The first bell tolled at dusk.
Its chime echoed across the stone battlements of Emberhall, deep and resonant, like the heartbeat of the realm itself. As it rang, the great amphitheater known as the Crucible lit with magic—veins of molten light threading the floor, flickering up the obsidian pillars, and casting wavering gold shadows over thousands of watching eyes.
Seris stood in the center of the ring.
No weapons.
No armor.
Just a sleeveless flameweave robe, crimson and gold, the sigil of Solvyris on her chest and her heartbeat pounding loud enough to drown out everything else.
Around her stood the full Ember Council. Nobles. Generals. Inquisitors. And at their apex, seated on her throne of glassed flame, was Queen Alaryss.
Above them, stormclouds gathered—not natural ones. Not skyborn. These clouds pulsed with mirrored energy, streaked with violet lightning that hissed when it struck the dome of the Crucible's wards.
Mirror magic watches, Seris thought. Even now.
She kept her head high.
The trial had begun.
---
A voice called out.
"Seris, daughter of flame, scion of Solvyris, heir to the Ember Throne—do you submit yourself to the Trial of Truth?"
"I do," she answered.
Lady Iness stepped forward first, her voice cutting like a blade. "Do you deny touching the Mirror Gate?"
"No," Seris said. "I touched it. I felt it call."
"And you responded?"
"I did. Because it was calling to me."
Whispers rose, but she didn't stop.
"I saw what might come. A world twisted by shadow. A version of myself who wore the Crown of Cinders not as queen—but as tyrant. I will not let that future take root."
Lord Thalos was next, gleeful. "And what of your skyborn companion? Do you deny your bond with him?"
A pause.
Seris looked to where Kaelen stood, flanked by guards, wrists chained with silver runes. Their eyes locked. He gave the barest nod.
"I don't deny it," Seris said, clear and strong. "I claim it. He has stood beside me in battle, in blood, and in fire. He has risked his life to protect this realm, even when it scorned him."
Murmurs turned to shouts. Scandal. Treason. Inter-realm fraternization.
But Seris stepped forward.
"You demand that I answer for the fire inside me. For the storm I dared to walk beside. But I ask you this: What ruler have you ever known who faced the breach and returned whole? What heir have you seen walk through the Mirror Realm and resist its promise of power?"
No one answered.
So she kept going.
"The Crown of Cinders is waking. But it isn't looking for someone to burn. It's looking for someone to endure. If you ask whether I'm afraid of the fire… the answer is yes. But I would rather burn for this realm than let it fall to darkness."
And with that, the floor beneath her ignited.
A ring of white-hot flame encircled her.
Trial by fire—literally.
The oldest rite of flameborn royalty.
If she was lying, the flames would consume her. If her soul was fractured or her purpose impure, the fire would sense it. And devour her.
She closed her eyes.
And walked forward.
---
The pain came instantly.
Not physical—but soul-deep. The flames seared through memory and magic, through every moment she had faltered, every time she had doubted. She saw herself on the battlements as a girl, watching her mother's coronation. She saw herself holding her brother's hand as his flame faded. She saw the vision—of the tyrant she might become.
But then—
Kaelen's hand in hers.
Arin's oath of loyalty.
The girl she'd saved from the mirror rift.
And in that moment, the fire stopped burning her.
It wrapped around her like a cloak.
It bowed.
Gasps filled the Crucible.
Seris opened her eyes.
The flames had formed wings behind her—pure fire, shaped by will.
And somewhere in the audience, Kaelen whispered in awe, "She's not just surviving it. She's commanding it."
Queen Alaryss stood.
The flames vanished, but the silence thundered louder than fire.
At last, Alaryss spoke.
"Seris, daughter of Solvyris, flamewalker and sovereign-born—you have passed the trial. The fire does not judge you. It kneels."
The crowd erupted—but it was not just applause. It was fear. Wonder. Realization.
And in the shadows high above, the figure in silver flame turned away, fury twisting their features.
> "Then she must fall before she wears the crown."