Chapter 19: The Auditor Arrives
The door to the Circle Hall burst open with a crack like thunder.
Wind howled through the ancient stone corridor, extinguishing torches in its path as a figure stepped inside, clad in robes so black they seemed to drink the light. The silence that followed was suffocating. The Enchanter's Council rose to their feet, expressions frozen somewhere between reverence and terror.
The Auditor had arrived.
"Council," the voice was neither male nor female, but a blend—clear, cold, and undeniably magical. "You summoned judgment. I have come to deliver it."
Elder Magister Valeron bowed stiffly. "Auditor, we thank you for honoring the summons. The case before us is… complicated."
"All are complicated. Truth does not yield to ease." The Auditor stepped forward. No feet touched the floor. Their body, cloaked in swirling shadows, gave no hint of identity. Their face was concealed behind a mask shaped like a silver hourglass.
"This case involves a lich who has defied containment," Valeron explained, eyes flickering with unease, "and an enchantress bound to him through... non-sanctioned magic."
"Love." The Auditor's voice cut through the room like glass. "A forbidden contract forged from emotion. Dangerous. Illogical. Disruptive."
The word sent a chill down every spine. The very concept of love, within the strict doctrines of magical law, was a kind of madness when tangled with the undead.
"And yet," Valeron dared to continue, "there is uncertainty. The girl is not guilty of dark magic. The bond is real, yes, but it was unintentional. Should she pay for it with her soul?"
The room fell silent.
After a long pause, the Auditor spoke again. "Judgment is best rendered through confrontation. I will see them."
Meanwhile: Maribel and Lucien
They didn't run anymore.
The time for running had ended the moment the stars turned red over the manor's tower. That was a sign—an omen from the astral plane that the Auditor was near. Lucien felt it first, a piercing tug in the magic that held him together. Then Maribel saw it too: the sky bleeding.
So they waited, side by side, standing atop the crumbling bridge where they had once kissed under moonlight. The same place Maribel had first realized that loving a lich meant risking everything.
"I thought I'd be more afraid," she said softly.
"I'm afraid enough for both of us," Lucien replied.
She looked at him, at the face she knew would never age, never truly live again. And yet, his soul—what remained of it—burned for her. She felt it in every word, every glance.
He reached into his cloak and pulled out something small and glimmering.
"The binding charm," Maribel whispered.
Lucien nodded. "We could destroy it now. Sever the bond ourselves. End this before the Auditor arrives."
Maribel stared at the charm. It pulsed faintly in his palm, like a heartbeat.
"But it would destroy us too," she said. "Maybe not our bodies, but the us we've become."
Lucien closed his hand around it. "Then we don't run. We face them."
A wind rose suddenly, twisting the trees around them, and then—without warning—the world went still.
The Auditor appeared at the edge of the bridge.
"You are the forbidden pair," they said, stepping forward.
Lucien stepped in front of Maribel. "And you are the enforcer of a world that never changes."
"You challenge my purpose."
"No," Maribel said, stepping beside him. "We challenge your certainty. You believe love can't exist between the living and the dead. But look at us. It does."
The Auditor raised a pale, gloved hand. "Then prove it."
The Trial of Echoes
The world around them melted away. The bridge, the stars, the wind—all gone. They now stood in a chamber of obsidian mirrors, reflections multiplying endlessly in every direction. The Auditor stood at the center.
"This trial is of the soul," the Auditor intoned. "Not of fact, but of truth. If your love endures the illusions, the Council will be forced to reconsider."
Lucien and Maribel exchanged glances. This was it.
The mirrors shimmered.
From one, Lucien saw a version of himself: monstrous, skeletal, laughing as he drained magic from the living.
"Is this what she truly loves?" the image mocked.
From another mirror, Maribel saw a scene of herself kneeling before the Council, betraying Lucien for a pardon.
"Would she really sacrifice eternity for you?" it asked.
The images kept coming—dozens of scenes where each betrayed the other. Nightmares drawn from doubt.
But they didn't look away.
Lucien turned to her. "None of that is real. I know what's in your heart."
"And I know what's left of yours," Maribel said, gripping his hand.
Together, they walked forward—straight through a mirror.
Glass exploded around them, but they were unharmed.
The illusions faded. The mirrors darkened. The Auditor stood alone now.
"Your love is improbable," they said. "But not false."
A pause.
Then, in the faintest echo of something like admiration: "The Council must adapt."
And they were gone.
Back in the Manor
Maribel collapsed onto the couch, laughing in exhaustion. "We did it. We actually did it."
Lucien sank beside her, expression stunned. "I thought I was going to combust in that mirror trial."
"You almost did," she teased. "Especially when it showed you in that outfit."
"I was wearing that tunic once!"
They laughed, the fear finally washing away.
But the world had changed now. They weren't criminals anymore. They were something else—something the magical world hadn't seen in centuries.
A new possibility.
Lucien reached over and gently laced his fingers with hers. "You know what this means?"
Maribel smiled. "We get to fall in love all over again. Without hiding."
He leaned in. "That sounds like a curse I'd happily suffer