The throne room of the Ninth Flame was not like mortal courts.
There were no polished floors, no tapestries of kings or saints. Instead, the chamber was vast as a cathedral, its ceiling swallowed by darkness, its walls carved with reliefs that writhed when stared at too long. The floor was a mosaic of obsidian and bone, reflecting torchlight that burned black.
At the far end sat Lucien, silver-eyed and silent upon his throne. Beside him now was another seat—woven silver branches, lined with living thorns. Liora's throne.
She stood before it, uncertain.
"This feels like a test," she murmured.
Lucien's voice was velvet, but iron beneath. "It is. The court must see how you weigh a soul. If they cannot trust your judgment, they will not obey your crown."
"And if I make the wrong choice?"
Lucien's gaze was unreadable. "Then you live with it. That is the burden of rulers."
The great doors groaned open. A procession of shadows entered, their whispers hissing like wind through graves. Between them, chained in glowing silver, stumbled a man. Mortal, or once mortal. His hair was matted, his eyes hollow, his body thin. He wore rags stained with earth and blood.
When he raised his head, Liora's breath caught.
He was young. Too young. No older than she was.
The crowd hissed and murmured. A demon announcer stepped forward, voice booming. "The soul of Kalen, son of Darek. A murderer. A thief. A breaker of oaths. His judgment is demanded."
The young man collapsed to his knees, chains rattling. His voice cracked with desperation. "Please—please, my queen, I beg you. I didn't mean to kill her. I didn't mean to—"
"Silence," the demon snapped, but Lucien raised a hand, and the hall fell quiet.
Liora stepped closer. Her crown pulsed faintly, urging her to listen. She met the boy's eyes. "Tell me."
Tears streaked down his face. "It was an accident. She—she stole bread, my sister's bread. I tried to stop her, only to push her back. She fell. She—she didn't wake up." His voice broke. "They called me a murderer. They—" His chest heaved, words tumbling in panic. "I didn't mean it. I swear."
The crowd hissed. Some demons laughed cruelly. Others called for fire.
Liora turned to Lucien. His expression gave nothing away. "You want me to judge him?"
"You are queen," he said softly. "Judge as a queen."
Her stomach twisted. She thought of her village, her mother's tired hands, her grandmother's stories. She thought of how fragile life had been, how one mistake could shatter it forever.
She turned back to Kalen. "Did you repent?"
"Yes!" he cried. "I prayed every night. I gave food to orphans, I—" His voice broke. "I died begging forgiveness."
The chamber buzzed with whispers. Some called him liar. Others pitied him.
Liora's fists clenched. What did justice mean, here in the Underworld? Punishment? Mercy? Both?
She closed her eyes. And the crown whispered. Not words, but weight. Judgment. It was not only her choice—it was her responsibility.
She opened her eyes and raised her hand.
"Kalen, son of Darek," she said, her voice steady. "You carry guilt. You carry grief. Your crime was not of malice, but of consequence. To burn you would be cruelty. To free you would be carelessness."
She stepped down from the dais, standing before him. The thorns of her crown glowed faintly. "You will not suffer in the fire. But neither will you walk free. You will serve in the Gardens of Flame, tending roses that burn with memory. You will nurture what you once destroyed. And when your penance is done, your soul may rest."
Silence filled the chamber. Then, slowly, the crowd erupted.
Some demons hissed in outrage. Others nodded with grudging respect. A few bowed their heads, whispering her name.
Lucien's silver eyes glowed as he watched her.
Kalen collapsed in tears, chains dissolving into sparks. He was led away, his shoulders trembling with something like relief.
Liora turned back to the throne. Her heart pounded, but she held her head high.
"Was that the right choice?" she asked Lucien softly.
He leaned toward her, voice low enough that only she could hear. "There is no right choice. Only yours. And that is enough."
She sank into her throne at last. For the first time, she felt its thorns. They pricked her skin, not to wound, but to remind her.
Power was never soft. It was always sharp.
---
That night, as the court dispersed and the shadows faded, Liora lingered.
Lucien approached her throne, studying her with quiet intensity.
"You gave mercy," he said.
"I gave balance," she replied.
His lips curved faintly. "You will change this realm more than I ever could."
Her heart tightened. "And if they resist me?"
His silver eyes shone like molten stars. "Then they will burn."