Chapter 4 – Trial of the Ember
By Victor Simdrix
The great hall of Emberfall was filled with firelight, though the warmth did not touch Nyra Veylock. She stood in the center of the chamber, wrists bound with iron bands that burned faintly against her skin. Not because they were hot, but because they drank at her Ember, leeching away her strength.
Around her, the villagers crowded the benches, whispering like a sea of restless crows. At the far end sat the Council of Elders, their faces half-hidden beneath the carved masks of judgment. High Elder Renald rose slowly, leaning on his staff, his gaze fixed on Nyra with the cold precision of a hawk.
"Nyra Veylock," his voice boomed, echoing through the hall. "You stand accused of endangering this village with your cursed fire. Twice now the flames have risen at your presence—the festival pyre and the stranger's arrival. Do you deny it?"
Nyra swallowed, her throat dry as ash. She wanted to speak, to tell them she had never meant harm. But before her words could form, the crowd jeered.
"Witch!"
"Send her to the Ashlands!"
"She'll kill us all!"
Her chest tightened. The Ember stirred restlessly within her, eager to answer their cruelty. She forced her eyes to the council. "I do not deny that the fire is within me," she said, her voice trembling but clear. "But it is not a curse. It is a gift I do not yet understand. If you would only let me learn—"
"Learn?" Elder Harvick spat. His mask could not hide the disdain curling his lips. "You've had sixteen years to learn, girl. All you've brought us is fear and ruin."
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the villagers.
Then Kaelith stepped forward. His cloak's hood was drawn low, but even so, whispers stirred—some recognized the royal crest embroidered faintly at his collar.
"This is madness," he said, voice steady, commanding. "You punish her for a power she cannot control, yet make no effort to teach her. Would you cut down a sapling for growing wild instead of shaping it into strength?"
The High Elder's eyes narrowed. "And who are you, stranger, to speak in our hall?"
Kaelith hesitated for the briefest moment. "A traveler," he said smoothly. "But one who knows injustice when he sees it." His gaze flicked to Nyra, quick and fierce, a silent promise.
Renald's staff struck the floor. "Enough. The Trial of the Ember will decide her fate."
At his signal, two guards dragged Nyra toward the center of the hall where a great brazier roared, its flames licking high into the rafters. The Trial was an ancient rite, whispered about in frightened tones: if the accused could step into the flame and the fire did not consume them, they were judged innocent. If it burned them, their guilt was proven by the Ember itself.
The villagers leaned forward eagerly, thirsting for spectacle.
Nyra's knees shook. The brazier's heat struck her face, calling to her, daring her. Was this justice? Or was it simply another trap to see her destroyed? She closed her eyes. Control it, Nyra. You must control it.
"Step forward," commanded the High Elder.
Her heart hammered as the guards pushed her toward the brazier. She lifted her bound wrists, staring into the writhing flames. They seemed to pulse with life, whispering secrets only she could hear. Come closer. We know you. We are you.
With trembling breath, Nyra stepped into the fire.
The hall gasped as the flames wrapped around her body—not consuming, not searing, but embracing. Fire danced along her hair, kissed her skin, curled around her wrists where the iron bands hissed and cracked. Instead of agony, warmth filled her, spreading through her veins like a heartbeat.
The crowd's whispers turned to silence.
She opened her eyes, and they blazed like molten gold. The Ember within her no longer struggled—it sang.
The High Elder's face darkened. This was not the outcome he had wanted.
"She is dangerous," he thundered, though his voice faltered beneath the weight of what they had all seen. "The fire bends to her. This is proof she is bound to the Ash Wraith's prophecy!"
The villagers erupted in panic once more. Some shouted to kill her before it was too late, others cried that she might be their savior. The hall split in chaos, voices clashing like steel.
And in the midst of it, Nyra stood in the brazier's heart, the fire swirling around her like a crown.
For the first time, she did not feel cursed.
For the first time, she felt alive.
But when her gaze met the High Elder's, she saw it there—hatred, sharp and unyielding. He would never let her be free.
And in the shadows at the edge of the hall, the pale-faced stranger still chained to the pillar smiled, his lips moving in silent words meant only for her:
"The flame will fall. And when it does… you will choose which world burns."