Chapter Seven: The Scorch Trials (Part I)
The Scorch Ruins sat in the heart of the Deadlands, where fire never died and ash never settled. Winds howled across the cracked black plains, carrying the scent of sulfur and something older—something that remembered gods.
Nyra stood at the edge of a jagged cliff, staring down at the crumbled stone bridge that led to the ruin. Molten rivers bubbled below, their glow lighting the underside of the blackened sky.
"This is where it happens?" she asked Kael.
He nodded. "The Scorch Trials are not just tests of power. They're trials of memory. Flame will show you who you are—and who you might become."
"And if I fail?"
"You'll burn," he said flatly. "But not like before. Not your body. Your mind. Your soul."
Nyra exhaled, heart pounding.
Estra stood behind her, flanked by two rebel scouts. "If she passes, she'll be the first Flameborn to complete the Scorch Trials since the Hollow Queen."
Kael's jaw tightened. "Let's hope that's where the similarity ends."
The path to the ruins was narrow and sharp, carved from ancient obsidian. As they walked, the Emberblade at Nyra's side grew warm, its glow pulsing with each step.
When they reached the entrance—a gaping maw of stone shaped like a dragon's skull—Nyra turned back.
"If I don't return—"
"You will," Kael interrupted.
She gave him a shaky smile, then stepped through the threshold.
The moment she crossed into the ruin, the world shifted.
She was no longer on solid ground but standing in a circular chamber surrounded by fire. The walls rippled like heat haze, and the air thrummed with ancient energy. Symbols etched into the stone floor lit one by one, spiraling toward the center where a pedestal of flame waited.
A voice echoed through the chamber—not loud, but everywhere.
"Flameborn. Prove yourself."
Nyra approached the pedestal. On it lay a bowl filled with silver dust.
"Three trials. Mind, Flame, Soul. Pass, and you awaken. Fail, and you are forgotten."
Before she could ask what that meant, the world exploded.
Trial One: Mind
She stood suddenly in Marn Hollow. But it was whole—unburned, unbroken. Her father's forge stood warm behind her, the smell of fresh bread from the bakery drifting through the air.
"Nyra."
She turned.
Her father stood in the doorway of the forge. Whole. Smiling.
"Come inside. You left the coals too hot again."
She stepped forward before realizing something was wrong.
The heat from her mark was gone.
She looked down. Her palm was bare. The spiral vanished.
This wasn't real.
Her father's smile faded.
"You'd rather chase ghosts than come home?"
"You're not him," she said.
"I raised you. I protected you. And now you'd burn everything we built—for a kingdom that forgot your name?"
She closed her eyes, and the forge flickered.
"I'm not burning for a crown," she whispered. "I'm burning so no one else has to lose what I did."
The vision shuddered.
The sky cracked.
And her father vanished in flame.
She landed back in the chamber, heart pounding.
The silver dust had changed—now red as ember.
"Mind. Passed."
Flames surged upward, forming a door.
She stepped through.
Trial Two: Flame
Now she stood in an arena of obsidian, ringed by flame. On the far end stood another woman—tall, armored in ashsteel, with eyes like wildfire.
"You are not ready," the woman said. Her voice was thunder and smoke. "You are a spark pretending to be a storm."
"Then light me up," Nyra said, drawing the Emberblade.
The woman charged.
Their blades clashed, fire against fire. The force of it knocked Nyra to the ground. The woman didn't stop—she moved like a tempest, her own blade alight with blue fire.
"You hesitate," she said, driving Nyra back. "You fear what you could become."
"I fear becoming her," Nyra spat. "The Hollow Queen."
"She was not born darkness. She became it when no one believed she was enough."
Nyra's fury rose. "Then I'll never be her."
She channeled everything—fear, pain, loss—into the Emberblade.
Flames burst from the edge of her weapon, burning brighter than ever.
With a roar, she struck.
The woman vanished in sparks.
Back in the chamber, the dust turned gold.
"Flame. Passed."
One trial remained.
Trial Three: Soul
Now the chamber was dark.
Not fire-dark. Not smoke-dark.
Memory-dark.
She stood in a great hall. The Phoenix Throne loomed before her. And on it—sat her.
Older. Cloaked in flame and iron. Her eyes were cold. Her crown cracked.
"What is this?" Nyra asked.
The future-Nyra stood. "The path you might take."
"This isn't who I want to be."
"It's who you'll become if you forget why you fight."
The future version stepped forward. "Tell me. When you burn Emberhold to the ground… when you awaken the dragon… when you bring the Regent to his knees… will you still remember the baker's laugh in Marn Hollow?"
Nyra's throat tightened.
"Will you still see your father's hands? Or just the flames?"
Nyra whispered, "I don't want to forget."
Her future self reached out. "Then choose now to stay human."
Nyra stepped forward—and embraced her.
The flame surged.
She awoke in the real world, gasping.
Kael was beside her instantly.
"You did it," he said, eyes wide. "Nyra, your eyes—they're glowing."
She stood slowly, stronger now.
"I passed."
From the ruins behind her, the ground rumbled.
Molten cracks spread outward—toward Emberhold.
Far beneath the capital, something ancient stirred.