Elara's POV
The whip cracked across my back for the seventh time.
I stopped counting after that.
"Tell us again," the interrogator purred, circling me like a vulture. "How did you make the dragon's chains crack?"
"I didn't." My voice was hoarse from screaming. "I told you—I just touched his wound. I didn't do anything special."
Another crack. Another line of fire across my shoulders.
"Liar." The interrogator leaned close enough that I could smell wine on his breath. "We have three magister witnesses who saw your hands glowing with silver light. Ancient light. Forbidden light." His fingers grabbed my chin roughly. "You're a Lifeweaver, aren't you? Admit it."
I should have said yes. Drakarion told me to weaponize their fear. Make them panic.
But my body was broken. My mind was foggy with pain. And some stubborn part of me refused to give them what they wanted.
"I'm just a healer," I whispered. "A weak, worthless healer. You said so yourselves."
The interrogator's smile was cruel. "Then you won't mind if we test that."
He snapped his fingers. Two guards dragged in a wooden chair with metal restraints. Burned into the wood were dozens of scorch marks—evidence of previous victims.
My heart stopped. "What is that?"
"The Truth Chair." The interrogator ran his hand lovingly over the blackened armrests. "It channels pain directly into your nervous system. Most people break after five minutes. The record holder lasted twenty before his mind shattered completely." He gestured to the guards. "Strap her in."
"No—wait—please—"
But they were already moving. Strong hands forced me into the chair. Metal cuffs clicked around my wrists and ankles. The interrogator placed his palm on the chair's headrest, and dark magic flowed into the wood.
Then the pain started.
It felt like my blood was boiling. Like my bones were splintering. Like every nerve in my body was being set on fire simultaneously. I screamed until my throat was raw, until I couldn't make sound anymore, until there was nothing left but agony and the desperate wish for death.
"Stop," someone said. A woman's voice, cold and familiar. "That's enough."
The pain cut off instantly. I sagged in the chair, gasping and sobbing.
Through blurred vision, I saw her. Cassia. My stepsister stood in the interrogation room doorway looking perfect and untouchable in a blue dress that probably cost more than I'd earned in my entire life.
"Leave us," she commanded. The interrogator and guards bowed and filed out.
We were alone.
Cassia walked closer, studying me like I was an interesting insect. "You look terrible, sister. I almost feel bad for you."
"Almost?" I coughed up blood.
"Well, you did bring this on yourself." She perched on the edge of a table, swinging her legs like a child. "If you'd just died quietly in that prison, none of this would be necessary. But no—you had to survive. You had to make the magisters suspicious." Her eyes narrowed. "What are you, Elara? What are you really?"
"Wouldn't you like to know." The words escaped before I could stop them.
Cassia's hand moved faster than I could track. She slapped me so hard my head snapped sideways.
"Don't get clever with me." Her pleasant mask slipped, showing the vicious creature underneath. "I've worked too hard to get where I am. Too hard to let you ruin everything by becoming mysteriously important." She grabbed my hair, yanking my head back. "So here's what's going to happen. Tomorrow at your trial, you're going to confess to everything. Theft. Assault. Attempted murder. And then you're going to beg for a quick execution."
"And if I don't?"
"Then I'll make sure your death takes days instead of minutes." She smiled sweetly. "I'll have them burn you alive in the Capital Square. Slow. Painful. With thousands watching. Is that what you want?"
What I wanted was to wrap my hands around her throat and squeeze until that smile disappeared forever. But I couldn't move. Could barely breathe.
"Why?" I asked hoarsely. "Why do you hate me so much? What did I ever do to you?"
For a moment—just a moment—something raw flashed across Cassia's face. Something almost like pain.
"You existed," she whispered. "You were Father's real daughter. The one who mattered. Even with your weak magic, even being useless, you were still his blood. And I was just the stepdaughter. The replacement." Her grip on my hair tightened. "Do you know what it's like? Being second-best to someone who doesn't even try? Who's naturally good and kind and gentle while I have to fight and claw and scheme for every scrap of attention?"
I stared at her, seeing her clearly for the first time. "You're jealous. After everything you've done to me—after stealing my fiancé, ruining my life, sentencing me to death—you're jealous?"
"I'm not—" She stopped. Released my hair. Stepped back. "It doesn't matter now. Tomorrow you die, and I finally get to be the only daughter. The only one who matters."
She turned toward the door.
"Cassia, wait."
She paused but didn't look back.
"I forgive you," I said quietly.
Now she did turn around. Her face was a mask of confusion. "What?"
"I forgive you." The words felt strange on my tongue, but I meant them. "For everything. The betrayal. The lies. All of it. Because I understand now—you're just as trapped as I am. Just in a different kind of prison."
Cassia's eyes went wide. Then narrow. Then filled with something that looked suspiciously like tears before she blinked them away.
"Don't," she hissed. "Don't you dare pity me. Don't you dare act like you're better—"
"I'm not better." I met her gaze steadily. "I'm just tired of hating. It doesn't help anything. It doesn't change anything. And I won't let you turn me into someone as miserable as you are."
For a long moment, we just looked at each other. Two sisters who'd never really been sisters at all.
Then Cassia laughed—sharp and brittle. "You really are stupid, aren't you? Even now, even here, you think kindness matters. You think forgiveness changes things." She headed for the door again. "Enjoy your last night alive, Elara. I hope your precious goodness keeps you warm."
The door slammed behind her.
I sat alone in the interrogation room, still strapped to the Truth Chair, body screaming with pain.
But something had changed inside me.
Drakarion was right. Fear did make people stupid. And Cassia was terrified—terrified that I might actually be something important. Something that could threaten her carefully built life.
Which meant I had power. Even here. Even now.
I just had to figure out how to use it.
Three hours later...
The guards came back to drag me to a holding cell. My legs wouldn't support me, so they just let me collapse on the cold stone floor.
"Trial's at noon tomorrow," one guard said. "Try to look presentable. The whole capital will be watching."
They left me in darkness.
I lay there, drifting in and out of consciousness, thinking about dragons and chains and silver light. Thinking about Drakarion's words: Come back to me.
But I wasn't going back. Tomorrow I would die in front of thousands of people, and the dragon would remain chained forever.
Unless...
I closed my eyes and reached deep inside myself, searching for that silver light I'd felt when I touched Drakarion's wound. That spark of something ancient and forbidden.
Please, I thought desperately. If you're really there—if I really am a Lifeweaver—show me. Give me something. Anything.
Nothing happened.
I tried again. And again. Pushing past the pain, past the exhaustion, past the fear.
Still nothing.
Tears leaked from my closed eyes. "I'm sorry, Drakarion. I'm not strong enough. I'm not—"
Then I felt it.
The faintest pulse of warmth in my chest. Right over my heart. Right where the bond mark had appeared when I'd cracked his chains.
My eyes flew open.
The mark was glowing. Barely visible, just a faint silver shimmer under my torn dress. But it was there. Pulsing in rhythm with my heartbeat.
And through it—impossibly, wonderfully—I felt him.
Drakarion. His presence. His consciousness. Distant but unmistakable.
Elara? His voice echoed in my mind, rough with disbelief. How are you doing this?
I don't know, I thought back. I'm just—I needed you. And suddenly you were there.
Where are you? What have they done to you? His mental voice vibrated with barely controlled rage. I can feel your pain through the bond. I can feel—gods, what did they do?
It doesn't matter. I'm okay. I just— I hesitated. Tomorrow I die. At the trial. They're going to execute me.
Silence. Then: No.
I don't have a choice.
There's always a choice. His presence in my mind grew stronger, more solid. Listen to me carefully, little Lifeweaver. The bond between us—it's not just emotional. It's magical. Physical. Your life force sustains my chains, but my power flows into you too. Do you understand what that means?
No.
It means you're not alone. You have a dragon's strength inside you. Sleeping. Waiting. You just have to wake it up.
How?
Tomorrow, when they try to kill you— His mental voice dropped to something fierce and protective. —don't fight it. Don't run from the pain. Embrace it. Let it fuel you. And when you've taken everything they can throw at you, when they think you're broken—
What?
Burn.
The connection snapped. The glowing mark faded. And I was alone again in the darkness.
But I wasn't afraid anymore.
Tomorrow, the whole capital would gather to watch the weak healer die.
They had no idea what was coming.
The next morning...
They dragged me from my cell and threw me into a prison carriage. Through the barred windows, I could see crowds already gathering in Capital Square. Thousands of people, all come to watch justice be served.
The carriage stopped. Guards hauled me out.
And that's when I saw him.
Theron stood on the execution platform, looking proud and noble in his Dragon Corps uniform. Beside him was my father, stone-faced and distant. The magistrate who'd sentenced me. The judge who'd condemned me.
And in the front row of the crowd, wearing a white dress like she was attending a wedding: Cassia.
They led me to the center of the platform. Made me kneel. Read my crimes to the cheering masses.
"Elara Veylin, for crimes of theft, assault, and conspiracy to murder, you are hereby sentenced to death by—"
"Wait," I said.
The magistrate paused, annoyed. "What?"
I lifted my head and looked directly at Cassia. At Theron. At Father. At all of them.
And I smiled.
"I have a confession to make," I said loudly enough for the crowd to hear. "A confession about what I really am."
Cassia's face went pale.
"I am a Lifeweaver," I announced. "Bearer of forbidden magic. And I have bonded with the Last Flame."
The crowd erupted in chaos.
The magistrate stumbled backward. "Impossible—Lifeweavers are extinct—"
"Clearly not." I stood up despite the guards trying to force me down. "And here's the thing about Lifeweavers—we don't die easy."
My chest began to glow. The bond mark blazing like a star.
And somewhere deep beneath the city, in a volcanic prison, Drakarion threw back his head and roared.