The moon hung low over the palace, bleeding silver into the corridors where shadows whispered secrets too old for daylight.
Elara stood on the threshold of her chambers, the silk hem of her new robes brushing against her ankles a symbol of her changed station.
No longer a maid.
No longer invisible.
The Empress had made it clear: she was chosen.
But Elara knew better.
Gifts from the throne were often cages in disguise.
Behind her, the door creaked shut with a soft click.
"You're not wearing the necklace," M. said, emerging from the shadows, as if he belonged to them more than the walls themselves.
Elara didn't flinch.
She was learning.
"It's not a gift."
" It's a leash," she replied.
M. gave a nod of approval.
"The Empress wants loyalty that shines from the outside in."
"How do you amanage to sneak in without being caught?" she asked, tilting her head.
"Do you even serve in this palace?"
He smirked but didn't answer directly.
"When the time comes, you'll understand."
Elara stepped closer.
"Why did the stone choose me?"
He studied her a long moment.
"Because it remembers."
"Remembers what?"
"A girl who once stood at the edge of a dying empire and held fire in her hands."
Elara felt it then a pulse not from the stone she had hidden beneath her floorboards, but from her chest.
As if her soul answered.
"The flame isn't just in the stone.
It's in you," M. said softly.
"It always has been."
She looked down.
"Then why do I feel so... small?"
"Because true power doesn't roar.
It waits.
It watches.
And when the moment is right it burns."
A knock shattered the moment.
They froze.
A guard's voice rang through the door.
"The Empress requests your presence in the Hall of Echoes. Immediately."
Elara exchanged glance with M
"Go," he said.
"But remember whatever you say in that hall, the walls will remember.
And so will she."
The Hall of Echoes was older than the palace itself. Carved from blackstone and laced with veins of silver, it thrummed with something ancient beneath Elara's feet. Legends said it amplified truth… and twisted lies.
The Empress sat atop her throne like a statue carved from moonlight and steel.
Nobles flanked her on both sides.
Lady Marellia with her hawk-like gaze.
King Theron from the mountain realm, his expression unreadable.
Madam Darla, serene and coiled like a viper in silk.
Isla stood near her mother, arms folded, eyes sharp.
Not a girl.
A royal.
And yet, when Elara entered, Isla's gaze softened.
Not with pity with recognition.
"Elara," the Empress purred, her voice wrapped in velvet and iron.
"My Flamebearer.
You've awakened something ancient.
The court trembles not in fear, but anticipation."
Elara bowed. "You summoned me, Your Majesty."
The Empress studied her like a weapon being weighed.
"You've drawn attention.
Whispers follow you like shadows.
Even my daughter follows your steps.
" She paused, eyes flicking toward Isla.
"You are no longer a servant.
You are something more."
Elara stood straighter, fire building quietly behind her ribs.
"I offer you a choice," the Empress continued.
"Remain here as my ward, pampered, protected, elevated.
Or take your fire into a world that will devour you."
Gasps murmured through the court.
King Theron raised a brow.
Lady Marellia leaned forward.
Madam Darla whispered something to Isla, who watched Elara with open curiosity.
Elara looked around.
Some eyes were curious.
Some wary. But a few… a few gleamed with hope.
She met the Empress's gaze.
"Then I choose to burn."
Silence...
Even the Hall seemed to hold its breath.
Then, slowly, the Empress's smile faltered.
Just for a heartbeat.
Then she laughed.
"So be it," she said.
"Let the court witness.
The Flamebearer chooses fire."
As Elara turned to leave, she caught Isla watching her not with contempt, but something closer to wonder.
Outside the Hall, Ana waited, breath tight in her throat.
She'd seen the way the nobles whispered.
Madam Darla appeared beside her with a rustle of silks.
Are you not a kitchen maid anymore, are you not?
Ana didn't answer. Her hands were clenched, her pulse steady.
Something was changing.
And it wasn't just Elara.
It was all of them.
And deep within the garden that remembered, the willow branches swayed in silence like they, too, had heard Elara's choice.
It had begun to spread.
It had begun to matter.