The morning after the announcement hung heavy in the air, like smoke after a battlefield. Whispers followed Elara through the halls,some curious, some venomous. Yet all eyes turned when she passed. No longer invisible. No longer dismissed.
She was the girl who survived the fire.
Now, she would face another trial.
The Empress had summoned the court to the Grand Assembly. Nobles from every house crowded the chamber, their silks a kaleidoscope of tension. Isla sat at her mother's side, chin raised, eyes daring.
Elara stood alone.
Not beside the King. Not beneath any banner.
Just herself.
M lingered near the shadows, ever watchful, ever silent.
The Empress rose, silver robes sweeping the dais. "To lay unrest to rest, a challenge will decide the rightful heir. A test of lineage. Of strength. Of will."
She turned to Isla, then Elara. "The Heir Trial. As law demands."
Gasps stirred the room. Some with glee, others with horror.
Isla smiled. "I'm ready."
Elara said nothing.
"Do you accept, girl?" the Empress pressed.
The King stirred but said nothing.
Elara raised her chin. "Yes."
The Empress nodded. "Then let the old ways judge."
Later, in the training grounds cleared for ceremonial combat, Isla confronted her.
"Do you think the fire makes you special?" Isla sneered, tossing her braid. "It makes you a freak. They only cheer for you because they hate me."
Elara tightened the wraps on her wrists. "Then maybe stop giving them a reason."
Isla's eyes glittered. "You're nothing but a servant girl with borrowed magic. And when I win, they'll remember that."
Elara stepped forward, close enough that their noses nearly touched. "Then you'd better fight like someone who has something to prove."
From the shadows, Kael watched. His expression unreadable.
The Heir Trial was not meant to kill, but accidents happened. And in this court, nothing was ever just ceremony.
The following day, the court assembled in the Circle of Echoes, where blood had once crowned kings.
Elara stood in plain battle garb, a black tunic lined with crimson thread. Isla wore gold. Always the peacock.
M approached quietly, offering her the pendant.
"Leave it," Elara said.
M raised an eyebrow. "You're walking into fire without armor?"
"The fire is already inside me."
Trumpets flared.
The duel began.
Isla struck first, fast and furious, a blur of elegant rage. Elara dodged, letting her sister's fury spend itself. Every strike was aimed to shame. To draw blood. To break.
But Elara had been broken before. This was survival.
She countered with precision, not brute strength, but balance. She bent, rolled, caught Isla's wrist mid-swing and twisted.
Gasps echoed as Isla hit the ground.
But she rose. And screamed.
Flames burst from Isla's hands, wild and uncontrolled.
The crowd cried out.
"Enough!" the High Priest shouted.
But the fire surged.
Elara raised her own hands.
Not in defense.
In understanding.
Her fire answered, gentle, golden, steady.
It met Isla's blaze. And enveloped it.
Flames danced like wind-chimes, merging, taming, fading.
Isla collapsed.
Elara stood.
The circle was silent.
Then....
Kael clapped. Once. Twice.
Others followed.
The court erupted in cheers.
The Empress did not smile.
The King rose.
"The fire has spoken. The court has witnessed. Let none say she is not worthy."
Elara bowed.
Not to the throne.
To the fire.