The great hall of the Dragon Courts was a cathedral of fire. Pillars carved from volcanic stone rose like the claws of ancient beasts, each one etched with glowing runes. The ceiling was lost in shadow, yet the roar of wings echoed above, hinting at unseen dragons circling in the smoke.
At the center sat the Circle of Thrones.
Ten vast seats, each carved from obsidian and crowned with fire, curved around a dais of black glass. Upon them sat the Dragon Lords—ancient beings in humanoid guise, yet each one radiating such power that Aric's instincts screamed to kneel or be crushed.
At their head sat a man so immense in presence that Aric's lungs strained just looking at him. His eyes burned with eternal gold, his skin shimmered with scales that flickered like embers, and his wings—folded neatly behind him—looked as though they could blot out the world.
This was Valeryn, the Dragon King. Serenya's father.
His gaze settled on his daughter, sharp as a blade and heavy as stone. "Serenya," he said, his voice like an eruption, commanding silence from the entire hall. "You return to us after years in exile. And you dare to bring a mortal into our sacred Court?"
The whispers rose again, sharper this time, biting like teeth.
Serenya knelt smoothly, though the edge in her eyes betrayed her refusal to be cowed. "I return because the world beyond burns with unrest. The bond I share with him is no accident—it was forged by the Trial itself. Ignore him, and you ignore the will of the flames."
The Dragon Lords muttered among themselves. Some sneered, others leaned forward in interest.
Aric shifted uncomfortably, wishing for the weight of his sword. He could fight soldiers, beasts, even dragons—but words? Courts? This was a battlefield he'd never trained for.
Valeryn's gaze finally slid to Aric, piercing through him like fire through glass. "Step forward, mortal."
Every eye in the hall turned toward him.
Aric swallowed, forcing his boots to move. The floor seemed to burn with every step, though it left no mark on his skin. When he reached the center of the dais, he raised his head and met the Dragon King's gaze head-on.
"Name yourself."
"Aric," he said simply, his voice steady despite the storm in his chest. "Mercenary. Dragon-bonded… apparently."
A ripple of laughter moved through the hall, though it was sharp, cruel.
Valeryn's expression didn't change. "Do you believe yourself worthy to stand here? Among gods of flame?"
Aric clenched his jaw. "I don't know about worthy. But I've fought your Trials, and I'm still standing. If that offends you, take it up with your fire. Not me."
The laughter stopped. Silence pressed down like a weight.
For a long moment, Valeryn stared, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a thin smile crept across his lips.
"Very well," he rumbled. "Let us see if fire truly favors you."
The Dragon King raised his hand. A column of flame erupted in the center of the hall, shaping itself into a circle of molten runes.
"The mortal shall face a Trial of Worth. Survive, and the Court shall hear him. Fail…" His eyes burned hotter. "…and he shall be ash."
Serenya's fingers curled into fists at her side.
Aric took a deep breath, stepping into the circle as the flames coiled higher. His heart thundered, but his smirk returned.
"Figures," he muttered. "Can't ever just talk it out."
The Trial of Worth had begun.