The Court of Judgment
The bells rang at dawn.
Three long tolls.
The summons was clear: a trial before the High Seat. A challenge not of honor, but of existence.
Lyra stood in the antechamber, dressed in ash-gray robes that whispered with each breath of wind. She wore no jewelry, no sigils of protection. Only the crescent mark above her heart, faintly glowing through the thin fabric.
Kade stood beside her, arms crossed, face carved in stone. He'd offered his cloak, his sword, even his crown—but she'd refused them all.
"This is my battle," she'd said.
But his voice had cracked in reply: "Then let me be the shield that gets you there."
Now, he stood silent as the iron doors groaned open, revealing the Court of Judgment.
The chamber was ancient.
Carved from blackstone and moon-iron, it had seen centuries of blood oaths and betrayals. The elder seats were arranged in a half-moon around the central platform, where Lyra now walked with deliberate grace.
Above them loomed the House Thorne crest—twinned wolves circling a broken crown.
A fitting symbol.
Five elders sat in judgment. At their center: Elder Thandrel, thin-lipped and cold-eyed, his gray robes marked with the burnished seal of the Old Law.
To his right: Elder Sevra, the only one who didn't look at Lyra with veiled contempt.
To his left, three others—watchers, enforcers, relics of a dying age.
The crowd filled every archway. Nobles. Soldiers. Whispering courtiers. Curious wolves.
And in the shadows near the eastern columns—Cassian.
Lyra felt his gaze the moment she entered. Not cold. Not angry.
Wrecked.
Elder Thandrel's voice echoed across the chamber. "Lyra Ashbane. You stand accused of treason, deception, and consorting with dark magic forbidden to your bloodline."
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
Lyra didn't flinch. "You forgot surviving your attempt to erase me."
"Your bloodline was sealed by decree of this Council," Thandrel snapped. "Your daughter is an abomination."
Kade took a step forward, growling low. "Say that again and you'll bleed for it."
The crowd gasped.
Thandrel smiled thinly. "The king exposes himself."
"I protect what is mine," Kade said.
But it was Cassian who spoke next.
His voice didn't rise.
But it cut.
"She was never yours to erase."
All eyes turned to him.
Cassian stepped forward, into full view, dropping a torn scroll at the center dais.
"The record you sealed. The truth you buried. The prophecy you've twisted to serve your fear."
Thandrel rose, face twisting. "You would betray the Council for a cursed woman?"
Cassian's jaw flexed. "No. I betray you for making me believe she was already dead."
Silence fell like a blade.
Lyra's breath caught.
For the first time, she saw it—the truth in his eyes. The guilt. The regret. The bond, raw and tangled, no longer buried under denial.
But it was Kade who moved beside her.
Took her hand in his.
Lifted it, for all to see.
"I claim her," he said.
A ripple of magic swept the room.
Bond recognition.
A challenge.
A war cry.
Elder Sevra stood, eyes narrowed in warning. "You understand what this means?"
"I do," Kade said.
"Then speak it."
He turned to Lyra, voice steady.
"I choose her. Not the throne. Not the Council. Her."
And then—shockingly—Cassian stepped forward too.
"I won't choose between her and blood. Because she is my blood."
And for the first time in centuries—
Two kings stood united before the Council.
One by choice.
The other by redemption.
But Thandrel didn't blink.
He raised one hand—and the soldiers in black stepped from the sides.
"Then the Council declares you both unfit."
He turned to the crowd. "As of this moment, House Thorne is broken. The heirs are stripped. The court shall elect new rule—"
A howl shattered the moment.
A scream.
Then another.
A guard stumbled through the door—his chest torn open.
"They're here!" he gasped. "The woods—they've breached the northern wards!"
Everyone froze.
"Who?" Thandrel demanded.
The guard's eyes rolled back.
Then he whispered with his last breath:
"The Hollow Ones."
Panic erupted in the Court of Judgment.
Nobles scattered. Soldiers drew weapons. Council elders shouted orders that were lost beneath the roar of fear echoing through the stone hall.
Kade grabbed Lyra's arm, pulling her behind him as another guard staggered into the chamber, his armor scorched black, eyes wide with unspeakable horror.
"They're inside the lower halls!" he rasped. "Coming up from the eastern catacombs—we thought those tunnels were sealed!"
Lyra's blood went cold.
They weren't just attacking. They'd been waiting.
Watching.
For this exact moment.
When the Council was distracted. When the heirs were vulnerable. When Lyra's child's location was close to being exposed.
"They've known all along," she whispered, her voice trembling with fury.
Cassian stepped beside them, sword drawn. "Then we end them. Here. Now."
Kade looked to Lyra. "Can you fight?"
She didn't answer.
She raised her hands.
A wind swept through the court, unnatural and sharp, sending torches sputtering and cloaks flaring. Her eyes glowed silver-gold as runes flared along her skin—hidden until now, carved in fire and memory.
"I'm done running," she said.
Outside the court, the Hollow Ones flooded through the eastern corridors—shapeless, eyeless things wrapped in bone-white cloth, shadows leaking from their limbs like smoke. They didn't howl. They hissed—a dry, ancient sound that made even the wolves flinch.
They were once men.
Now they were curses.
And they had come for her bloodline.
Kade leapt into battle first, shifting midair—his wolf massive, dark as midnight, teeth flashing like blades. He landed among the first wave, crushing bone and tearing flesh.
Cassian was beside him, sword in one hand, flame in the other—his bloodline gift finally unlocked by rage and bond.
But it was Lyra who turned the tide.
She stepped into the path of the second wave and spoke the old words—the forbidden tongue of her witch ancestors.
The floor cracked.
The air warped.
And a ring of light burst around her, searing a circle into the stone.
The Hollow Ones screamed.
Because she wasn't just wolf.
Or witch.
Or human.
She was all three.
And she remembered now.
Who she was.
What they feared.
And what her daughter was becoming.
Elder Thandrel tried to flee.
He made it to the side passage before a shadow blocked his path.
Lyra.
Eyes glowing.
Power bleeding from her skin.
"You tried to erase me," she said calmly.
"You are a threat to the balance," he hissed.
"I am the balance," she said.
Then she raised her hand—and the shadows obeyed.
When she walked away, there was nothing left of Thandrel but ash.
By dawn, the battle was over.
The Hollow Ones were driven back—not destroyed, but pushed into the woods. Weakened. Wounded.
For now.
But the damage was done.
The Council's chamber lay in ruins. Two elders dead. One missing.
And the kingdom was leaderless.
Except for the three who stood at the court's center: Lyra, Kade, and Cassian.
A king who chose her.
A king who betrayed, then returned.
And a queen reborn in fire.