The great hall was built of stone and shadow—cold walls soaring high above, stained glass windows fractured by time and war, each one telling the story of ancient bloodlines and sacred pacts. Elena stood in the center of the chamber, flanked by Mira on one side and two silent guards on the other. She'd traded her linen tunic for a fitted dark gown that Mira insisted was "appropriate for court judgment," though it felt more like a funeral robe.
Around her, the full council had gathered—thirty Lycans from every noble family in the realm, all seated in a half-circle of carved thrones. At the apex of the arc sat King Lucien, his expression impassive, his presence commanding even in stillness.
But Elena felt no safer beneath his gaze.
At the far end of the arc, Lord Damon rose. Tall, severe, and cloaked in deep crimson, his eyes scanned the chamber like a wolf assessing prey.
"We are gathered under the moon," he intoned, "to review the violation of old law. The Witchblood Decree. Section Three, Article Five—no bearer of witch heritage shall set foot in royal domain, nor influence the ruling house."
The chamber murmured as his words echoed. Elena tried not to flinch. Mira stood taller beside her.
"She didn't choose to come here," Mira said flatly. "She was pulled by the pendant—by magic we barely understand."
Damon's lip curled. "Intent is irrelevant. She exists. She bleeds magic. And now, she stands beside our king as if she were his equal."
Elena's fingers dug into the folds of her gown.
Lucien spoke at last. "Elena is no threat to this court. If anything, she is proof that Velaria's prophecy still lives."
"Velaria was a witch!" spat another noble, a woman with frost-blond hair and narrow eyes. "And she nearly doomed us all during the Nightfall War. Her magic poisoned our bloodlines—led us into centuries of chaos."
"She saved this realm," Lucien snapped. "And you dishonor her memory with every word you speak."
Damon stepped forward, holding up a scroll. "This was found beneath the archive vault. The original blood-binding oath. It confirms what we feared. The girl is a direct descendent of Velaria. Her magic is ancient—and unregulated."
The scroll was unfurled by two attendants. Murmurs spread again as the runes glowed faintly across the parchment.
Mira's voice was sharp. "You trespassed in the sacred archives. That alone is treason."
"I protected this court," Damon replied. "And I call now for a formal vote—to exile Elena of the future, Witchborn, from royal grounds under pain of death."
Gasps rippled through the court.
Elena couldn't move. Her mind swirled with panic, her throat tightening. Mira's hand found her arm, grounding her, but the dizziness was overwhelming.
Lucien stood.
The hall silenced.
"No vote will be cast until the accused has a voice," he said.
He turned to her, and Elena's stomach twisted. His eyes weren't pleading—but they weren't neutral, either. He was giving her the floor… and daring her to use it.
Elena stepped forward, heart pounding. Every eye turned to her.
"I didn't ask to come here," she said, voice shaking. "I don't know how I ended up in your world, or why I was chosen. But I'm not your enemy."
Damon scoffed.
"You don't understand your own power," he said. "That is what makes you dangerous."
"Maybe I don't," she admitted. "But I know what fear does to people. I've seen it tear worlds apart. I won't be the match that burns yours down."
Murmurs softened. Some eyes turned thoughtful. Others still burned with doubt.
She continued. "I can't change what's in my blood. But neither can any of you. You were born wolves. I was born something else. But maybe… that's the point. Maybe I'm here to remind you what you've forgotten."
Lucien's face was unreadable, but his jaw clenched in approval.
Damon's voice cut through again. "You claim peace, but you carry the power to undo this court. Power that's waking. Magic none of us understand."
Elena took a breath—and then did something reckless.
She raised her hand.
The pendant pulsed. The torches around the chamber flared, casting dancing shadows along the walls. A glowing circle of runes spiraled outward from her feet.
Several nobles stood in alarm.
Elena lowered her hand, breathing hard. The glow faded, but the silence remained.
"I'm not hiding what I am anymore," she said. "You can fear me. You can try to control me. Or you can work with me. But I'm done being treated like a threat just because I exist."
Mira looked at her with something that almost resembled pride.
Lucien stepped forward. "Enough. The tribunal is suspended. No vote will be cast tonight."
"But—" Damon started.
Lucien raised a hand.
"My word is final."
Damon's lips curled, but he bowed stiffly. "As you command… for now."
The court began to disperse. Elena felt her knees wobble, but Mira's arm slid around her waist.
"You held your ground," Mira whispered. "That's the first step."
Elena didn't answer. She felt lightheaded. Not just from adrenaline—but from the aftershock of the magic. It hadn't just reacted to her.
It had protected her.
And for the first time, she wondered if it had a will of its own.