The moment the golden light rose around her, Lira felt the weight of a hundred lifetimes press against her chest. It was not a pressure of the body, but one of the soul—a deep, aching gravity that tugged at memories she didn't yet fully possess. Her breath caught, but she did not falter. She was within the flame, and it knew her.
She stood in the center of the sacred circle, surrounded by an inferno that didn't burn her flesh. Instead, it caressed her—like breath, like memory, like a warning written in heat. The fire was alive, aware, and ancient. It pulsed with power she didn't yet understand, and it was waiting for something.
Outside the ring, Kael stood like a statue carved from sorrow and stone. Arion's usually calm face was unreadable now, his features tight with concern. Behind them, the three judges observed from their elevated thrones, their faces veiled in gold thread and silence. Their whispering voices drifted through the air like brittle leaves. Each syllable sounded older than language itself.
This was no simple test of strength or spellcraft. It was a trial of essence. Of blood. Of history.
The fire began to part around her, swirling away to reveal a path forward. A staircase emerged—carved entirely from flame—each step bearing her name etched in burning runes that glowed brighter as she neared.
Aelira Thorne.
Her old name.
It echoed through the flames, through the stones, and through her very bones. She stepped forward.
Each step demanded something from her. A breath, a fear, a forgotten echo. She walked steadily, though the weight of every life she'd lived bore down on her shoulders. The world around her twisted with visions, some beautiful, some terrifying. Illusions melted into truths and vice versa, smoke wrapping around her legs like chains and wings.
On the fifth step, the air turned dense and thick, like breathing through oil.
The fire cracked apart before her eyes, revealing a vision.
She stood on a scorched battlefield. Her hands were covered in soot, her dress torn, her eyes alight with golden fury. Around her, warriors burned where they stood. Some wore the emblems of her allies. Some bore her enemies' marks. All of them screamed. And Kael—Kael knelt before her, wounded, his armor scorched, blood leaking through the gaps. His eyes pleaded for something. Forgiveness? Mercy? Memory?
Lira turned away from the vision, but it did not disappear. It followed her, clinging like smoke to her skin.
On the seventh step, her pendant cracked.
A sharp, echoing sound rang across the chamber like a bell breaking. Kael flinched. Arion's head lifted sharply.
But Lira kept moving.
Her foot touched the final step, and the staircase unfurled into a platform suspended in golden light. She was now high above the chamber, alone with the flame.
And then it gathered.
The fire twisted into a funnel, drawing heat and shadow toward itself. Sparks scattered. Light condensed.
A figure began to form.
Not a man.
Not a monster.
Something older than either.
A being forged from flame and emptiness. Its shape shifted constantly—humanoid one moment, a swirling inferno the next. A jagged crown of black smoke hovered above its head, and its eyes—its eyes burned like dying stars. Ancient. Watching. Waiting.
A god.
"You return," it said, though no mouth moved. The voice was not sound. It was forced. It rattled her bones, echoed in the space behind her ribs, and twisted through her thoughts.
"You seek to reclaim the name that undid the heavens."
Lira stood tall, though her knees trembled. "I seek the truth."
The god laughed, and the room darkened with the sound.
"Then burn for it."
Flames roared forward, but she did not run. She did not scream. She stood her ground. The fire passed through her—not like a storm, but like a river washing away fear.
And then the memories returned.
Visions of the Past
She stood within a hall of mirrors. The walls shimmered with golden light, reflecting endless versions of herself. Gold dripped from the ceiling like tears of molten sun. Kael stood to her left. And before her—
Eris.
He was cloaked in shadow and silver, his face unreadable. Eyes sharp. Voice cool.
"You always choose him."
Lira tried to speak, but her mouth wouldn't open. The words were locked behind her teeth.
The mirrors shattered.
Glass rained around her, cutting her skin, carving her name into the floor.
She screamed.
Reclaiming the Flame
In the present, her knees hit the platform hard. The god loomed larger now.
"You are not ready," it intoned.
But Lira lifted her chin.
"Then I'll become ready," she said. "Not for you. Not for them. For me."
The god did not move. Silence spread outward, vast and consuming. Even the judges were still.
Then the flames bent toward her—not in anger. In acknowledgment.
And the god vanished.
The golden light faded.
The platform dimmed.
The staircase of flame dissolved into floating ash.
Verdict
Lira stood alone in the trial chamber once more.
The heat was gone, but sweat clung to her skin. Her chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths. Her pendant—though cracked—still glowed faintly, like a coal refusing to die.
One of the veiled judges stood.
"The fire has judged you. And it did not consume you."
Another voice followed. "The claim to the Flameblood legacy stands. But know this—the fire is only the beginning."
The third judge leaned forward, the veil swaying.
"The next trial will test not the flame but the shadow it casts."
The trial was far from over.
It had only just begun.
Kael rushed forward, grabbing her shoulders. His hands were steady, but his eyes betrayed his fear.
"You saw it, didn't you? The real flame?"
Lira nodded, her lips barely parting. "And something more."
But she didn't speak the name aloud.
Eris.
He had been there—in the vision, in the fire, in the mirrors. And he was not just a memory.
He was coming.
And somewhere far away, the gods stirred. Not in anger.
In anticipation.