I always thought trials happened in courtrooms. Quiet places. Marble floors. Angry nobles with monocles.
Turns out, I was wrong.
This trial came with banners. Trumpets. A thousand noble eyes. And an arena floor that smelled faintly of blood and extremely of someone else's fear. Possibly mine.
"Stay close," Arwen murmured.
As if I had a choice. I was curled in her cloak, clinging to the folds near her collar like a fashionably terrified brooch.
We stood in the Arena of Threads — a place older than the empire itself. Once, it had been used for binding duels. Now, it hosted Trials of Bond, public contests to determine who could legally claim a soulbeast.
Correction: who could claim me.
"Let's get this over with," Arwen muttered.
The arena gates slammed shut behind us.
---
Across the stone floor, Lord Corval waited with the smuggest smile in the history of smugness.
"Princess," he said, inclining his head. "Lovely day for a Trial."
Arwen didn't blink. "Lovely day to lose."
I chirped supportively.
The Chancellor of Bonds floated into the arena atop a runed platform, robes fluttering like a moth trapped in bureaucracy. He raised his staff.
"By decree of the Binder's Assembly and with the Empress's blessing, this Trial of Soulbond Legitimacy begins!"
I squeaked, my spark flickering. Arwen's hand gently steadied me through her cloak.
The Chancellor continued, voice echoing. "Two bonders stand before us: Princess Arwen Nightveil, who holds the soulbeast unnamed, and Lord Corval Nightveil, who offers naming, registration, and service to the Empire."
Corval flourished a scroll. "I offer him protection. Identity. Purpose. A collar forged by the Registry itself."
He held up a silver collar etched with runes. It shimmered like a trap baited with nightmares.
Arwen didn't move. "He's not a tool. He's not yours."
The Chancellor nodded. "The Bond Circle shall decide."
Runes flared beneath our feet. The Bond Circle sprang to life, a web of gold and violet light that hummed with ancient magic.
I felt my spark tugged forward — not physically, but spiritually, like someone was reaching through my feathers and tugging on my very being.
"The soulbeast shall declare," the Chancellor intoned. "Let his spark choose."
I panicked.
---
Panic is hard to describe when you don't have proper lungs.
My spark jolted, flaring inside me like a storm trapped in a feathered teapot. The Bond Circle pulsed again — not gently. It wasn't asking anymore.
It was demanding.
Choose, it seemed to say. Submit, or burn.
Corval took a step forward, silver collar still gleaming. "Let the record show I offer stability," he said smoothly. "The Empire cannot allow a rogue spark to remain unclaimed."
Rogue?
I hissed.
Arwen's hand trembled slightly, the only sign she was as tense as I was. "You don't care about him," she said. "You care about what he is."
"A fallen spark," Corval replied. "Power unmoored. Dangerous. Do you want another Calamity?"
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
Calamity? Excuse me?
My feathers puffed. Arwen's eyes narrowed. "Do not twist prophecy to suit your ambition."
"He is unregistered," Corval snapped. "Legally unbound. The Assembly has a right to offer him naming—"
Arwen stepped forward. "He doesn't want your name."
"And how would you know?" Corval raised a hand. "He has yet to speak."
Magic surged around the circle.
Let your spark declare, it whispered.
I couldn't run. I couldn't hide. My spark rose up, glowing gold, caught between Arwen's steady presence and Corval's grasping runes.
Memories flickered — not real ones, but echoes. Chains. Fire. A name I didn't know screamed into silence.
I chirped desperately.
And then… I saw something.
In the runes, in the magic — a crack. A thread of control stitched into the circle. A rigged bond. Corval's magic wasn't pure — it was pulling me, manipulating the Trial.
Arwen saw it too.
"You cheated," she whispered.
Corval smiled. "I ensured fairness."
Her eyes burned.
My spark surged.
The Bond Circle shattered in a blast of golden light. Magic burst outward. Nobles screamed. The Chancellor dropped his staff.
I collapsed in Arwen's arms, exhausted but alive.
Corval staggered. "He—he rejected the circle!"
Arwen stood tall. "He rejected you."
Silence.
The Chancellor cleared his throat, voice shaken. "The bond… remains intact. Trial dismissed."
I breathed. Arwen didn't.
Because someone was clapping.
From the shadows.
---
The clapping echoed — slow, deliberate, and far too confident.
Everyone turned.
A figure stepped from the arena shadows, cloak grey as fog, hood drawn low. The air shifted — colder, heavier.
I recognized her.
The stranger from the Vault.
The one who'd given Arwen the key.
The Chancellor paled. "You…"
The stranger lowered her hood. Pale hair. Silver eyes.
"I invoke legacy claim," she said calmly.
Silence.
Corval stepped back. "That's not possible."
The stranger ignored him. Her gaze locked on me.
"I was his bonder," she said softly. "Once."
My spark trembled.
I didn't remember her. I didn't remember anything.
But my spark did.
It surged — not in fear, but confusion. Recognition.
I backed into Arwen's cloak, chirping wildly.
The Chancellor fumbled with his scroll. "This claim… it is unregistered. There is no record—"
"There was," the stranger said. "But it was erased."
Arwen stepped in front of me. "Convenient."
"I do not want to claim him," the stranger said. "I want to warn you."
She looked at me.
"He is remembering. Soon, that spark will awaken fully. And when it does, it will not be small."
---
That night, the palace didn't sleep.
Messages flew like birds. Rumors bloomed like weeds. Half the Empire now whispered about the villainess and her soulbeast who broke a Trial and ignited forbidden magic.
Arwen sat by the window, staring at nothing. Her tea had gone cold. I poked it, then her, then her tea again.
She didn't blink.
"They'll come again," she murmured.
I tilted my head.
"Corval failed," she said. "But they won't stop. The Assembly. The court. Even my mother."
She ran a hand through her hair, suddenly tired. "I was supposed to name you. That would've ended it."
I chirped. "No name."
She smiled — a flicker of warmth. "No. I promised."
A knock shattered the quiet.
Arwen stood, eyes sharp.
It was a scroll. From the Empress.
> "Come. Now. Alone."
We stared at each other.
Arwen folded the scroll. "You're coming too."
---
In the Empress's chamber, she said one thing:
"Run."
But we didn't.
We prepared.
Because I was remembering fire.