The Sacred Chamber of Trials pulsed with ancient heat.

  Volcanic stone arched high overhead, etched with sigils that shimmered in the restless torchlight. At the centre stood a raised dais of dragonbone and obsidian—waiting, judging, demanding. The Trials had begun.

  Serakha stood at the arena's edge, her obsidian-scale armour gleaming like polished midnight. Around her, heirs of noble houses whispered and shifted beneath the vigint gaze of Firecallers perched in the Tribunal Spire above.

  But Serakha didn't flinch. This was her proving ground. Her ascension.

  Yet something prickled her awareness—a presence. She scanned the line of contenders, recognizing each face until—

  A cloaked figure stood at the line's end.

  Motionless. Unknown. The same one from the courtyard whose eyes had met hers like twin unsheathed bdes.

  "Begin," commanded the High Firecaller, his voice reverberating like dragon thunder through the chamber.

  One by one, each heir stepped forward to perform the Ignition Rite—summoning their inner fme, born of bloodline and will. Fire roared, sputtered, danced, faltered. When Serakha's turn came, living fme erupted in the form of a great serpent, drawing murmurs of reverence.

  Then came the cloaked figure.

  The chamber hushed as they approached the centre. No name announced. No lineage procimed. Only silence.

  For one heartbeat—nothing.

  Then—

  Every torch fred bright, then extinguished.

  Darkness descended.

  And within that void, a second fire awakened. Not golden like the noble born. Not orange-red like the temple's sacred fmes.

  Blue.

  Cold.

  Ancient.

  Forbidden.

  It danced around the figure like a spectral attendant—controlled, beautiful, lethal.

  The tribunal stirred in visible disquiet. Serakha's fists clenched. She'd seen that fire in the tomes elders tried to burn. She knew its meaning.

  "She shouldn't be here," someone hissed from the shadows.

  But none dared intervene.

  The cloaked figure turned, locking eyes with Serakha once more.

  And smiled.

  Not mocking.

  Knowing.

  Serakha's jaw tightened. She stepped forward before the tribunal could speak.

  "You," she said sharply, voice echoing through the suddenly silent chamber. "Who are you?"

  The cloaked girl tilted her head, blue fme dancing zily along her shoulders like a pet woven from starlight. "Isn't this a trial? I thought names weren't required until proven worthy."

  Murmurs rippled across the arena. Serakha dismissed them.

  "You wield cursed fire," she accused. "That fme was banished from Drakhalia. No noble line—"

  "—Should be able to call it?" the girl finished softly, stepping closer. "And yet... here I stand."

  Serakha's hand curled tighter. "You're no noble. You don't belong in Heartspire."

  "I belong more than you know," the girl replied, lifting her hood at st.

  Collective gasps tore through the watching crowd.

  Horns. Curved and ridged like obsidian thorns.

  Eyes—slit-pupiled and burning with violet-blue fme.

  Not just dragonborn.

  Not just noble blood.

  Royal.

  But from no known house.

  "You..." Serakha's voice faltered. "You're supposed to be dead."

  The girl's smile hardened. "That's what they hoped."

  A deep, gravelly voice severed the mounting tension.

  "That is enough."

  The High Firecaller descended from his perch, robes trailing luminous ash as he approached the two.

  "You both have demonstrated power worthy of record. But this trial is not the pce for blood feuds. Not yet."

  He turned to the cloaked girl. "You will submit your name to the Tribunal by nightfall. Or you will be removed."

  The girl offered a shallow bow, never breaking eye contact with Serakha.

  "As you command, Firecaller. I'll make sure they spell it correctly."

  Serakha remained motionless as the tribunal dispersed, her fme still coiling around her like a vigint predator.

  The girl brushed past, shoulders touching for the briefest moment.

  A whisper followed, low and dangerous:

  "Careful, crown-bearer. Fmes can burn both ways."

  The antechamber of Heartspire's upper sanctum was lined with mirrored obsidian—a space where young nobles contempted victory or failure.

  Serakha paced.

  Her reflection trailed her, distorted by the curved gss, fmes dancing in her hair and eyes like living embodiments of her fury.

  She had prepared for every contingency.

  Every rival.

  Every trap.

  But not her.

  Not this girl with cursed fire and royal blood who should never have existed.

  "She shouldn't have been there," Serakha muttered aloud. "She shouldn't have been."

  A voice answered from the doorway. "And yet she was."

  Serakha turned. Veyn stood there—her cousin and closest advisor. Lean, calcuting, perpetually unruffled. His violet robes shimmered with protective glyphs, his expression unreadable.

  "You saw her," Serakha said.

  "I did," he nodded. "As did every noble house, every whispering courtier, every watching scribe. She'll feature in tomorrow's fire-songs and next moon's gossip."

  Serakha smmed her fist into the obsidian mirror. A crack spiderwebbed outward, reflecting her fme-smeared face in fractured shards.

  "I had one path. One clean path to the throne. And now..."

  "She's not your undoing," Veyn said carefully, stepping closer. "She's your test."

  Serakha ughed bitterly. "Is that what the spirits call it now? A test?"

  "She's powerful, yes. But also reckless. The Tribunal may fear her fme, but they won't trust it. She walks into the light without allies."

  Serakha stared at her fractured reflection, blood from her knuckles staining the cracked gss. "And if they do trust her?"

  Veyn tilted his head. "Then you make them remember why you were always meant to rule."

  Silence stretched between them.

  Then Serakha whispered, more to herself: "Why does it feel like I've seen her before? That fme... that voice... It's like it's chasing me through dreams I don't remember."

  Veyn's brows furrowed slightly. "You never spoke of such dreams before."

  "I didn't think they were real."

  She turned toward the chamber door, shoulders squared, voice steadier.

  "Summon my war-sisters. We begin preparation for the next Trial tonight. If the fire born wants to walk into my world uninvited..."

  Her eyes narrowed, fme kindling anew within them.

  "...then I'll show her how it truly feels to be unwelcome."