Chapter 15: The Orb of Eon – Redemption and Sacrifice
The courtroom was hushed, save for the soft murmur of shifting feet and the occasional creak of wooden benches. All eyes were on Dante as he sauntered up to the witness stand, his crimson coat catching the fluorescent light with every step. He carried himself with his signature mix of arrogance and nonchalance, but his piercing gaze betrayed the gravity of what he was about to reveal. Clutching his massive sword, Rebellion, over his shoulder, he casually rested it against the stand and leaned in, locking eyes with Phoenix Wright.
"Dante," Phoenix began, his voice steady but tinged with urgency. "The defense calls you to explain the significance of the Orb of Eon. The jury needs to understand what it is, where it comes from, and, most importantly, what it can do."
Dante smirked and let out a low whistle. "The Orb of Eon, huh? You're pulling out the big guns, Wright. Alright, let's do this."
He turned toward the jury, his cocky grin softening into something resembling sincerity. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm not usually one for standing on ceremony—saving the world doesn't exactly come with a handbook—but today's different. Today, we're talking about something that could rewrite the rules of the universe itself."
The jury leaned forward, their curiosity piqued.
Dante straightened and tapped his finger on the edge of the witness stand. "The Orb of Eon isn't just some random cosmic trinket. It's a relic forged by the Hands of Eternity themselves—cosmic entities so old and powerful that they make Galactus look like a rookie. We're talking about beings who were there when the first star was born, who saw galaxies form and collapse like sandcastles on a beach."
The room was utterly still, the weight of his words sinking in.
"Now, here's the kicker," Dante continued, his voice low but magnetic. "The Orb of Eon wasn't made to destroy. It wasn't made to conquer or enslave. It was crafted for one purpose: balance. The universe is messy, chaotic—a whole lot of good mixed with a whole lot of bad. The Orb is like a cosmic reset button, a way to take something broken and set it right."
Phoenix gestured for him to elaborate, and Dante obliged, his tone growing more intense. "The Orb's power works on a fundamental level, stripping away corruption, primal urges, and uncontrollable instincts. It doesn't change what you are; it just removes what shouldn't be there. In Galactus's case, it could erase the hunger—the insatiable need to consume worlds—without taking away his purpose as a cosmic force."
A murmur rippled through the courtroom. The judge rapped his gavel once, calling for order.
Dante grinned, clearly enjoying the attention but pressing on. "Think of it like this: Galactus isn't just some big bad dude who eats planets for fun. He's part of the universe's ecosystem, like a wildfire that clears the way for new growth. But that hunger of his? That's the wildfire burning out of control. The Orb of Eon can rein it in, turn him into a force that builds instead of destroys."
The prosecution, Jedah Dohma, stood abruptly, his voice cold and mocking. "This is all very poetic, Mr. Dante, but where is your proof? You're asking this court to believe in fairy tales and cosmic absolutions."
Dante chuckled, leaning casually on the stand. "Proof, huh? Alright, Jedah, let's talk proof. I've seen the Orb in action. I've held it in my hands. I've watched it strip the corruption from demons that made you look like a puppy on a leash. If it can do that, it can handle Galactus."
Jedah sneered, but Dante didn't let up. His voice turned sharper, more commanding. "The Orb of Eon doesn't lie. It doesn't fail. It works because it doesn't force change—it reveals the truth of what someone is supposed to be. Galactus isn't just a destroyer; he's a caretaker of balance. The Orb will let him do that without the whole 'devouring worlds' part."
Phoenix stepped forward, his voice calm but insistent. "Dante, tell the jury what using the Orb entails. Is it safe? Is it permanent?"
Dante nodded, his expression serious now. "Good questions, Wright. The Orb isn't a weapon—it's a tool. It doesn't harm the person or entity it's used on. It's not about erasing someone's identity or rewriting their nature. It's about cutting out the cancer and leaving the healthy parts intact. And yeah, it's permanent. Once the hunger's gone, it's gone for good."
The jury exchanged glances, their skepticism fading into cautious hope.
"But," Dante added, holding up a finger, "there's a catch. There's always a catch. The Orb only works if the person—or cosmic being—accepts it. It doesn't force change on anyone. Galactus has to want it. He has to be willing to let go of that hunger, to embrace a new purpose. If he doesn't, the Orb's just a shiny rock."
Phoenix turned to the jury, his voice steady. "Ladies and gentlemen, what we're proposing isn't just a solution—it's a choice. A choice for Galactus to step away from destruction and embrace a role that preserves the universe. The Orb of Eon gives us that chance, but only if we give him the opportunity."
Dante crossed his arms, his smirk returning. "Look, I get it. Trusting a guy like Galactus isn't easy. But this isn't about trust—it's about hope. Hope that even the biggest, baddest force in the universe can change. And if we don't take that chance? Well, we're back to square one, and I'm not sure we'll survive another roll of the dice."
The courtroom was silent, the weight of Dante's words hanging heavy in the air. Even Jedah seemed at a loss for a rebuttal, his confidence shaken.
As Phoenix prepared to address the jury once more, Dante gave him a sly wink and leaned back in the witness stand. "Alright, Wright. Ball's in your court now. Don't screw it up."
With that, Phoenix turned to the jury, his voice firm and full of conviction. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is our chance to rewrite the future. The Orb of Eon is more than a relic—it's a second chance. For Galactus, for the universe, and for all of us."
The courtroom sat in stunned silence, the enormity of what had been proposed sinking in. Phoenix knew the decision wouldn't come easily, but he also knew they had done everything possible to show the path forward. Now, it was up to the jury to decide.
As the courtroom adjourned for the day, the air buzzed with anticipation and unresolved tension. The judge's gavel signaled the end of the proceedings, and the jurors filed out quietly, each carrying the weight of deciding not only Galactus's fate but potentially the future of the universe itself.
Phoenix Wright gathered his papers methodically, trying to push aside the nervous energy building in his chest. Tomorrow would bring the verdict, and while he had poured everything he had into the defense, there were no guarantees. He glanced at Maya Fey, who stood nearby, her usual cheerful demeanor tempered by the seriousness of the situation.
"Good job today, Nick," she said softly, giving him a reassuring smile. "You really gave them something to think about."
Phoenix chuckled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Let's just hope they're thinking the right things."
As the courtroom emptied, his allies began to gather around him. Edgeworth was the first to approach, his expression stoic but his tone uncharacteristically warm.
"Wright," he said, crossing his arms, "you've done something extraordinary here. You've forced the jury to see Galactus as more than just a cosmic threat. Whether they decide in your favor or not, you've given them a perspective they couldn't ignore."
Phoenix extended a hand, and Edgeworth hesitated for a moment before shaking it firmly. "Thanks, Edgeworth. I couldn't have done it without your help. It means a lot to me."
Chris Redfield approached next, his powerful frame imposing as ever, but his demeanor was relaxed. "I've seen a lot of impossible fights, Phoenix, but this one? You've handled it like a champ. If anyone deserves to win tomorrow, it's you."
Phoenix smiled and nodded. "Thanks, Chris. And thank you for all the digging you did. Exposing The Black Hand wouldn't have been possible without you."
Dante strolled over last, his trademark smirk firmly in place as he gave Phoenix a hearty slap on the back. "You know, Wright, I've gotta hand it to you. You're a hell of a talker. I wasn't sure about this whole courtroom drama at first, but you've got some serious guts. Good luck tomorrow."
Phoenix chuckled, feeling some of his tension ease in the presence of his ragtag team of allies. "Thanks, Dante. And thanks for bringing the Orb of Eon to light. Let's hope it's enough."
The group exchanged final words of encouragement, and one by one, they departed, leaving Phoenix and Maya alone in the now-quiet courtroom. The weight of the day's events pressed down on him, but he felt a strange sense of calm as Maya approached him.
"Come on, Nick," she said, gently tugging at his arm. "You've been standing here long enough. Let's go home."
Later that evening, the two sat in Phoenix's small apartment, a far cry from the grandeur of the courtroom. The cluttered shelves and the faint hum of the refrigerator provided a stark contrast to the cosmic stakes of the case, but it was a welcome reprieve. Phoenix sat on the couch, his tie loosened, while Maya perched beside him, her legs tucked beneath her.
"You know," she said, breaking the silence, "I've been watching you handle this case, and I just... I can't believe how brave you are."
Phoenix looked at her, surprised. "Brave? Maya, half the time, I don't even know what I'm doing. I'm just trying to keep my head above water."
She shook her head, her expression earnest. "No, Nick. You've taken on something that no one else would even dream of touching. You've stood up to cosmic beings, exposed criminal syndicates, and fought for someone—something—that most people would write off as a lost cause. That's bravery."
Her words hit him harder than he expected. He let out a slow breath, his shoulders relaxing as he leaned back against the couch. "I guess I just... I couldn't let it go. There was something about this case that felt bigger than me, bigger than any of us. I couldn't walk away from it."
Maya smiled, her eyes softening as she reached out to take his hand. "And that's what I admire about you, Nick. You care so much, even when it feels impossible."
For a moment, they sat in silence, their hands intertwined. The tension that had hung over them all day seemed to dissolve, replaced by a quiet warmth. Phoenix turned to look at her, his gaze lingering.
"Maya..." he began, but the words caught in his throat.
She leaned closer, her expression gentle but determined. "Nick, you don't have to say anything. I'm just... I'm proud of you."
Before he could respond, she closed the distance between them, her lips brushing against his. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but it quickly deepened, a surge of unspoken emotions passing between them. Phoenix's hands found their way to her waist, pulling her closer, and for the first time in days, the weight of the trial disappeared entirely.
The night unfolded slowly, their connection deepening with each whispered word and lingering touch. It was a moment of solace and intimacy, a brief escape from the monumental task that awaited them the next day.
As the first light of dawn began to filter through the blinds, Phoenix and Maya lay tangled together on the couch, the world outside feeling impossibly far away. Maya traced lazy circles on his chest, her voice soft and teasing.
"You know, Nick, no matter what happens tomorrow, you've already won in my book."
He smiled, his hand resting lightly on her back. "Thanks, Maya. That means more than you know."
For a moment, they lay in comfortable silence, their hearts steady and calm. Then, reluctantly, Phoenix sat up, the reality of the day ahead settling over him once more.
"Tomorrow's the big day," he said, his voice steady despite the nerves twisting in his stomach.
Maya sat up beside him, her hand resting on his. "You've got this, Nick. I believe in you."
He turned to her, his smile faint but genuine. "Thanks, Maya. For everything."
With that, they rose to prepare for the day ahead, their shared moment of quiet strength carrying them into the final stretch of the trial.