There are many ways to prepare for an Imperial Trial.
Some people meditate. Some hire lawyers. Some flee to another continent and live under a fake name as a moderately suspicious baker.
Arwen made charts.
I blinked at the scroll-strewn table in our dormitory tower. Ink smudges, sigil seals, a small map of the Imperial Court marked with tiny snack icons.
"You've labelled escape routes," I chirped.
"And snack caches," she replied without looking up.
"You terrify me."
"Good."
She jabbed a quill at a parchment titled Operation: No One Gets to Name My Familiar or Die Trying (Tentative).
I tilted my head. "Tentative?"
"I ran out of space."
---
Back at the Academy, things were... awkward.
Students whispered when we passed. Some bowed. Some fled. One dropped a tray of enchanted cupcakes when I sneezed and nearly caused a frosting-based incident.
News had spread. The Trial was public, and everyone had an opinion.
"Did you hear? He shattered a sigil mirror."
"No, he bit the Chancellor."
"Arwen Nightveil's familiar glows when he's upset."
"I heard he's actually an ascended dragon cursed into a cute form."
I fluffed my feathers. "I like that last one."
Arwen rolled her eyes. "Focus."
---
In the courtyard, we were intercepted by Valesh, smug as ever.
"Nightveil," he greeted. "You're hard to find. Preparing for your... spectacle?"
"It's called justice," she said flatly.
He smiled thinly. "I come with an offer."
She didn't answer.
"Pre-trial containment," he continued. "The Council suggests temporary spark suppression — for public safety."
Arwen's eyes narrowed. "Suppress his spark, and I suppress your dignity."
He ignored that. "Or you can sign this." He held out a scroll. "Voluntary binding. Temporary. Reversible."
She didn't move. Neither did I.
Valesh smiled wider. "If he's truly safe, you won't mind."
I bit the scroll.
It caught fire.
Valesh dropped it with a curse.
"Was that a no?" he hissed.
Arwen stepped forward. "That was a warning."
Valesh stormed off, scorched dignity in tow.
I coughed up a bit of scroll ash. "That was satisfying."
Arwen watched him disappear into the crowd. "He'll report that."
"Let him. I'm practically made of illegal now."
She snorted. "You're an existential crisis in feathers."
---
We made it to the inner hall without further incident. Almost.
Then my spark flared.
Not huge. Not dangerous. Just enough to ignite a tapestry. A very expensive tapestry depicting the founding of the Empire.
I chirped. "That was history. Oops."
Flames danced. Students screamed. A professor shouted something about "containment sigils" and "academic integrity."
Arwen calmly grabbed a jug of enchanted tea from a nearby table and doused the fire.
Steam hissed.
The tapestry was ruined. Smelled like burnt authority.
---
Five minutes later, we sat in the Headmistress's office.
She stared at us. Hard. Her desk was covered in glowing scrolls and worry.
"You can't be here," she said.
"Where exactly would you like us to be?" Arwen replied.
"Not setting fires."
"It was an accident," I chirped. "Also educational."
The Headmistress pinched the bridge of her nose.
"They've requested your confinement," she said at last. "For safety."
Arwen stood. "Deny it."
"I can't."
"You will."
The Headmistress hesitated. Then sighed. "Do what you must. Just... don't burn anything else."
---
Back in our tower, silence settled.
Arwen paced. I watched.
"You could name me," I said quietly.
She froze.
"I mean... it would stop this. The sparks. The flares. The bounty."
Her eyes darkened. "No."
"Why not?"
"Because then they win."
I stepped closer. "And I lose myself?"
She didn't answer.
Instead, she knelt beside me, one hand on my feathers, eyes fierce.
"I chose you. Not a title. Not a tool. You."
My spark pulsed warm.
I opened my beak.
"I..."
Nothing came out. A sound. Almost a word.
Arwen blinked. "Did you...?"
I tried again. Choked. Chirped.
She smiled.
"Not yet," she said softly. "But soon."
We didn't speak of the almost-word.
Not that night. Not the next morning. But it hung between us like a candle about to light... flickering, expectant, daring.
The Academy didn't sleep much. Word of the tapestry incident had spread. There were rumors I'd scorched a Chancellor, eaten a forbidden tome, or cursed the bell tower.
For the record, I only did one of those. And it wasn't the tome.
---
By midday, Arwen had mapped six escape routes and sent seven very polite but ominous letters to noble families threatening to intervene at the Trial.
Her favorite read:
> "Attempt to interfere with my bond again and I will reweave your house crest into a toilet seat."
The family in question declined to reply.
---
Then the real problem arrived.
We were in the courtyard when the air shifted... not with magic, but with attention. Every student turned. Every teacher paused.
A carriage rolled through the Academy gates, drawn by two soulsteeds that shimmered black and blue, their eyes glowing with too much thought.
The carriage doors opened.
Three figures stepped out.
One, a woman in red with a silver cane. One, a man wearing too many rings. And the third...
A soulbeast.
Bigger than me. Sleeker. Feathers like shadowglass, eyes pale gold.
It looked at me.
I looked back.
Recognition struck like a spark surge.
"I know him," I whispered.
Arwen tensed. "Who are they?"
The crowd murmured.
"House Serathiel," someone gasped. "Back from exile."
The soulbeast didn't move.
It just stared.
And in that stare, I remembered the vision.
Arwen, older. Alone. Holding me — but not me. This soulbeast. This spark.
"They brought a weapon," I whispered. "And it's me. Or... who I was."
---
Back in the tower, silence stretched like a drawn bow.
Arwen didn't sit. She stood at the window, arms crossed.
"They called Serathiel back for the Trial," she said. "They want precedent. A comparison."
I nodded slowly. "They want to show what I should be."
She didn't answer.
I paced.
"What if they're right?" I blurted. "What if I'm just... broken?"
Arwen turned.
"You are not broken," she snapped. "You're untamed. That's different."
"Then why do I know him?"
She didn't have an answer.
---
A knock interrupted us.
Not a servant. Not a student.
A messenger with Imperial colors.
"Summons," he said, bowing.
Arwen took the scroll. Read it. Smiled darkly.
"They moved the Trial. It's now."
---
The Imperial Court loomed like a cathedral of judgment. Marble and sigils, velvet and gold. Nobles sat in tiers, murmuring. Watching.
We stood alone in the center, the spotlight of magic burning down.
At the far end, the Council. Valesh. The Empress's aide. And beside them...
The Serathiel soulbeast, calm, perfect, named.
A judge's voice echoed.
"State your case."
Arwen didn't hesitate.
"I will."
And I knew then... this wasn't a trial.
This was a declaration.
And we were about to set the Empire on fire.