The chamber fell into stunned silence as the Vault's glyph hung in the air—shimmering with a crown fractured, but reforming.
And then, as if on cue, Veyra lowered her scroll and spoke.
> "By rite of challenge—ancient and recognized—I call for the Ritual of Sovereignty."
The words struck like a hammer.
Gasps rippled through the nobles.
Camden, watching from the eastern balcony, nearly dropped the records in his hand.
"Gods help us," he whispered. "She's invoking the Trial of Flame and Bone."
---
The Ritual was older than the monarchy.
A contest not of blades—but of will. Of memory. Of what you carried, and what you broke to carry it.
Traditionally, it had only been used in civil wars—between true heirs of the bloodline.
Which meant…
The council recognized her.
And now, by law and legend, I had to accept.
Or forfeit all authority.
---
"I accept," I said.
Kael stepped beside me instantly. "You can't—"
"She would have challenged me whether I said yes or not," I replied. "This way, we choose the field."
Veyra smiled like a blade unsheathed.
> "We meet at dusk tomorrow. In the Vault Circle. Flame. Frost. Memory. And truth."
---
That night
The Vault Circle had not been used in centuries. It wasn't a stage. It wasn't a battlefield.
It was a reflection.
A sanctum built into the heart of the palace's underlayer—where the air shimmered with echoes of every vow ever broken beneath a crown.
I stood barefoot in its center.
Veyra stood across from me—no weapons. No armor. Only her flame—forged, unnatural.
Elyra and Kael watched from the outer ring, each holding relics of their lineage. Camden waited beyond the chamber walls with healers and scribes.
A priest of the old order spoke:
> "By the law of Sovereignty, you will endure three trials:
The Trial of Burden.
The Trial of Blood.
The Trial of Binding Flame."
"The one who endures with memory intact shall inherit dominion."
---
Trial One: Burden
We were pulled into memory. Not metaphor—magic.
We stood in my childhood bedroom.
But I was only watching. I was me—older, stronger—watching my younger self hide in a closet while my mother screamed at the servants.
The door rattled. The girl didn't cry. She just held her breath.
Then I heard Veyra's voice beside me.
> "This is where they decided you weren't fit to lead. Because you flinched."
I turned to her, eyes burning. "And this is where I learned to listen."
The memory warped—and we stood in her past now.
Not a home.
A cell.
She stood alone, facing a wall carved with Vault runes. Cold. Forgotten. Engineered.
> "I didn't flinch," she whispered. "I froze… and they thought that meant perfection."
We both walked out of the trial scarred—but standing.
The priest's voice echoed:
> "Burden… passed."
---
Trial Two: Blood
We stood over the same blade—an heir's dagger.
Two options:
Cut ourselves. Accept the line.
Cut the other. Claim it.
Veyra grabbed the knife.
I closed my eyes.
> "Do it."
Silence.
Then pain—not mine.
I opened my eyes.
Veyra was bleeding.
"I don't need to cut you," she said. "You've already bled more than I ever have."
The priest nodded once.
> "Blood… shared."
---
Trial Three: Binding Flame
The chamber darkened.
The flame between us blazed—shifting in color. Blue for truth. Red for rage. White for surrender.
We had to touch it.
Let it show our hearts.
I stepped in first.
The fire showed:
My guilt.
My ambition.
My refusal to let go.
My love for Kael.
My fear of Veyra becoming something better than me.
I wept. But I stood.
Then Veyra stepped in.
And her flame?
It flared black.
The fire rejected her.
She screamed.
Not from pain.
From disbelief.
> "I did everything they asked," she gasped. "I perfected their legacy. Why does it burn?!"
I whispered, "Because you don't carry it. You wield it like a sword. But it was never meant to cut. It was meant to hold."
The flame died.
Only we remained.
---
The priest stepped forward.
"By law of Sovereignty… and by the final judgment of the Binding Flame…"
He looked at us both.
> "Seraphina Vaylen Vale remains sovereign."
Veyra fell to her knees.
But I… stepped forward.
And offered her my hand.
"Stand with me," I said. "Not below me. Beside."
She hesitated.
Then took it.
---
Far across the mountains, however, the Hollow Regent watched from a ridge of black stone.
The second Vault now lay open behind him.
And in his hand…
A third glyph. One neither fire, frost, nor flame had yet seen.
> "The Third Heir does not ask."
"The Third Heir takes."
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