The three most powerful judges in the Fairy Realm were left in a state of stunned, baffled silence. Gilda walked back to her team and took her place, her face have a mask of stoic calm, as if she had just finished reporting on the weather.

The heavy silence stretched on, broken only by the sharp, decisive scratch of a quill. It was the Adjudicator of Procedure, Scribonia, who had recovered first. She made a final, meticulous note on her shimmering clipboard. Beside her, Valerius the Inflexible looked like he was suffering through the worst headache in legal history, his logical mind struggling to find a bylaw covering "the correct oil treatment for axe hafts."

Having finished her note, Scribonia looked up from her clipboard, her gaze sweeping over the remaining members of the group. "The testimony of the warrior has been… noted," she said, her voice flat and cold. "The Bureau requires further data. We will continue. The rogue, please step forward."

A tiny, involuntary squeak escaped from Pip, and instantly, every eye in the chamber snapped to him. His face, which had been slowly returning to a normal color, went as pale as parchment again. Gilda gave him a small, encouraging nudge that nearly sent him sprawling forward, and as he stumbled to a halt, FaeLina's frantic whisper reached his ear:

"Structural integrity! The whole chamber! Find the flaws!"

Pip nodded jerkily, his whole body trembling. He looked small and utterly terrified as he came to a halt in the center of the vast chamber. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He swallowed hard, a dry, clicking sound in the oppressive quiet. His eyes darted from one impassive Adjudicator to the next. He was supposed to be the expert on traps, but this felt like a trap he couldn't see — like a pressure plate connected to his own vocal cords.

The Adjudicator of Law's eye twitched with impatience. "Well, rogue?" Valerius's voice cut through the silence, sharp and cold. "The Bureau does not measure time in terrified silences."

The sharp prod seemed to break something in FaeLina. Seeing her carefully laid plan about to collapse under the weight of Pip's stage fright was too much. "Pip!" she yelled, her voice a surprisingly loud, frantic hiss. "The chairs! Just talk about the chairs!"

"Silence," the Adjudicator of Law Valerius commanded, his gaze shifting to FaeLina.

But before his anger could take off, it was the Adjudicator of Heart who spoke. Lyra raised a single, delicate hand, a gesture that was not a command, but a simple statement of fact. "There is no need for haste," she said, her voice quiet and calm, yet carrying an authority that silenced everyone. "The truth does not hurry. We will wait."

Her calm was a thousand times more intimidating than the Law Adjudicator's anger. In the new, heavy silence that followed, a fresh wave of terror washed over Pip, and he looked back at his friends, his last hope.

He saw Gilda first. She wasn't looking at the judges. She was looking at him and she gave a single, almost imperceptible nod—a silent, unambiguous message: You can do this.

He saw Sir Crumplebuns, straightening his plush back, offering a trembling salute of bravery with his Spoonblade.

He saw Zazu, whose eyes were calm and steady, full of a quiet, unshakable trust on him.

And finally, he saw FaeLina. She wasn't yelling anymore. Her face was a mask of frantic, desperate hope—not hope in her plan, but hope in him.

That look, more than anything else, settled something inside Pip. He wasn't a brave warrior like Gilda, who charged headfirst into danger. He was a professional who survived by noticing the details others missed. And his friends, his strange, dysfunctional, wonderful family, were counting on him to do his job.

His fear didn't vanish, but it found a purpose, sharpening from a paralyzing terror into a calm, professional focus on the many risks in the dangerous room. He took a slow, steadying breath and cleared his throat.

When he spoke, his voice was no longer the squeak of a frightened man, but the steady tone of an expert giving a report. "Before I begin," he started, his finger shaky but determined as he pointed at the dais on the left, "I feel it is my professional duty to note several significant safety concerns with this chamber."

Valerius blinked. His eye twitched again.

"Take the stone they used for these platforms, for example," Pip continued, his confidence growing with every word. "It looks strong enough to hold someone sitting still, sure. But what happens if it gets a hard knock from the side? What if something heavy falls on it? I don't see any proof that the foundation was checked for cracks before installation."

From the sidelines, Zazu rubbed his chin in genuine scholarly interest. Sir Crumplebuns, meanwhile, toppled forward into a kneeling salute, Spoonblade planted on the floor, as if pledging eternal loyalty to Bureau Safety Protocol.

"Furthermore," Pip said, warming to his subject, "no handrails. None. You're sitting on raised platforms with nothing stopping a fall. That breaks every common-sense safety rule. The danger of someone falling is just too high. You should be ashamed."

The sheer, deadpan seriousness of it all sent a wave of horrified pride through FaeLina. 'He's actually doing it', she thought. 'He's stalling them with a safety inspection. It's the most beautiful, terrible thing I have ever seen'.

At the mention of "safety rules," Scribonia began taking notes again, her expression one of intense, analytical focus. She even glanced down at the floor from her own dais, a flicker of what might have been professional concern in her eyes.

"This brings me to my greatest concern," Pip said, his voice firm now. "The supports. Are these platforms held up by magic? If so, when was the spell last inspected? What if it fails? There are no support pillars, no safety nets. The entire setup is, frankly, just asking for an accident."

His words had an immediate and varied effect on the dais. Valerius's face darkened, as if Pip had just accused him of writing bylaws in crayon. Lyra, however, tilted her head, and the faintest trace of a smile flickered at the edge of her lips. And Scribonia, ever the professional, actually leaned down to check the stability of her own platform.

Uninterrupted, Pip pressed on, his tone growing more serious. "In case of an emergency, like a fire," he said, "there are no clear escape routes. And the room is so large, you would never hear a warning chime in time." He then pointed down at the floor. "And this polished stone? It's a terrible slip hazard. One spilled drink, one magical mishap, and someone is going to get seriously hurt. This whole chamber is an accident waiting to happen."

His heartfelt words on the importance of safety seemed to move Sir Crumplebuns to his very core. From his perch on Gilda's pack, the plush knight attempted to strike a dramatic kneeling pose, a maneuver that resulted in him tipping over sideways with his Spoonblade still raised high in trembling devotion, as if saluting the eternal concept of Handrail Installation.

Inspired by his audience's reaction, Pip spread his arms in a grim, concluding gesture. "In summary," he declared, "this chamber is one cracked tile away from tragedy. If you ask me, you'd all be safer sitting on a pile of well-stuffed pillows."

The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the furious scratching of Scribonia's magical quill. Lyra's smile lingered like a ghost. And Valerius looked personally betrayed by reality itself.

Finally, Scribonia finished her note with a sharp, final stroke. "Thank you, rogue, for your unsolicited but… thorough report," she said, her tone precise as she lifted her gaze to the group. "Your safety concerns have been noted for future review. The elf. You are next. Please step forward."

______________

Author's Note:

And now Pip has had his turn! My favorite part of this chapter was the moment where Pip finds his courage not on his own, but by looking at his friends and seeing their unshakable trust in him. It's a perfect "found family" moment and the true heart of our story.

Of course, that heartfelt moment immediately leads to him weaponizing his professional paranoia and turning his testimony into a deadpan safety inspection. I love that his idea of stalling is to point out all the ways the Adjudicators' own courtroom is a deathtrap.

Scribonia is clearly intrigued. Rules are rules, after all, even if they're about handrails. But Valerius is getting more and more frustrated with these absurd, irrelevant testimonies.

Two down, two to go. FaeLina's "stall" tactic is holding strong. Now it's Zazu's turn. How will our sleepy, philosophical elf handle the pressure of the stand?

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