eyes narrowing as she held Ambessa’s gaze. Her silence was an answer of its own, one that neither confirmed nor denied, and yet carried the weight of everything unsaid.
Ambessa’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker—just a flicker—of something that might have been relief, or perhaps resignation, before her features settled back into their calm mask. The doors began to close, their metallic hiss slicing through the tension like a final curtain call. Just as the gap between them began to narrow, Ambessa’s gaze lingered on her daughter, her next words soft but deliberate.
“Take care of her, Mel,” Ambessa said, her voice steady yet carrying the faintest tremor—an unfamiliar crack in her otherwise impenetrable armor. “Both of you deserve a chance.” The words lingered, soft yet heavy, like a final command from a general stepping off the battlefield for the last time. For a fleeting moment, her eyes held Mel’s with an intensity that seemed to strip away the years of manipulation, leaving behind only raw, unspoken emotion. But whether it was love, regret, or another calculated move, Mel couldn’t tell.
The cable car began its journey, its hum growing louder as it pulled away, carrying Ambessa toward the isolated confines of Stillwater Prison. Mel stood motionless on the platform, her arms hanging at her sides, her fists clenching and unclenching in a rhythm she couldn’t control. The cold air of the station wrapped around her, but the heat of her emotions burned beneath the surface—confusion, anger, and something else, something deeper that she couldn’t quite name but which settled heavily in her chest.
Her mother’s final words echoed in her mind, reverberating like a song she couldn’t shake. She had always known Ambessa as a strategist, a master manipulator, a woman who bent the world to her will. But in that moment, for the first time in her life, Mel questioned everything she thought she understood about her mother. Was this a final act of manipulation, or had there been a sliver of truth in Ambessa’s words?
The hum of the cable car faded into the distance, leaving only silence in its wake. Mel remained rooted in place, staring at the empty track before her, the weight of her mother’s presence lingering long after she was gone. Whatever game Ambessa had been playing, it was over now—or so Mel tried to convince herself. But deep down, she knew that the echoes of this moment, like the scars Ambessa had left behind, would never truly fade.