The Empress called it tradition.
King Theron called it proof.
Lady Marellia, smiling behind her veil, called it necessary.
But as Elara stepped into the Arena of Ancients, bare feet pressing against sun-warmed stone, all she felt was the silence.
The vast ring of carved marble pulsed with old magic runes etched into the floor shimmered faintly beneath the midday blaze.
Above her, terraces spilled over with nobles draped in embroidered silks, foreign dignitaries fanning themselves with golden leaves, and guards with spears gleaming in the light.
They had gathered not to witness her triumph.
They'd come to watch her fail.
"Elara of the Stone," the High Priest's voice boomed, "you who were Chosen face the Trial of Flame, as those before you did.
Let the old fire decide your fate."
A hush followed.
Then laughter.
From above, Princess Isla leaned against her balcony rail, hair gleaming like polished gold, her voice carrying through the arena like a poisoned flute.
"Even beasts have standards.
Let's hope it has low ones."
The crowd chuckled.
Elara said nothing.
She met Isla's eyes and held the stare.
Isla looked away first.
At the edge of the royal dais, King Theron stood with arms folded, his face carved from marble.
"Let the Stone prove its worth," he murmured to his steward, though loud enough for others to hear. "Or burn her down."
Elara inhaled.
The air smelled of scorched earth and something older.
Deeper.
The ground beneath her shimmered.
The beast was coming.
The arena floor rippled like a heatwave.
Then it split.
From the crack rose smoke, then fire folding,
forming, twisting until a beast stepped forth.
Its body was living flame: golden-red with veins of molten light, eyes like twin suns.
It had no fixed shape, only the suggestion of a great lion, or dragon, or both.
Heat radiated from it in waves.
The fire beast.
Elara didn't move.
"Summon your power."
someone in the crowd yelled.
"Command it, girl!"
"She doesn't even have power," another scoffed.
"Just luck and scandal."
Guards shifted uneasily. One placed a hand on his hilt.
Elara took a single step forward.
The stone burned. Her skin prickled. But still, she moved.
No sword. No shield.No chant.
Only memory.
She remembered a voice in the dream
"Fire listens only when you stop trying to master it.
Speak to it, not at it."
Elara sat
. Cross-legged.
Palms open. Vulnerable.
Still.
The crowd gasped.
"Is she giving up?"
"She's praying."
"She's mad."
The fire beast circled her. Once. Twice.
Its flames kissed the ground around her feet,
the heat blistering but she didn't flinch.
Sweat dripped down her neck.
Her pulse thudded like a war drum in her ears.
Still, she did not speak.
She breathed.
The beast's flames surged then slowed.
Elara lifted one hand. Not to command.
But to invite.
The beast paused.
Its molten eyes locked on hers. A beat passed.
Then gently it pressed its burning muzzle into her palm.
The flames softened.
Its body dimmed, shifting from roaring fire to quiet embers.
Not extinguished. But… tamed.
It lowered its head into her lap.
A stunned silence swept the arena.
A noble dropped his goblet.
A woman fainted in the second row. Even the guards looked shaken.
King Theron's hand tightened on the balcony rail.
The High Priest stammered,
"This… This hasn't happened in generations.
Not since Queen Lyra of the Flame."
Lady Marellia, serene as ever beside the King, turned to her advisor and murmured, "It bent for her.
Just as the realm soon might."
Elara didn't hear them.
She sat motionless, her fingers resting lightly on the fire beast's fur.
It radiated warmth now, not rage.
Like the last glow of a hearth before sleep.
From above, Isla's voice rang sharp, brittle.
"It's a trick. A trick of the Stone."
King Theron stepped forward.
"Enough."
His voice silenced even the wind.
He stared down at the girl in the arena the girl he never wanted, the girl he'd tried to erase.
And for the first time, uncertainty flickered in his eyes.
"Bring her to the Hall," he said coldly.
"We have much to… discuss."
Elara rose slowly.
The fire beast melted back into smoke, disappearing into the stone.
She didn't bow.
Didn't look up.
She simply turned and walked from the arena as every eye followed.
In the shadows of the palace corridor, she found herself alone for a moment.
Her hand trembled.
The fire had not burned her.
But it had seen her.
And now, so had everyone else.
The girl no one clapped for…
…had just silenced a thousand voices.
But the silence wouldn't last.
It never did.
"Elara!"
A breathless voice soft, urgent cut through the stillness. Slippers slapped against the stone as a slim figure rounded the corner, skirts hitched up to her knees.
"Ana," Elara breathed, too tired to smile.
Her chambermaid's eyes were wide, teary. "You didn't burn.
" Her hands fluttered before pulling Elara into a tight embrace.
"Stars above, I thought I thought they sent you to die."
"They did," Elara murmured against her shoulder.
"It just didn't work."
Ana pulled back, gripping her arms.
"You touched it. It listened.
Elara, what did you do?"
"I didn't do anything," Elara said. "I was."
Ana looked at her like she was seeing something or someone new.
"Come," she whispered, already guiding her down the corridor.
"Before they call you again.
Lady Marellia's hawk-eyed, and the King looked like he swallowed ash."
"I noticed," Elara said. "Let them choke on it."
Ana snorted, half laugh, half sob. "Now you sound alive."
Elara didn't answer.
But for the first time in years…
She didn't feel like a shadow.
She felt like a spark.
And far above, behind thick walls and heavy curtains, a plot had already begun to form.