Selena's POV
I sat alone in the cold silence of the inner chamber, the walls echoing with ancient whispers. The First Queen's voice still curled like smoke in my mind:
> "You are not the beginning. You are what the end must become."
Her fingers had gripped mine — bone, cracked and eternal — before she faded back into her stone coffin. But her words hadn't died. They lived in my bloodstream now. A curse. A crown. A warning.
I stared into the obsidian mirror. The girl I was — the lost thing in borrowed human skin — was gone. What remained was something more... and less.
Outside the chamber, voices murmured beyond the throne hall. I heard Zack's voice among them — worried, confused, and questioning everything we had just been through. He had changed, too. Not like me. But enough to feel the rift forming between us.
He knocked gently.
> "Selena... can we talk?"
I rose, my voice steady but distant. "We already are."
He stepped in, looking like he hadn't slept in weeks. "Why us? Why all this? Why you?" His voice cracked. "I just wanted to protect you. Now we're prisoners to something we don't understand."
I turned to him fully, gaze sharpened.
> "You think I understand any of this?" I asked. "I didn't choose this. But now that it's mine — I won't run from it."
His fists tightened. "You're not the same. This place, this blood — it's changing you."
> "Good," I whispered. "Because weakness has no place here."
He flinched like I had struck him.
> "So what? You're their queen now?"
> "No," I said, stepping past him. "I'm becoming something worse."
---
Back in the throne hall, the crowd fell into a hush as I emerged. Vampires in robes of shadow and silk parted. The Elders bowed — some out of fear, others out of necessity.
> "Selena Virelle, Daughter of None, Born of Blood — will you accept the crown of midnight?" one of the voices called.
> "No," I said, raising my hand. "Not yet. Not alone."
The court gasped. Even Zack blinked.
I stepped forward, letting my voice rise:
> "I will not rule by ancient names and fading customs. I will rule with truth — or not at all. And to find truth, I must not stand alone."
I raised my hand and pointed to the first:
🔹 Alaïra, the silver-eyed seer — "You see beyond this realm. I need your sight."
🔹 Tovian, the war-scarred elder — "You've lived longer than any in this hall. Your sword has no fear. I need your edge."
🔹 Nyra, daughter of the rebellion — "You hate me. Good. I need someone who sees through flattery."
And then...
🔹 Zack — battered, confused, still standing.
> "He is human," someone snarled.
> "He is mine," I snapped. "He's stood where none of you dared. And he has bled beside me."
The court rippled with outrage and disbelief.
But the moment I named the fourth...
The ground trembled.
The sigils around the throne ignited. Crimson fire spun around us, weaving a seal older than memory.
From the air itself came a voice — her voice:
> "Four may stand. But only the worthy shall remain."
The Trial of Worth.
The floor beneath Alaïra, Tovian, Nyra, and Zack flared — circles of blood-fire surrounding each of them.
Alaïra's lips whispered a ward. Tovian's blade flashed. Nyra bared her teeth. Zack stood frozen.
> "This wasn't part of the plan," I whispered.
But the First Queen echoed inside me once more:
> "No ruler chooses the trial. The trial chooses the ruler."
As the flames rose around the chosen four, I stood still — helpless yet sovereign.
Zack looked at me one last time before the fire closed him in.
And the hall began to chant.
The trial had begun.
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