Banishment
The chief justice's pale green eyes were cold and emotionless, boring into Sylas's soul. "The Royal Council finds you guilty of treason for partaking in a Rebellion, fraternizing with Rebels and aiding them. Is there anything you wish to say in your defence?"
Sylas was silent.
"You have chosen silence as your response," she observed, in her chilling monotone drone. "Very well. Let it be known that the only reason you shall not face capital punishment for your crime is that royal blood courses through your veins. In that respect, you shall be banished."
The general public watching the trial murmured unhappily from their seats on the benches. The horde of commoners were obviously upset that no heads would roll, but it didn't matter. Either way, nothing they said would hold a bit of clout. Sylas would be banished in any case. The purple-eyed Enderman was a Rebel, and his fate had been sealed the moment this kangaroo court found out he had worked in the ranks of those who resisted against her rule.
"Guilty," Monyka, the chief justice repeated, her ominous dark grey cloak swishing as she brought her arm up to tap the gavel on the table.
Sylas looked up at her, looked up at her dull empty eyes and blank visage. This is what years of thinking like that tyrant had brought about. She had no original, imaginative thought anymore, just a twisted sense of "justice." The young Enderman felt almost sorry for her. Surely she had been bright and happy long ago, when she was young...before the poisoned agenda of the Followers (or the Lemmings, as Sylas liked to call them) had infected her mind.
"Take him to the portal," Monyka said.
Sylas stood straight and held his chin high with princely uprightness as two burly guards locked their meaty paw-hands around his lean but solid upper arms. With none too much effort, they lifted him a few inches off the ground and dragged him outside the castle while the gentry catcalled and shouted at him. His claws scraping the bumpy, pale End-stone, they carted him past stacked End city towers and groves of skeletal Chorus Fruit trees, over to where a large, circular fountain of solid bedrock waited. Portal guards slipped miniature Ender Crystals into slots upon poles round its perimeter, activating the portal that would expel Sylas from his homeland. Sylas glanced at it. The harsh contrast of dark and light in bold bands on the indestructible stones and the thought of their hard, ancient, immovable heft was unnerving. Within the walls of the fountain, a restless dark surface bubbled and undulated with windless waves. Stars and comets twinkled in its profound depths.
The guards, glaring at him with their glowing broccoli-green eyes, hoisted him above their heads and held him poised above the swirling goo of the portal. Sylas looked down calmly as the dark glop rippled and stirred menacingly below.
"Any last words?" one grunted in his stupid, brutish voice.
Sylas was silent yet again.
"Figures. Well, see you never," the other remarked in his sharp, hissing tones.
With that, they released their grip and Sylas slipped through the portal into the unknown.