Rain slicked the palace rooftops by morning, turning stone into mirrors and banners into colorless rags. The world looked like it had been washed clean.
Elara walked right through it.
No umbrella. No cloak. No hesitation.
Her hair clung to her shoulders. Her dress grew heavy with water. But every raindrop that touched her hissed and vanished—steam rising in soft coils around her, like a veil made of breath.
From the eastern balcony, M stepped into her path, his boots wet, his cloak soaked.
"You're becoming a rumor," he said, falling in beside her with ease. "Some say you're not even human. Others think the stone carved you from itself."
"And what do you say?"
"I say you haven't even begun to burn."
Down in the city, the rain couldn't cool the firestorm brewing in the streets.
The news of the Heir Trial. Of the Prince of Eldoria's arrival. Of the Flamebearer who walked through fire and made it bow. It spread like a fever.
Market stalls whispered it.
Tavern halls shouted it.
Even the nobles, in their walled gardens and jeweled parlors, spoke of Elara with awe, envy or dread.
And from that whirlwind of attention came one question that no one could ignore:
Would the stone choose again?
In the Temple of Embers, where fire burned without fuel and time felt like it slowed to a hush, whispers gathered like smoke.
The High Priests met beneath the vaulted obsidian dome.
"The flame has never chosen twice," muttered Elder Rhal, his eyes like soot.
"It has never had reason to," said Elder Yema. "But what if the fire has more to say?"
"It's not protocol."
"It's prophecy," she countered. "And prophecy doesn't ask permission."
And somewhere, in the upper tiers of the temple, someone wrote a name in ink that glowed faintly gold when held to the light.
Elara.
Back in the palace, Kael found her again not in the gardens, not in the training courts.
But in the old library.
The only room in the palace that seemed untouched by royal decorum. Where the smell of parchment outweighed perfume, and the chandeliers swung slightly, even with no breeze.
She sat on the floor beneath a tall window, scrolls spread around her like wings.
Kael leaned against the doorway. "I thought you preferred storms."
"I prefer quiet," she said, eyes still scanning the scroll. "And books don't ask questions they already know the answers to."
He smiled. "Still speaking in riddles."
"Still listening like you expect to solve me."
He stepped closer. "Do you think the fire will choose again?"
Elara rolled the scroll and tied the ribbon without looking up. "It already did. Everyone else is just catching up."
"You say things like you're from a different century."
"Maybe I am."
Kael knelt beside her, lowering his voice. "You could walk out of here. Come to Eldoria. The priests wouldn't own you. The crown wouldn't control you."
She finally looked at him.
"I don't want to leave. I want to be seen where I was supposed to be invisible."
And in that moment, something passed between them.
Not flirtation. Not rivalry.
Recognition.
That evening, the entire court was summoned to a feast.
But not for Kael.
Not for Elara.
For the Second Choosing Ceremony.
The High Priests had spoken. The fire, they claimed, had more to reveal. And a new flame-bearer, perhaps more "worthy" would be selected.
The great banquet hall buzzed like a hive. Gold lanterns swung above the tables. A roast boar turned slowly on a spit, scented with cloves and wild honey. Nobles laughed too loudly. The wine flowed faster than usual.
At the head of the hall, the Empress sat, serene as a glacier.
Beside her, Isla glowed in garnet red, her gown dramatic enough to make heads turn and tongues wag. She looked like a flame, but one that needed attention to stay lit.
Elara wore black.
Simple. Regal. Undeniable.
She did not eat.
She did not drink.
And she said nothing.
Until her name was called.
"Elara of the Flame," the High Priest announced. "Will you stand as witness to the next Choosing?"
The hall fell into sharp silence.
Kael's eyes found hers across the room.
The Empress's smile held steady, but her grip on her goblet tightened.
Even Isla paused mid-sip.
Elara rose.
Her chair scraped back slowly, each inch loud in the hush.
She looked at the priest, her voice unwavering.
"I will stand."
A pause.
"But I will not kneel."
Gasps broke through the silence like cracks in glass.
A few nobles applauded. Cautiously. Others looked to the Empress for guidance.
Kael smiled into his goblet.
Isla glared like a flame in danger of being snuffed out.
But Elara?
She stood taller.
Because she wasn't just the Flamebearer now.
She was the fire they couldn't contain.