An hour later,
Still in the Chamber of Aethelred, beneath the Black Citadel
Rina's POV
The bells of the Black Citadel tolled three times - each chime heavy as a prophecy, echoing through stone that had tasted centuries of blood and betrayal.
Far below the capital's shining spires, the Chamber of Aethelred waited - a cathedral of judgment carved from living obsidian. Torches guttered, blue and silver, painting the circle of thrones in unearthly light.
I stood before the Ten, the rulers of what the living feared to name.
Lord Dexter Valerius's silver hair gleamed, his eyes, red as spilt wine, glowed with ancient patience. Beside him, Selena Moondrake sat regal and venomous. Kaelen Ironfang, the Alpha Marshal, leaned forward, a mountain of scars and sinew, his amber gaze molten with contempt. Cassiel the Unyielding, Archangel Arbiter, gleamed in quiet fury. Asmodan Veythar, Demon Minister of Pacts, lounged with his silk-wrapped smile.
Tharion Embervault, Dragon Treasurer, exhaled smoke, his eyes twin furnaces of greed. Lady Elaris Thornveil, Fae Emissary, gleamed pale with worry as cut glass. Secretary Morthos Gravemind, Necromancer Overseer, scratched endlessly with a bone pen, maybe drafting my epitaph. Aeris Stormrend, Elemental Warden, flickered between flame and frost. And at the head, Nymera of the Veil, Oracle of Time, constellations floating slightly above her seat, galaxies rippling across her robes.
They were gods, monsters, and kings, and I stood before them, my heart pounding like a war drum.
Nymera's voice fell like the toll of fate. "The matter before this Council: the claim of dominion by a resurrected heiress over the Wastelands of Nespresso, lands once belonging to the declining House Duskbane. As the dead can't interfere in the fates of the living, the resurrected one shall be tested."
"Declining," murmured Selena Moondrake. "An empty line cannot lay claim to the living world."
My fingers curled in fury; I had expected this. The council chamber always smelled of politics and the rot of old grudges.
"My house is not declining."
Heads turned as Lady Evelyn Duskbane rose from her seat among the observing nobles. Her presence was thunder wrapped in silk.
"My granddaughter is alive," Lady Evelyn declared, "and more deserving of this land than half of you are of your thrones."
"Ah," Asmodan's grin widened. "It's the infamous Lady Evelyn, again. I was beginning to think you'd turned to dust - or scandal."
"Scandal keeps me young, darling," she tilted her head. "You should try it - might make you less tedious in bed."
"You..."
The Shadow Emissary then stepped forward before the provocation escalated. It was a tall, faceless figure woven of smoke and night. The air trembled as its voice rippled through the chamber, echoing in layers.
"Only the living may claim dominion," it intoned. "Only breath may hold land. Therefore, the claimant shall undergo the Three Trials of Life - Blood, Flame, and Reflection. Let the realm decide if she belongs among the living... or the dead."
"So it shall be." Lady Evelyn conceded, folding her arms as the First Trial began.
The First Trial: Reflection
Attendants wheeled forth a towering Mirror of Moon-Glass. Its hungry surface rippled like mercury. As I stepped before it, the chamber fell silent.
At first, my reflection wavered - pale, wary, and trembling like something half-alive. Then, before my eyes, it twisted. The image's pupils hollowed into pits of nothingness, the mouth stretching open in a soundless scream. Shadows spilled across the surface like ink bleeding through silk, crawling beneath the glass until the mirror itself seemed to rot.
"She is empty!" one of Selena Moondrake's envoys cried, his voice sharp enough to slice through the hush.
The darkness pressed harder, clawing to escape. It wanted me; it wanted the breath I had stolen back from death itself. My chest tightened, as cold fingers scraped through my mind, dragging me toward that same endless void that had once devoured my heartbeat.
"Not again."
I reached inward - past the terror, past the pull of death - searching for the voice that had always anchored me.
It was Lumira's grandmother's voice, echoing in my bones: "Don't give in, Mira!"
And beneath it all, my fangirl spark, the refusal to surrender my favorite's fate, burned brighter than the sun.
A flash of silver ripped through the glass. Light flooded my reflection's eyes, burning the darkness to cinders. The twisted image stilled - then straightened, whole and alive once more. The mirror shimmered with power.
"She endures," murmured Lady Elaris Thornveil.
A slow, knowing smirk tugged at Lady Evelyn Duskbane's crimson lips. "Of course she does. She's a Duskbane."
The Second Trial: Flame
Moments later, a brazier was carried to the center of the hall - a vessel of red fire, coiling and writhing like something struggling to live. The flames hissed when they saw me.
"The Fire tests truth," said Nymera of the Veil.
I inhaled, steadying myself, then plunged my arm into the blaze.
Pain ripped through my body - not the pain of flesh, but of soul. The fire didn't just burn my skin; it reached for my memories, my regrets, and my lies. The scent of charred blood soon filled the chamber.
"She'll break." Selena Moondrake leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with cruel fascination.
But I didn't break, because I remembered the inscription etched into Lady Evelyn's ring and the original Lumira's moto, according to the novel: "What is forged in fire does not fear it."
My body trembled, but my will held. The flames shifted, as if recognizing something ancient in my defiance. The red flames turned white, then turned to silver, and the silver bled into deep, impossible blue. The fire curled around my arm like a serpent, wrapping it in light that pulsed with life.
When I withdrew my hand, my skin was unscathed. It glowed faintly, veins shimmering with the same blue as the fire that had tried to consume me, causing gasps to fill the hall.
"She is marked by Luck," Kaelen Ironfang growled.
"She is marked by blood, not luck." Lady Evelyn lifted her chin hauntingly. "Stop making things up."
The Third Trial: Blood
The Shadow Emissary stepped forward, his face veiled in smoke. From his cloak, he drew a blade forged of pure darkness - a weapon that seemed to drink the light around it.
Without hesitation, he sliced my palm. I didn't flinch, not even when my blood began to fall.
Each drop hit the sacred basin below with the sound of thunder made small. The water glowed silver where my blood touched it, rippling outward like moonlight on a restless sea.
Then the light faltered, as dark tendrils began to coil beneath the surface - alive, hungry, and whispering in tongues that had not been spoken since the first death. The basin trembled, caught between life and decay.
"Fascinating..." Morthos Gravemind leaned forward. "Her essence dances on the knife's edge between realms. Death has claimed her once, yet she refuses to stay claimed."
Nymera's veil fluttered like a dying star.
"She is alive," she said softly, "but death still breathes through her veins. The price of that defiance will follow her forever."
I lifted my gaze to the Oracle. My eyes burned with something fierce, something unholy.
"Then let it follow. I'm done running."
Lady Evelyn's expression softened, as she stood up like a storm given flesh, nervously clutching Seraphina's arm as the final verdict was about to be voted on.
Lord Valerius then rose from his throne.
"Council of Ten," he said, voice smooth as spilled blood. "Cast your seals."
The air thickened with power as, one by one, the sigils ignited.
Selena Moondrake's seal flared silver. "Denied."
Kaelen Ironfang's burned crimson. "Denied."
Cassiel's blazed gold. "Denied."
I had three denials... I need at least five approvals to win.
Asmodan Veythar's pulsed black as night. "Approved."
Elaris Thornveil's shimmered emerald. "Approved."
Morthos Gravemind's flickered bone-white. "Approved."
Aeris Stormrend's thundered with blue lightning. "Approved."
Tharion Embervault's glowed molten gold. "Approved."
Nymera's veil rippled. "Approved."
I got six approvals... The game was won.
Nine voices had spoken, and all eyes turned to the last. Lord Valerius smiled faintly - the kind of smile wolves give before they bite.
"The Council finds your claim dangerous," he said, lifting his hand, "but this realm was not built by cowards."
His crimson seal ignited in the air, bleeding across the marble walls.
"By decree of the Decemvirate," he declared, "dominion over the Wastelands of Nethras is hereby restored to House Duskbane."
The chamber exploded into chaos. Senators shouted, magic cracked through the air, and the floor shuddered beneath the weight of outrage and awe.
Selena's composure fractured, Kaelen's snarl shook the chandeliers, and Asmodan only laughed lowly, delighted by the chaos.
Valerius's gaze found me once more. "Congratulations, Lady Duskbane," he said. "You've just outplayed an empire."
I bowed my head, my voice steady despite the storm rising around me.
"Then let the empire beware," I said. "The White Witch will rebuild what weremen destroyed."
The great doors of the chamber swung open. Outside, thunder rolled like applause across the heavens.
And far beyond the capital, the black sands of the Wastelands stirred. The cursed land whispered my name, rising from its slumber. The Witch had survived the Trials of Life, but something ancient had survived with her.