The fae did not feast the way humans did.
Kaelen had expected meat, bread, firelit laughter—the warmth of warriors around a table. What he found instead was a hall of cold marble, lit by silver lanterns that gave no heat. Long tables stretched beneath crystal arches, set not with food but with goblets of shimmering liquid that shifted colors as though alive.
Every fae in the Spine was present, their faces pale and perfect, their smiles thin as blades. Their voices echoed through the hall like chimes caught in a storm. Kaelen sat stiffly at the far end beside Lyra, aware of every disdainful glance, every muttered word that dripped like venom.
"Do not let them see you flinch," Lyra whispered, her voice low but firm. "Fae thrive on weakness. You are a warrior, not a cur dragged in from the mud."
Kaelen's jaw tightened. "I'm not exactly feeling welcome."
"You're not meant to." Her silver eyes flicked toward the dais at the head of the hall, where Tharos reclined like a king upon a throne of stone. "But tonight, Tharos will test you. Be ready."
---
The first test came in the form of words.
Tharos rose gracefully, his presence silencing the hall. "My kin," he said, his voice smooth, amplified by some enchantment. "Tonight, we welcome back our lost cousin, Lyra Valeis, marked by fire and prophecy. And at her side—" He gestured with mock ceremony toward Kaelen. "—a mortal knight. Exiled. Condemned. Yet here he sits, among us."
The fae murmured, sharp laughter rippling.
Kaelen's chest burned with the familiar itch of flame, but he forced his hands to still.
Tharos smiled, violet eyes gleaming. "Tell us, human. Do you feel honored? To breathe our air, to stand where only blood of the Valeis line may stand?"
Kaelen rose slowly, the scrape of his chair loud in the silence. His heart pounded, but he met Tharos's gaze without faltering. "I don't need your honor. I have my own."
A ripple of shock coursed through the hall. Some sneered. Others whispered. Tharos tilted his head, studying him like one might a curious beast.
"Bold," Tharos said at last. "But boldness can be dangerous in the Spine."
---
The second test came with steel.
Later, when the feast gave way to ritual sparring, Tharos's voice rang out again. "Cousin," he said to Lyra, "surely your… companion would wish to prove himself. Or do humans break too easily?"
Kaelen's blood surged. Before Lyra could refuse, he stepped forward. "I'll fight."
The fae warriors laughed, circling like wolves. One stepped forward—a tall, scarred fae with obsidian blades.
The duel began in silence. No drum, no cry, just steel flashing in lantern light. The fae struck first, swift as lightning. Kaelen barely blocked, sparks flying from his blade. Again and again the fae pressed, his movements flawless, inhuman.
Kaelen faltered. The crowd jeered.
Then he felt it—the fire in his chest, roaring to be unleashed. He hesitated, remembering Lyra's warning. But as the fae's blade nicked his cheek, instinct took over.
Flame burst from his sword, bright and furious. The fae staggered back, eyes wide, as Kaelen pressed forward, every strike blazing with heat. The marble floor cracked beneath their feet, the air thick with smoke.
With one final blow, Kaelen disarmed his opponent, sending the obsidian blades skittering across the floor. The hall fell silent.
Kaelen stood panting, his sword wreathed in fire, his eyes burning with something that was not entirely his own.
Tharos clapped slowly, the sound echoing. "Impressive. Dangerous. Tell me, cousin—do you know what flame you carry? Or will it consume you before you learn?"
The whispers rose again, harsher this time. Prophecy. Fire. Human vessel.
Kaelen sheathed his sword, forcing the fire down with a shudder. He could feel every gaze like a dagger in his back.
The third test came in shadows.
That night, as the hall emptied, Kaelen lingered near the edge, his chest still searing from the duel. Lyra approached him, her cloak drawn tight, her expression unreadable.
"You shouldn't have revealed the fire," she said softly.
"I didn't have a choice." Kaelen said"
"There's always a choice." Her eyes flicked toward Tharos, who stood watching from the dais, his gaze fixed on them. "And now Tharos knows too much."
Kaelen's fists clenched. "Then let him test me again. I'm not afraid."
"You should be," she murmured, her voice trembling just enough for him to hear it. "Because he will use that flame against you. Against us."
Before Kaelen could respond, a figure approached—Tharos himself, gliding from the shadows.
"Cousin," he said smoothly to Lyra, but his eyes stayed on Kaelen. "The Spine accepts him… for now. But fire is a treacherous ally. One wrong breath, and it will burn what you most wish to protect."
He leaned closer, his whisper cold as ice. "Tell me, human—when that day comes, will you choose to save her… or yourself?"
Kaelen's chest tightened. He opened his mouth to answer, but no words came.
Tharos's smile was all blade. "Exactly as I thought."
That night, Kaelen dreamed again. Fire and chains. A crown of flame crushing his head over. Lyra reaching for him, her hands burning, her voice drowned by the shadows.
He woke with a gasp, sweat slick on his skin.
And outside his chamber, faint but unmistakable, he heard some footsteps. Someone was listening.
Watching and,
Waiting.