The silence was heavy, oppressive. Flames guttered along the chamber walls as though starved for air, their colors dimming while the council whispered without words, their voices moving like sparks within the fire.
Kaelen's grip on Ariselle's hand tightened. He did not speak, did not dare, though every instinct urged him to fight or flee. His blade hung at his side, useless now—this was not a battle of swords.
At last, the white-flamed woman rose. Her presence blazed, casting shadows sharp as knives across the chamber.
"The Trial of Flame was not meant for mortals," she said. Her voice thundered through stone and bone. "And yet, you endured. Not through strength of steel. Not through fire of heritage. But through something else."
Her gaze seared them both. "Love."
The word cracked the chamber. Several councilors flared angrily, their flames whipping into violent tongues. Others dimmed to embers, uncertain. The woman's voice grew colder.
"Love between realms is forbidden. It frays the threads, destabilizes the weave of worlds. We have seen this ruin before. You would risk all existence for desire."
Kaelen stepped forward, hand still holding Ariselle's. "Desire?" His voice was raw, rough. "This is no fleeting whim. We stood in the trial's fire and did not break. If that is not proof of strength, what more will you demand of us?"
"Strength is not enough!" a crimson-flamed elder snapped, his fire spitting sparks. "You invite collapse. Already the rifts grow wider. Already the shadows gather. And you—" his voice trembled like molten rock, "—you are the cause."
Kaelen flinched. His curse. Always his curse.
But before the weight could drag him down, Ariselle's fire flared bright beside him. She stepped forward, chin high, her cloak swaying like a banner.
"Enough!" Her voice rang clear, shaking the chamber. "If you would condemn us, condemn me first. For I chose him. I crossed the threads, I defied your silence, I gave him my fire when he would have died without it."
Her fire leapt higher, emerald and gold. "If love is a crime, then I burn guilty. But do not think it weakness. My bond to him is not the end of our realm—it may be its salvation."
Gasps rippled through the council, flames flashing hot and cold.
The white-flamed woman's eyes narrowed, but her voice softened, carrying something dangerous: curiosity.
"You speak of salvation. Explain."
Ariselle hesitated. The truth pressed against her lips, heavy with risk. At last, she said, "The shadows that stalk the rifts… they are not born of Kaelen's curse. They are drawn to it, yes, but only because it echoes something they fear. His blood carries a spark not of darkness, but of origin."
Kaelen's heart slammed in his chest.
"Origin?"
She turned to him, her gaze burning with conviction. "You are not cursed, Kaelen. You are chosen. A mortal bound to the first flame."
The council erupted. Flames roared, voices clashing in fury and disbelief. "Blasphemy!" cried one. "Madness!" another.
The white-flamed woman raised a hand, silencing them. Her gaze pierced Kaelen, burning into his very soul.
"If this is true… then the threads themselves will decide. Not us."
The chamber shook. A tremor ran through the molten circle where they had stood in trial. Runes blazed anew, brighter, sharper, as though answering a call. A voice—ancient, vast—whispered through the flames, not in words, but in certainty.
The council fell silent. For the first time, even the white flame wavered.
Ariselle grasped Kaelen's hand tighter. He felt her fire trembling in her veins, not from fear—but from awe.
The voice faded, leaving only silence.
At last, the white-flamed woman spoke, her tone stripped of certainty.
"The threads… have not rejected you."
The words dropped like stones into still water.
Kaelen's throat was dry. "What does that mean?"
The woman's fire flickered, casting her face in both light and shadow. "It means your bond has been recognized. But recognition is not acceptance. The shadows are rising, and with every step you take together, the worlds draw closer to collision. If you would prove this love is salvation, not ruin…"
She paused, and her flame burned low, dim as an ember.
"…then you will face what comes. Not as outlaws. Not as condemned. But as unwilling champions of both realms."
The council's flames bowed, dimming in reluctant unity.
Kaelen's pulse thundered. Ariselle leaned close, her voice a whisper only he could hear.
"They've given us no mercy. Only a task."
He glanced at her, a wry smile ghosting his lips despite the weight on his shoulders. "Then we'll do what we've always done."
Her eyes softened. "Endure?"
"No." His voice was quiet, fierce. "Fight."
And as the council flames faded into silence, the molten runes pulsed once more—this time, not with judgment, but with the promise of war.