The catacombs spat them out into the cool breath of dawn. The city above stirred awake—bells ringing, merchants shouting, guards changing posts. Yet for Kael and Isolde, the air was heavier than the earth they had left behind.
Kael carried the Moonsilver Sword in its ancient scabbard, the silver hilt gleaming faintly even in the dim light. The weapon was alive, humming in his grip like a heartbeat. Every guard they passed felt its pull, their eyes drawn to it with awe and unease.
"This sword changes everything," Kael said, his voice taut. "It proves the prophecy was no myth. It proves the Shadow King was real, and that his chains weaken still."
Isolde walked at his side, her golden magic flickering faintly at her palms. Yet her eyes lingered on the shadows stretching across the city. "Yes… but it also proves the prophecy's warning. If they see me as the flame, they'll fear me more than ever."
By the time they reached the palace, the throne hall was already crowded. Nobles lined the chamber in hushed clusters. King Aldric sat heavy on the Moonstone Seat, his face pale from a sleepless night. And beside him, cloaked in black, stood Varrow.
The adviser's smile was faint, his voice smooth as silk. "Your Majesty, the time has come for decision. The lords whisper of revolt. The people murmur of curses. They demand security. They demand certainty. The flame must be contained before the fire spreads."
Kael strode forward, the Moonsilver Sword gleaming in his hand. "Then give them certainty, Father. The Shadow King was no fable. We found his prison in the Hollow. We found the records beneath this very palace. And now—" He drew the sword free, its silver edge glowing in the morning light. "—we found the weapon that bound him once before."
Gasps swept through the chamber. The nobles leaned forward, eyes wide with awe, with greed, with fear. The sword sang softly, filling the air with its quiet hum.
King Aldric's eyes widened, his lips parting in disbelief. "The Moonsilver Sword…"
But before hope could kindle, Varrow's voice cut sharp and cold. "Or a trick, my king. What is a relic without proof of its power? And what is prophecy but a chain to bind us in fear?" He let his gaze settle on Isolde. "And what is flame, if not fire waiting to consume its bearer—and those nearest her?"
The murmurs swelled, now harsher, more divided. Some cried to trust the prince. Others demanded Isolde's confinement.
King Aldric raised his hand, his voice heavy. "This matter touches the heart of Aeloria. I must weigh carefully. Until then, Isolde will remain under guard."
Kael's blood surged. "Father, no—"
"Enough!" Aldric's voice thundered, his exhaustion spilling into anger. "I am king! My word is law. Guards, see it done."
Steel clinked as soldiers stepped forward.
Isolde's breath caught, her magic sparking faintly at her fingertips. She could fight—she wanted to fight—but Kael caught her arm, shaking his head. His eyes burned with fury, yet his voice was low, steady. "Not here. Not now."
Varrow's smile deepened, unseen by the king but clear to them both. His trap had closed, and he relished the moment.
Isolde let the magic fade, though her chest heaved with the weight of surrender. The guards surrounded her, their hands hesitant as they led her away.
Kael sheathed the Moonsilver Sword with trembling hands. He looked to his father, then to Varrow, his voice raw with restrained rage. "You think a cage will keep her safe? You're wrong. You're all wrong. When the Shadow King rises, you'll wish you had listened."
His words echoed in the hall, but none dared answer. The judgment was set.
And as Isolde was led into shadow, the Hollow's mark within her pulsed brighter than ever, whispering a truth no chain of men could silence:
The flame cannot be caged. The fire will burn. And when it does… the world will choose between shadow and ash.