Her hand lifts, palm open toward me. Light surgesaround her fingers, blinding, drowning everything.
I wake gasping, drenched in sweat.
Every breath feels like knives to my lungs. My heart won’t slow. My hands won’t stop shaking. I scrub one down my face, trying to clear the fog, but the words linger.Too weak. She will fall.
I can’t go back to sleep. Not after that. Not with Phynnera’s voice still echoing in my skull.
The sky outside my window is still black, stars shimmer faintly against the creeping gray of dawn. Hours before the trial. My mind won’t stop racing. So I drag myself from bed, pulling on my leathers, tugging boots tight, and strapping my sword to my side.
Part of me wants to go to Serenya. To wake her. To ask what she’d meant to tell me yesterday before Torin interrupted. To demand the truth because the not knowing is gnawing at me, worse than hunger, worse than fear.
But I don’t. She deserves her rest. She has her own trial today, whatever it may be. And maybe I don’t actually want the answer. Not if it’s that I was wrong. That I don’t have the right to claim her.
So I walk.
The corridors are still, lined with torches burning low. My footsteps sound too loud in the emptiness. I head toward the kitchens, needing something to ground me.
Inside, it’s already bustling with clatter and laughter. Steam rises in clouds. The main cook, a stout human woman with salt-and-pepper hair, spots me instantly. She tuts at the shadows under my eyes, presses a warm lemon pastry into myhand, and mutters, “For luck, boy.” Then she bustles away.
I manage a faint smile, even though my stomach knots at the thought of food. Still, I force myself to take a bite. My body will need it.
The courtyard is empty when I arrive. I sit on the stone bench, chewing without taste, watching the sky lighten. Thoughts gnaw at me. What will today bring? What are these dreams? Why won’t theystop?
Eventually, footsteps echo. Lioran and Asbel stroll in, not dressed in leathers. I blink, confused. Shouldn’t they be ready too? My questions burn, but before I can voice them,shearrives.
Serenya strides into the courtyard, shoulders squared, confidence radiating off her like armor. The morning light catches her white hair, her violet eyes alive with fire. She’s so beautiful it actually hurts.
That feeling slams into me again—that impossible, unbearable need to cross the distance between us, to wrap her in my arms and never let go. It takes every shred of restraint I have to stay rooted in place.
When her gaze finds mine, all the air leaves me in one sharp rush.Stars. Her eyes are stars, and I can’t look away. Not until she does first, moving to take her place beside me.
Her hand brushes mine. Just a quick brush. Accidental, maybe. But lightning jolts through me all the same.
I force my eyes up as Queen Zephyra steps onto the marble stairs, flanked once more by the council. Only two pixies hover at her side. No Orbs of Vaelith this time.
The queen’s voice rings clear. “Good morning. Today isthe day the Trials of the Fated of this generation cometo an end. Only one champion remains.” Her gaze lands on me. “Koen Moriver, if you survive today, you will become the next King of Sytheriel.”
I wait for the panic to come over me. I never wanted to rule over a kingdom. I didn’t even plan to stay once the trials came to an end. But standing here next to Serenya, I know this is it.Thisis what I want. It should scare me, but it doesn’t, because she will be by my side.
The queen's eyes flick to Serenya. “Princess Serenya Eldarien, you have proved yourself worthy to your court and your people. Now, today, you must prove yourself worthy to the goddess and…toyourself.”
She lifts a hand. “This trial will not be watched, as we believe it is too personal. The chamber chooses what you will face. None of us knowswhat awaits.”
The pixies sweep forward. Portals bloom in the air, humming with otherworldly light.
Serenya’s eyes catch mine one last time. Fear flickers there. Maybe for herself. Maybe for me. Maybe both.
I give a small nod that she returns.
Together, we step into the portals.
My knees abruptly slam into rough ground, my palms scraping over it. I push up, squinting, expecting to see the chamber from before, but there are no walls, no ceiling—just an endless plain under a star-filled sky. The air itself is heavy, almost viscous, pressing against my skin and lungs.
It’s too quiet. Too still.
I take a step forward, and the floor shudders beneath me.Chains of gold light erupt from the ground, coiling around my ankles, spiraling up my legs and arms. They thrum with raw power, cold and insistent. I keep walking. Every step I take is met with sharp resistance, pain crawling through my muscles like fire.
A voice, calm yet cruel, resonates through the air. “Only the strong endure. Only the worthy hold that which they cherish most.”
