"Some truths are not whispered. They're branded into bone."
The scroll Roran brought never left the King's desk.
But elsewhere in the palace, the weight of unspoken truths had begun to press down harder than ever before.
Elara stood in the middle of the Grand Council chamber, feeling a slow, steady fire burning deep within her.
Her posture remained unbowed, her face a calm mask as the gathered nobles leaned forward, eager to watch her stumble.
Lord Beric read the accusations with theatrical gravity.
"In light of the Flamebearer's growing influence, Lady Vera has requested a test a Rite of Origin to confirm her claim by blood."
The words were dressed in diplomacy, but the insult was clear.
They wanted to strip her again. Discredit her. Prove that fire could be faked.
Elara didn't blink.
"And if I pass?"
Lady Vera smiled with the sharpness of a sword drawn from its sheath.
"Then we celebrate you. Publicly. But if not... then the court reconsiders its support."
The Empress said nothing, her expression unreadable, though her stillness betrayed anticipation.
King Theron remained silent, fingers drumming against the armrest.
Not refusing. Not supporting. Watching.
The High Priest stepped forward, his robes heavy with ceremonial chains.
"The Rite of Origin tests memory in blood. Flame does not lie. Speak, and bleed."
Elara held out her hand without hesitation.
The ceremonial blade sliced across her palm clean, deep, ancient.
The blood welled.
And the hall held its breath.
"Your name?" the priest asked.
"Elara."
"Your mother?"
She paused only a beat.
"Seraphina of the Flame."
The kings eyes widened.
Gasps rippled through the chamber.
The blood remained unchanged, uncharmed, unsmoked.
Steady.
"Were you born within the palace walls?"
"No," Elara said, clearly. "I was hidden. Delivered in secret." The King became uneasy but calm.
The priest's grip tightened on the blade.
"Was the flame inherited… or by trial?"
Elara's gaze swept the room, eyes settling on each seat as though memorizing who would remember this moment.
"By both."
The blade was raised again, hovering above the bowl.
Still, the fire did not flicker.
No black smoke.
No rejection.
The priest stepped back, visibly shaken.
"She speaks no lie."
Silence cracked into shouts. Cries. Demands.
Lady Vera staggered back.
The Empress's fingers curled on the edge of her throne.
In the back of the hall, Kael watched it all.
And for the first time, a grin flickered across his face.
Elara didn't move.
She turned to the sacred flame that flickered at the heart of the chamber.
"You've made me bleed for truth," she said.
Her voice didn't rise. It didn't need to.
"Now let's see who else dares."
Later that evening...
The storm broke.
Rain lashed the palace windows.
Thunder rolled like a war drum.
Elara stood at the balcony as the cool wind twisted her braid.
M entered the room without knocking, closing the door behind him with a quiet thud.
"They'll try again," he said simply.
"I know."
"Lady Vera will not let this stand."
Elara didn't turn around.
"She won't have a choice."
M paused, watching her.
"And if the Empress turns more of the court against you?"
She looked over her shoulder, something fierce and tired in her eyes.
"Then I remind them that fire cleanses."
From the shadows, Ana appeared, her limp barely noticeable now.
"You're not alone, you know," she said.
"They may try to isolate you. But we're still here. And you're still standing."
Elara smiled.
A small, genuine thing.
"I'm not falling. Not yet."
Outside, the storm howled.
But the fire inside?
It burned steadily.