The next morning, the castle awoke differently.
The stone corridors felt tighter, the mirrors dimmer, and the air carried a charge—as though the house itself had drawn breath.
Seraphina stood in the grand hall, her fingers trailing along the long-forgotten sigils carved into the columns.
The Crown of Thorns had accepted her touch—barely. It had scorched her, yes. But it hadn't rejected her.
That was something.
Lucien joined her in silence, his coat draped across his shoulders, the collar turned up against the wind that now howled even within the halls.
"She's requested the rite," he said.
"Calis?"
He nodded grimly. "A formal Trial by Flame."
Seraphina stilled.
"That hasn't been invoked in centuries."
"She's invoking your failure as precedent," he said. "Claiming your blood vow has lapsed—too many rebirths. She's offering herself as the replacement."
Seraphina turned toward the window. "She knows what the trial means."
"She thinks she can survive it."
Seraphina's lips curved into something sharp. "Then let her try."
By dusk, the east courtyard had been cleared.
A circle of stone, marked by ancient runes, glowed with dull embers. Surrounding it, thorns rose like jagged sentries, their tips glistening with dew—or blood.
Lucien stood between the two women.
Calis wore white, her silver eyes sharp, her gown lined with protective runes. She looked radiant. Certain.
Seraphina wore black.
No sigils. No runes.
Only memory.
Only fire.
Lucien's voice carried through the courtyard. "By the blood of Nightbane, the heir shall be chosen. Let flame test the vow. Let memory burn. Let Nightspire decide."
Calis stepped forward, eyes locked on Seraphina.
"I won't hold back," she said.
Seraphina smiled coldly. "Then you'll lose faster."
The ground trembled.
A pillar of fire burst from the center of the circle.
The flame split—two arcs of fire arched toward each woman, stopping inches before them.
If they burned, the soul was false.
If they passed…
The vow would awaken.
Calis raised her arms and stepped forward confidently.
The fire hesitated—then surged.
She screamed.
The flame licked her arms, burning through her runes. Her protective gown disintegrated like ash.
She fell to her knees, choking, sobbing.
But the flame didn't kill her.
It simply passed.
Singed. Scarred. But alive.
Lucien's eyes widened.
"She survived…"
Seraphina stepped forward next.
The fire rose.
Higher. Wilder.
Not a test.
A recognition.
The moment she entered the flame, it bowed.
It curved around her like an embrace, wrapping her in golden light.
No pain. No fear.
Just warmth.
Just memory.
In the silence that followed, the flame died.
Lucien's voice rang out.
"The vow has chosen."
But Calis didn't move.
She remained kneeling, head bowed, fists clenched.
"No," she whispered. "That's not possible. She failed before."
Seraphina walked past her, calm, radiant, her black gown untouched.
"I didn't fail," she said. "I paused."
Calis looked up, hatred burning in her silver eyes. "You should've stayed dead."
Seraphina stopped.
Turned.
"There's still time," she said softly. "You don't have to become what they made you."
But Calis only laughed bitterly. "You think this was my choice? The Church bred me for this. Trained me to be the flame's vessel. I don't know how to be anything else."
"Then learn," Seraphina said. "Before this house eats you alive."
That night, Lucien found her by the broken willow tree.
He didn't speak.
He simply dropped something beside her.
A small, sealed box.
Inside was a key.
Carved from obsidian, etched with runes older than the Empire itself.
Seraphina held it gently. "What door?"
Lucien didn't answer.
He just said:
"It leads to the chamber where the vow was first made. And the one where it must now be broken."
At midnight, the house shook.
Not from war.
Not from storm.
But from recognition.
For the first time in centuries, the true heir had been chosen.
And Nightspire… had finally begun to wake.
.............................................
The trial was over. The crown had chosen.But the house still had secrets to test.And memory… still had fire left to burn.