The scent of smoke and baking stone clung to the air as Liora stepped through the lower courtyard gates, a woven basket bouncing gently against her hip. She was bone-tired, as always, but it was the kind of exhaustion that settled into her quietly, like an old friend who knew how to stay without asking. The sun hadn't risen fully yet, casting the towering spires of Velstrae in soft copper tones, and for a moment, the city didn't feel so suffocating. For a moment, it was beautiful.
She turned a corner and was nearly run over by a pair of squabbling junior squires, their cloaks half-draped and bootlaces trailing. Liora shifted to the side, smoothly as a breeze, without breaking stride. They didn't even notice her.
Behind her, Brisa called out, puffing slightly from keeping pace. "You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were actually enjoying this nonsense."
Liora offered a dry smile. "I enjoy not getting whipped. It's a very motivating factor."
"Humble goals."
Kael was already leaning against the corner post of the stables, tossing a flamefruit from hand to hand. His brown curls were slightly damp, a sign he'd trained early again, or maybe he just wanted to look a little more roguish than usual. His grin widened when he saw them.
"Ladies," he greeted with a mock bow, "I see the realm's brightest minds have once again assembled."
"Oh, thank the heavens," Brisa sighed, pretending to swoon. "We were beginning to despair without your wisdom."
"Wisdom is overrated," Kael said, biting into the fruit. Juice dribbled down his wrist. "I offer charm."
Liora smirked. "Pity there's not much of that, either."
Kael clutched his chest in mock pain, staggering back. "Cruel. Wounded by the one I serve so faithfully."
"You serve no one but your own ego."
"And it's terribly demanding."
They fell into step together, weaving through the back corridors of the palace. Servants were already moving briskly—polishing sills, stoking hearths, arranging dried herbs into meticulous bundles. The rhythm of the castle was relentless, unforgiving. You either kept up or were replaced.
Most days, Liora barely noticed the pressure anymore. It was the weight of air, of gravity. Something constant and crushing.
But lately, there had been whispers. About the Trials. About the flame stirring. About a change coming.
And then there were the dreams.
Liora didn't speak of them. Couldn't. They didn't make sense—images of winged shadows, voices that didn't belong to any living tongue, fire that didn't burn but sang. She would wake breathless, hands trembling. And then scrub pots until her knuckles split.
"Think they'll actually let any of us watch this year's Trials?" Brisa asked, pulling her apron tighter around her waist. "Last year, Merek from the cellars tried to sneak in. Came back bald."
Kael chuckled. "Technically, they just singed his eyebrows. The baldness was his own fault. Didn't duck fast enough."
Liora shivered. The Trials were a spectacle, yes, but also something more. Sacred. Dangerous. Reserved for the Flamebound—those who had proven themselves through pain and blood. Nulls weren't supposed to look, let alone dream.
But sometimes, late at night, Liora found herself staring toward the tower of Obsidian Academy. She didn't know why. It wasn't just curiosity. It was longing.
"It's stupid," she said aloud, surprising even herself.
Kael looked at her sideways. "What is?"
She hesitated. Then shrugged. "All of it. The rankings. The blood rituals. As if flame makes someone better."
Brisa hummed. "Spoken like someone without flame."
"And yet, here I am."
Kael's voice softened. "You're more than they see, Liora. You've always been more."
She didn't answer. Words like that were dangerous. They made her feel things. Hopeful things.
That night, as the sun melted into the horizon, she snuck out past curfew again. The crumbling courtyard near the old guard tower was abandoned, shielded by overgrown hedges and disused stone. It was her sanctuary. Her battlefield.
Kael joined her, as he often did, throwing her a short stave he'd carved from charred ashwood.
"What's the lesson tonight, Mistress of Mayhem?"
"Don't get cocky."
"Too late."
They sparred under moonlight, the wood of their weapons clacking against one another in sharp, rhythmic bursts. Kael was stronger, but Liora was faster. She ducked, rolled, countered with a jab to his ribs.
"Ow! That was below the belt."
"It wasn't. You're just tall."
He lunged again, but she slipped under his guard, elbowing him in the back.
They collapsed in a heap, panting. Kael sprawled in the grass, staring up at the stars.
"Why do you really train, Liora?"
She looked up at the moon, sharp as a silver fang.
"Because one day, someone will come for me. And I want to be ready."
The Queen's Court was a place of polished cruelty. Power wasn't just held—it was wielded. And no one embodied that more than Lord Halric, a noble whose flame bent unnaturally cold. He watched the servants like a predator. Liora avoided his path whenever she could.
But fate was rarely kind.
She had just finished delivering scrolls to the scriptorium when he cornered her in the hall, fingers curling around her arm like iron.
"Null girl," he drawled. "You're the cook's shadow, aren't you? The little mouse who thinks she's clever."
She kept her eyes down. "Yes, my lord."
"Look at me when I speak."
She did. He smiled, sharp and hungry.
"You're quite pretty, for a shadow."
His thumb traced along her jaw. Her skin crawled.
Then came a presence. Sudden. Silent. Searing.
Riven.
He stepped from the corridor's far end like a knife drawn from its sheath. His cloak shifted around his broad shoulders like liquid flame, black with veins of crimson that glimmered when he moved. His features were too sharp to be soft, too striking to ignore—angled jaw, straight nose, eyes that seemed made of molten onyx. Beautiful. Terrifying.
Halric's hand dropped.
"Lord Riven," he said, stepping back with a bow. "I was merely—"
"I don't care."
The words were ice. Riven didn't look at Liora. Didn't speak again. Just walked past, as if nothing had happened.
But the silence he left behind cracked like thunder.
Halric sneered. Then stalked off.
Liora exhaled slowly.
She hadn't needed saving. But she hadn't minded it either.
Later that night, Brisa was quiet as they cleaned the kitchens.
"He's not what I imagined," she murmured.
"Who?"
"The Queen's shadow. Riven. Everyone says he's a demon in a pretty coat."
Liora glanced at the embers in the hearth.
"Maybe he is."
The Trials were only days away. And something in the air was shifting.
Kael trained harder. Liora listened more. Even Brisa had stopped joking as often.
The Queen had made a proclamation: any servant foolish enough to attempt the blood ritual would be punished. Severely. But she hadn't forbidden it.
And so Liora watched the flame. Listened to the hum beneath the stone. Wondered why the walls seemed to shudder when she walked past.