The trial room stayed quiet long after the fire disappeared.
Lira stood by herself, breathing hard, sweat on her skin, and the cracked pendant around her neck still warm. Her vision blurred—not because she was tired, but because everything was too still. It felt like the moment after a loud shout, when everything goes silent. The magic in the room was gone, but the weight it left behind clung to her like smoke. Her body felt heavier than it had before, as if the fire had burned something out of her—or perhaps something into her.
Kael stepped toward her slowly, like he thought the ground might fall apart beneath their feet. "You shouldn't be standing," he said. His voice was soft, but serious, laced with concern that he couldn't quite hide.
Lira looked up at him and gave a small, crooked smile. "And yet, here I am." Her voice was hoarse. Still, she stood, trembling but proud.
Arion stood nearby, arms crossed, his robes slightly scorched from the heat that had surged during her trial. His expression was thoughtful and tense. There was always something measured about the way he looked at her, like he was calculating her place in a great pattern she didn't yet understand. But now, Lira thought she saw a flicker of something else—maybe respect. Or fear.
"Rest," he told her, stepping forward. "That was only the first flame. The next one won't be as kind."
Lira tried to speak, but everything tilted around her. The golden circle beneath her faded into the floor like dying embers. Kael caught her just before she collapsed, his arms firm, steady, and warm.
"Let's get you out of here," he said quietly, almost like a promise.
They brought her to a quiet room deep inside the Ember Fortress. The air was warmer here, still touched by the breath of the old fire that lingered in its walls. The room was carved from black stone and smooth obsidian glass. There were no torches—only floating lights that looked like tiny stars drifting above. They glowed with soft golden light and swayed gently, like they breathed.
The walls were inscribed with ancient runes—flame-tongue that flickered faintly when she entered. As she passed them, a few pulsed brighter, as though they remembered her presence from another life. Magic hummed in the walls, low and quiet like a sleeping beast.
She sank down on a bed made of soft furs and woven stone-silk. Her body ached in places she couldn't name. Her bones felt hollow, filled with fire and ash. Kael sat nearby on a stone bench. He had taken off his armor and now wore dark robes marked with protective runes. His sword leaned against the wall, always close.
For a while, they sat in silence. It wasn't peaceful. It was waiting.
Then Kael spoke. "You saw him."
Lira didn't answer.
"You saw Eris."
She turned her head slowly, the pendant around her neck catching a glint of light. "I don't remember him. But... my heart does."
Kael's jaw tightened. His hands clenched briefly. "You chose him once."
"I don't know what that means."
"It means he'll want you to choose again."
She met his eyes. "Would that hurt you?"
He didn't even hesitate. "Yes."
The silence grew heavier. Kael's gaze didn't break, but it was like he was bracing himself for a storm. Finally, he stood, giving her a last look that said too much—and nothing at all. Then he left the room without another word.
That night, something changed.
Lira drifted in and out of restless sleep, her body sore from the trial and her mind filled with broken pieces of memory. Images from earlier—visions, fire, the voice of the god—spun around her like smoke. She couldn't hold onto them, but she couldn't escape them either.
Then the room dimmed. Not because the floating lights faded, but because something else entered. A presence stepped between her and the light, casting long, strange shadows.
She opened her eyes.
Eris stood at the foot of her bed.
Not a dream. Not a flicker of illusion. He was real. Tall, still, wrapped in silver-threaded black, like moonlight tangled with midnight. His cloak moved as though stirred by invisible wind. He smelled of snow and burning cedar, like mountains and ancient rituals.
"You always burned so beautifully," he said, his voice low and full of something she couldn't name.
Lira sat up quickly, her pulse racing. The pendant sparked against her chest.
"You—how are you here?" she demanded.
"The gods allowed it," he replied with a soft shrug. "You've drawn attention. And the gods hate surprises. You, Flameborn, are the biggest surprise they've had in centuries."
She narrowed her eyes. "Why do I only remember pieces of you?"
"Because memory lies," he said. "And because loving me was never safe."
He took a step forward. The shadows followed him. He moved with the kind of grace that came from someone who had walked through battles and ballrooms alike. He looked like he belonged in this room, in this moment—as if time had been waiting for him.
"You remember what it felt like to hold my hand," he said gently. "But not why you let go."
"I didn't choose to forget."
"No," he agreed. "But you chose someone else. You burned the world for him. And now the flames are rising again. You'll have to choose again."
She stared at him, unsure whether the ache in her chest was fear or recognition. His eyes were like starlight and smoke—deep, sorrowful, impossible to look away from.
"I don't belong to either of you," she whispered.
He smiled, and it was soft and sad. "Not yet."
And then, with no sound, no shimmer, he vanished.
The room felt colder without him.
The pendant around her neck flared once with heat—then faded.
Lira lay back down, staring up at the orbs of light above her. They drifted slowly, like stars lost in the void. Her heartbeat was loud. Her breathing unsteady.
Two men. One from a life she didn't remember. One who had stayed through every death. And her—caught in the space between fate and choice.
Outside, the wind changed direction.
And deep within the fortress, behind walls no fire had touched in centuries, the second trial stirred in its cage of shadow.
This trial would not test her fire.
It would test what her fire had left behind.