Five years had passed, five years of imprisonment, of cycling seasons, of being whole, of being confined. Five years of visitors bringing the world to my tower since I could never go to the world.The kingdom had solidified into its new normal. Truth was preferred to comfort now, neither universally nor perfectly, but consistently. The laws accounted for complexity. The royal family led with transparency. Dorian's dream had taken root and was growing.My role has evolved. I wasn't just serving sentences as a prisoner anymore; I'd become something else: consultant, teacher, living example of complicated justice. It was a way for people to understand how to handle situations where guilt and mitigation did coexist, where truth was messy and answers weren't simple.Today's visitor was different. A girl, maybe twelve, with a guard escort, and determined eyes."I'm Elena," she said. "Princess Elena. The real one."I stared. The real Princess Elara would have been twenty-six now, had she liv

Fifteen years had passed. Fifteen years of imprisonment, of wholeness, of teaching by lived example. Fifteen years of watching the kingdom change from my tower window while I did not change.The changes ran deep. A whole generation had grown up under the new regime: truth valued over comfort, complexity acknowledged rather than simplified, justice matching the messiness of reality rather than straining for a false clarity.My role was different again. No longer prisoner, no longer teacher, no longer legal precedent. Something else now: living history. Monument to a transformation. Physical reminder of the cost of truth and the value of honesty.Today's visitor was remarkable. A mission from Westmarch, the adjacent kingdom, in order to better enlighten themselves before similar reforms are effected."Our system is failing," said their lead advisor, middle-aged, sharp-eyed, carrying herself with authority. "Too many people fall through gaps-guilty but with circumstances, criminal but wi

Twenty-five years had passed: a quarter century of imprisonment, of wholeness, of teaching through lived consequence. Twenty-five years of being the foundation upon which a justice system was built.I am fifty-nine now, getting old. The body ached more, moved slower, required more rest. But the mind was still sharp, memory complete, purpose clear.The kingdom had matured into what Dorian had dreamed of: the generation that grew up under the new system led it, from judges to advisors and scholars, all schooled to assume complexity. Normal was justice matching the messiness of reality now, expected, demanded by citizens who forgot it ever ran differently.My role had shifted again. No longer teaching new principles-those were established. Now I was living history, a reminder of origins, proof that complicated justice was sustainable long-term.Today's visitor was unusual. It was the old woman, possibly eighty, who had both determination in her eyes and careful manners."I'm Princess Ela

Thirty-two years had passed. Still, my health did not get any better. Heart struggled, body weakened, doctors predicted maybe one year remaining; maybe less, if complications arose.I was sixty-six now, old and frail, dying slowly in the tower room that had been home for over three decades. The room itself showed age: walls needed repair, window frames were worn, and even the stone floor had grooves from thirty-two years of pacing the same paths.But the teaching continued. Even dying, perhaps especially dying, I served a purpose. Students of law, ethics, justice-all came to understand how sustained consequence worked, how complex accountability played out over a lifetime.Today's visitor was something special. A delegation from five kingdoms, wanting to implement Vale Standard principles in their own realms."We've studied your case for years," said their leader. She was a justice minister from the Eastern Kingdoms, middle-aged and sharp. "Researched outcomes, analyzed the precedents

I closed the journal, hands trembling slightly. Reading back what I'd written—imagining my own death, crafting the epilogue to a life not yet finished—left me unsettled and strangely energized.It was Year Thirty-Three of my imprisonment. I was sixty-six, heart failing, doctors predicting one to two years remaining. But I wasn't dead yet. The vision I'd written was future, not present. Possibility, not reality.I set the journal aside and looked around my tower room. Still here. Still breathing. Still teaching.The morning light filtered through barred windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Outside, I could hear the kingdom waking—servants moving through corridors, guards changing shifts, life continuing as it always had.My life continuing too. However much remained.A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. Early for visitors, but the guard opened it anyway.A young man entered. Maybe twenty-five, carrying himself with academic precision. Spectacles, worn satchel, n