While the court resumed war-related discussions, a suffocating silence filled the hall of the flame of judgment.
There was no ceiling, no floor, and yet Zahara stood—barefoot—on polished obsidian that reflected her like water.
The vast chamber around her shifted with golden and crimson fire, licking the invisible air, dancing like spirits.
Above her, a burning sigil turned in slow revolutions: the Eye of the Old Flame, a symbol of divine truth and ancestral law. It watched and judged.
In the distance, she saw the faint silhouette of Asphera, seated cross-legged in meditation.
The goddess would not interfere. The trial was between Zahara and the spirits of Simharia's past.
Then, a voice boomed—not spoken, but resonated in her soul.
"You who dares to ascend the throne of kings… daughter of fire… child of mortals… prove your worth."
And then, everything went blank for her.
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