The cell was small and bare, its stone walls cold and damp. A single torch flickered in a bracket near the door, its light too weak to push back the shadows. Elira sat on the narrow bench, her knees drawn up, her cloak wrapped tight around her shoulders.
She had not spoken since the Council had declared her fate. The words still echoed in her ears: Tomorrow, at dawn, she will be tested by flame.
Her stomach churned. Her hands trembled in her lap. She stared at them, half-expecting fire to burst from her palms unbidden.
They would make her burn before all. And if the flames did not kill her, then the Council surely would.
She closed her eyes, trying to steady her breath. I cannot die here. I cannot.
But the stone whispered otherwise.
---
POV: Kaelen
Across the Hall, Kaelen was thrown into a chamber meant for prisoners of state. He leaned against the wall, chains heavy on his wrists. His wound throbbed, but rage burned hotter.
They thought him broken. They thought a cell could cage him.
But he had not survived exile and betrayal only to watch Elira consumed by their fire.
He replayed the Council's laughter in his mind. Each word was a brand searing into him. Malrik, that viper cloaked in sanctity—Kaelen would see him fall, if it was the last thing he did.
The chains rattled as he pulled against them, testing their strength. His jaw clenched.
"They will not take her," he swore under his breath. "Not while I still draw breath."
---
POV: Corin
In the bowels of the Hall, Corin crept where no boy should be. He hugged the shadows, slipping past guards with the instinct of one who had lived in alleys all his life. His lantern stayed hidden in his satchel, wrapped in cloth to smother its glow.
He had seen Elira dragged into her cell. He had seen Kaelen's fury. And he had heard the priests whisper of dawn's spectacle.
The boy's heart pounded. He did not know how to save them. But he knew he had to try.
---
Elira's Visitors
The cell door groaned. Elira's head snapped up. Two knights entered, their armor polished, their faces grim. Between them walked a woman in plain robes, carrying a small lamp.
"Elira," the woman said, her voice steady. "I am Sister Maeren. I come to prepare you for what awaits."
Elira swallowed hard. "Prepare me? For death?"
Maeren's gaze softened. "For truth. The fire does not lie. If you are blessed, it will reveal it. If cursed, it will consume."
Elira shook her head. "You speak as though it is mercy."
"Perhaps it is," Maeren said quietly. "But mercy is not always kind."
She set the lamp on the floor, its flame steady and golden. Elira felt its heat reach for her, felt the fire inside her stir in response. Her stomach lurched.
"Pray," Maeren urged. "Whatever the outcome, the Light sees all."
Then she turned and left, her robes whispering against the stone. The knights followed, leaving Elira alone once more with the little flame dancing at her feet.
---
POV: Sir Deylan
In the knights' quarters, Sir Deylan sat sharpening his blade. The rasp of stone against steel was steady, but his thoughts were not.
He had seen the girl's face. She was no sorceress reveling in her power. She was terrified, barely more than a child.
And tomorrow, she would be thrown into fire.
He thought of his daughter again, of her laughter, of the night fever had taken her. He had prayed to the Light for mercy, and the Light had been silent.
Now the Council claimed to speak for that same Light. Yet their judgment reeked of politics more than faith.
Deylan's hand stilled on the whetstone. For the first time in years, he wondered if obedience was truly righteousness.
---
Elira's Dream
Sleep came fitfully. When it did, it brought no peace.
Elira dreamed of standing in the Council hall again, flames curling around her body. But this time, she did not fear them. They bowed to her, weaving into shapes of wings, of shields, of swords.
Kaelen stood beside her, unchained, his eyes alight with defiance. Together they faced the Council, who shrank from their fire.
The vision shifted. She stood alone now, Kaelen gone, the flames turning wild, devouring everything. Screams filled the air—villagers, children, even Corin—all burned in her wake.
She jolted awake, gasping, tears hot on her cheeks.
The little lamp still flickered. She wanted to smash it, to snuff it out, but her hand froze inches from the flame.
What am I becoming?
---
POV: Theon the Scribe
Theon worked late into the night, quill scratching across parchment. He recorded every word spoken in the Council, every decree, every accusation. His back ached, his fingers cramped.
But his mind was not on the ink. It lingered on the girl.
He had seen many condemned. He had written their last words. Yet something about her silence haunted him. Not defiance. Not despair. Something deeper.
He paused, staring at the half-written line: The girl is to be tested by flame.
His hand trembled. With a sudden impulse, he dipped the quill and added another line beneath, hidden among the notes: She does not deserve this.
It was nothing. It would change nothing. But for once, the ink felt like truth.
---
Kaelen's Resolve
Kaelen could not sleep. The chains bit his wrists raw, but he scarcely felt them. He paced as far as the shackles allowed, his mind racing.
He had no allies here. No army. Only his fury—and Elira's power, if she survived.
But he would not gamble her life on the Council's mercy.
Somewhere in this cursed Hall there had to be a way. A weakness. A door unguarded, a wall forgotten. He would find it.
He swore it to the darkness: I will not let her burn.
---
Corin's Discovery
The boy pressed himself into a niche as guards passed, holding his breath. When the footsteps faded, he slipped out and crept deeper.
At last he reached a stair that spiraled down. The air grew colder, damper. Torches burned in brackets, their light faint.
And then—he saw it. Through an iron grate, Elira sat alone in her cell, the little lamp glowing before her.
"Psst!" he hissed.
Her head snapped up. Her eyes widened.
"Corin?" she whispered, disbelief in her voice.
He grinned faintly. "Told you I'd follow. I'm gonna get you out."
Tears pricked her eyes. "No, Corin. You'll be caught."
"Then we'll both be caught," he whispered fiercely. "But I won't leave you."
She pressed her hand against the bars, and the boy mirrored her with his small fingers. For a heartbeat, hope flickered in the darkness.
---
The Bells of Dawn
Night stretched long, each hour a blade. The city beyond the walls stirred with anticipation. Pilgrims gathered in the streets, priests lit candles in every window. The trial by flame was not just judgment—it was spectacle.
As the first pale light crept into the sky, the bells of High Lumen tolled. Their peals rolled across the city, solemn and heavy, summoning all to witness.
In her cell, Elira closed her eyes, heart hammering.
In his chains, Kaelen straightened, fire in his gaze.
In the shadows, Corin tightened his grip on the lantern, ready to act.
And across the city, thousands turned their eyes to the Hall of Light, awaiting the flames that would reveal truth—or consume it.
The day of judgment had come.