The Choir Hall was not a place meant for footsteps. Its doors, fashioned from solid sheets of silver, opened without a sound when Selene raised her hand. Beyond lay a chamber vast enough to hold a cathedral, yet silent as a tomb.
The walls were carved with sigils, thousands upon thousands of them, etched into the stone like scars. Each glowed faintly, as though alive with whispers. No torches burned; instead, the very air shimmered with an otherworldly light.
Rivka's hand instinctively brushed the dagger at her side. "This place…" she murmured. "It feels wrong."
"Not wrong," Selene replied softly, her masked face unreadable. "Merely awake."
Aaryan stepped forward. The pendant against his chest burned warmly, almost in recognition. The sigils along his forearms tingled as if stirred by unseen fingers. He felt exposed—like the hall was peeling back layers of him he didn't even know existed.
"What is this place?" he asked.
"The Choir of Silver," Selene said. "Once, the Flameborn gathered here to temper their voices. Fire alone destroys, but song gives it shape. What you seek—the Second Seal—cannot be bound by rage alone. You must learn resonance."
"Resonance?"
Selene's eyes gleamed like molten silver through her mask. "To wield fire without devouring yourself, you must make it sing. Do you think the flame only answers anger? No. Flame dances to harmony. To grief. To longing. To joy. Each Seal awakens a voice. The Second Seal is the Ember Canticle. If you survive, your fire will obey your song."
Rivka frowned. "And if he doesn't survive?"
Selene turned her gaze briefly toward Rivka. "Then his ashes will join the Choir."
Aaryan felt a chill despite the heat beneath his skin. He straightened. "Tell me what I must do."
Selene extended her arm. A ripple passed across the chamber floor, and the sigils on the walls flared brighter. "You will enter the Choir's trial. You will face not enemies, but yourself. And you must endure."
Before Aaryan could reply, the floor beneath him dissolved into light. Rivka shouted his name, but her voice grew distant, swallowed by brilliance. The hall vanished.
---
The Trial Begins
Aaryan stood on blackened earth. The sky above was aflame, crimson clouds rolling like molten seas. Towers of ash rose around him, skeletal remains of a city long dead. He knew this place—though he had never walked it.
"Narah," he whispered. But not as it was. This was Narah drowned in fire.
From the ruins, figures emerged. At first shadows, then clearer, faces he knew.
Rivka—her eyes hollow, her lips moving soundlessly. The Veiled One, their form fractured, burning away piece by piece. His mother, his father—faces dredged from memory, consumed in smoke.
"No," he muttered, backing away. "This isn't real."
"Isn't it?" a voice whispered.
The Watcher stepped out from behind a charred wall, cloak unmarked, eyes glowing like dying embers. He smiled as before. "This is what you are, little flame. Every path you walk leaves only ruin."
Aaryan raised his hand, sparks forming instinctively. "Stay back."
The Watcher laughed. "What will you burn now? Ghosts? Or the girl who follows you into death?"
Rivka stepped closer, her face pale, lips trembling. "Why couldn't you save me?" she asked. Her voice was broken glass. "Why does everyone near you burn?"
The sigils on Aaryan's arms flared, fire surging to his fingertips. He shook his head. "You're not her. You're nothing."
"Nothing?" the Watcher murmured, spreading his arms. "Or truth?"
The world shifted. The ruins fell away, and suddenly Aaryan stood in the cave with the Veiled One. But instead of guidance, their voice dripped scorn.
"You begged for strength, yet you cannot control it. You are no guardian of flame. You are its slave."
"No!" Aaryan roared. Fire burst from his chest, flooding the illusion, burning specters to cinders. The world cracked—then shattered.
---
The Second Illusion
Silence.
He found himself standing in a meadow, green and golden beneath a clear sky. Birds sang. The air smelled of rain and wildflowers. For a moment, he could breathe.
Then he heard laughter.
Children played in the distance, chasing each other across the grass. Among them was a boy with dark hair, running with reckless joy. Aaryan froze. He knew that boy. He had been that boy.
The laughter stilled when the boy turned to him. His eyes, though young, held sorrow older than stone.
"You shouldn't have lived," the boy said quietly. "The fire should have taken you with them."
Aaryan's throat tightened. "I—"
"You carry their ashes. You call it strength, but it's weight. You'll bury everyone you meet under it."
The pendant seared hot against Aaryan's chest, as if the flame itself waited for his answer.
"I don't want this," Aaryan whispered, tears pricking his eyes. "I didn't ask for any of it."
The boy stepped closer. "Then let go. Surrender. End it before you bring more ruin."
Aaryan trembled. His hands clenched into fists. "I can't. I won't."
"Why?"
"Because—because if I stop—then their deaths mean nothing." His voice broke. "I'll burn, I'll bleed, I'll carry it all—but I won't stop. Not until the fire means something."
The boy studied him. For a heartbeat, his sorrow eased. Then he smiled faintly—sadly—and dissolved into light.
The meadow faded.
---
Return to the Choir
Aaryan fell to his knees as the vision bled away. When the light dimmed, he was back in the Choir Hall. Rivka rushed to his side, gripping his shoulders.
"You're alive," she breathed, relief breaking through her usual steel.
Barely. His body ached as though he had fought for days. His chest burned. His arms were fevered where the sigils blazed brighter than ever.
Selene stood before him, silent as a statue. Finally, she raised her hand, and a note rang through the hall—not from her lips, but from the silver walls themselves. It reverberated deep, pure, endless.
"The flame answered," she said softly. "You have survived the Choir's trial. Then hear the Second Seal."
She pressed her palm to Aaryan's chest, over the pendant. The note deepened. The sigils on his arms spread, curling upward across his shoulders, glowing like molten script.
A warmth filled him—not the violent surge of the Kindling Seal, but something steadier. Resonant. He felt it hum in his bones, as though his very breath could bend flame into shape.
Selene withdrew her hand. "The Ember Canticle is yours. Fire will answer not only rage, but song. Through harmony, you may command it without losing yourself."
Aaryan gasped, rising shakily. The pendant glowed softly, no longer a burden, but a voice waiting to be heard.
Rivka helped steady him. "Well?" she asked.
Aaryan closed his eyes, inhaled, and exhaled. A small flame appeared in his palm—not wild, not devouring, but gentle, flickering to his heartbeat. He willed it, and it curved, spinning like a dancer. For the first time, he smiled.
Selene inclined her head. "Do not mistake balance for victory. The Watchers will not wait. They will come, drawn to your light. And when they do, the true cost of the flame will be demanded."
As if her words summoned it, a tremor shook the hall. Dust rained from the ceiling. The sigils along the walls flickered.
Rivka stiffened. "What now?"
Selene turned sharply toward the doors. Her voice, calm till now, grew tense. "The Choir Hall has been breached."
The silver doors groaned, shuddering under unseen force. A low chant echoed beyond, harsh and guttural. The air grew cold.
Selene's masked face tilted toward Aaryan. "Your trial is not done. Another flame hungers for you."
The doors burst inward. Shadows poured into the hall. Cloaked figures stepped through—Watchers, their eyes burning with coal-red fire. At their head was the same man Aaryan had faced in the cave, his smile cruel as ever.
"I told you, little flame," he said, spreading his arms. "Every song ends in silence."
The pendant blazed against Aaryan's chest. His hands curled into fists. Rivka drew her blade. Selene lifted her staff, silver light gathering.
The Choir Hall erupted in chaos.