To prove her worth to the Council, Elara had to undergo the Crimson Trial—a rite of passage designed to test will, bloodline, and bound magic.
The chamber was circular, its stone floor etched with concentric runes. Aldric stood outside the ring. "You must survive three illusions drawn from your fears," he warned. "The glyph will protect your body. The rest… is up to you."
The first illusion struck fast.
She stood in her childhood home, her father lying in a hospital bed—gasping, blaming her for his demise. "You sold your soul and lost ours with it," he croaked. Elara nearly collapsed, but the ring on her finger flared with silver light, and the vision shattered.
The second illusion twisted her office into flames. Nathan screamed for help as demonic shadows tore through the walls. She lunged toward him—but her feet wouldn't move. "You can't save him," the voice whispered.
But she screamed through the paralysis, breaking the spell.
The final illusion showed Aldric himself, bleeding, dying—betrayed by her hand. "You'll destroy me, Elara. And you'll love me for it."
Tears burned her eyes. "I won't."
The runes surged, and the illusions dissolved.
When she opened her eyes, the elders stood in silence. Then, one by one, they nodded.
"She lives," murmured the tattooed elder. "And the bond lives through her."