The morning of the Trial began with thunder.
The sky over Solmere cracked open, gray and bruised, spilling light across the towers of the Academy. Kael stood among dozens of students gathered in the northern hall — a cathedral turned laboratory. Brass conduits and silver glyphs lined the walls, glowing faintly like veins beneath skin.
"Today," announced the Instructor, "you will prove your devotion through understanding."
His voice carried easily, calm but cutting. He wore the white robes of a scholar, but his hands were gloved in steel — the mark of an examiner sanctioned by the Inquisition. Behind him stood a row of acolytes tending to instruments: glass cylinders filled with pale fire, each one bound by runic chains.
Kael's pulse stuttered. The heat in his chest stirred at once, answering the light.
"This," said the Instructor, gesturing to the flames, "is purified essence. The soul of divinity, drawn from the Eternal Fire itself. Only those with faith unbroken may touch it and live."
Whispers rippled through the hall.
Kael said nothing. He already knew the truth — the fire wasn't divine. It was hungry.
The Instructor's gaze swept the students. "Each of you will approach the flame, attune your resonance, and let it judge you. The faithful will feel peace. The unworthy… will feel correction."
Liran nudged Kael's shoulder, muttering under his breath, "Correction means burned fingers and screams. Try not to die, yeah?"
Kael almost smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
Names were called, one by one. Students stepped forward, hands trembling, some praying, some pretending not to. Most flinched when they touched the flame, pulling back with red palms but living.
Then came his turn.
"Kael Verrin."
He walked forward slowly, feeling the eyes of the hall settle on him. The mark under his chest burned like a heartbeat. The Instructor gestured toward the glass vessel — a swirl of white fire humming softly, like breath drawn between teeth.
Kael raised his hand. The closer he got, the louder the hum became — not from the flame, but from inside him.
The fire within recognized its kin.
The vessel trembled. Light flared, spilling out like liquid sun.
"Step back!" the Instructor barked — but it was too late. The flame leapt, breaking its bindings, streaming toward Kael in a single, blinding arc.
It hit him square in the chest — and instead of consuming him, it vanished. Absorbed.
Silence crashed over the hall.
Kael stood frozen, the mark beneath his shirt now a dull, smoldering glow. The brass runes on the walls flickered, their light bending toward him as though drawn by gravity.
He could hear every breath, every heartbeat, every whisper of fire in the air. For a second, he was the flame.
Then it ended.
Kael fell to one knee, coughing, smoke rising faintly from his skin. His vision swam. The Instructor stared — not with fear, but fascination.
"Impossible," he murmured. "No one absorbs divine essence…"
From the far end of the hall came a soft voice.
"Unless it isn't divine."
The Inquisitor in crimson had returned. Her mask caught the dim light, and Kael could feel her gaze pierce straight through him.
"Take him," she said quietly.
Two acolytes moved at once, but the Instructor hesitated. "Lady Seraphine, he's not unstable. He—"
"Take him," she repeated, sharper now. "Before the fire decides for us."
Kael didn't fight. He was too weak — and too afraid of what might happen if he did.
As they led him out of the hall, Liran's voice broke through the hush. "Kael!"
He turned just long enough to see the boy's pale, startled face before the doors slammed shut.
⸻
The chamber they brought him to was dark, lit only by a circle of red wards on the floor. The air smelled of iron and salt — binding rituals.
Seraphine stood before him, removing her mask. Her face was severe, beautiful in a way that made Kael uneasy. Her eyes — gray as storm ash — never left him.
"You touched it," she said. "And it obeyed you."
Kael swallowed. "I didn't mean to—"
"Don't lie. The Flame doesn't obey accident."
She stepped closer, studying the faint light pulsing beneath his ribs. "You carry something older than Aurelion's creed. Something the Inquisition fears."
Kael met her gaze. "Then why aren't you afraid?"
Her lips curved slightly. "Because fear and faith are the same fire, Verrin. And I want to see which one burns brighter in you."
She raised her hand. The red wards flared, and the room filled with heat — not hostile, but testing.
"Welcome to the true Academy," she whispered.
"The lessons that no scripture records."