The chamber they placed Isolde in was not cruel, but it was a prison all the same. The walls were stone, cold and unyielding. A narrow window let in slivers of moonlight, but the bars were thick, the door thicker. Two guards stood at all times outside, their eyes avoiding hers as though afraid of what they might see.
She sat on the cot, hands folded, but the Hollow's mark would not rest. It burned through her skin, pulsing in rhythm with her heartbeat. And with every pulse came whispers—low, coaxing, relentless.
They fear you. They would chain you until you break. Why not let the fire free?
Isolde pressed her palms against her ears, shaking her head. "I am not yours," she whispered fiercely. "You will not have me."
Yet the shadows in the corners shifted as if laughing, and the mark blazed hotter.
---
In the great hall, Kael paced like a storm contained within stone. The Moonsilver Sword lay across the table, glowing faintly, as though alive. He had spent hours arguing with the king, but Aldric remained firm: Isolde must remain under guard until the council decided her fate.
Kael's fists tightened. "Every hour we waste, the curse spreads. And Varrow feeds it. Father can't see it, or won't."
The steward at his side, a loyal old man named Thalen, spoke in hushed tones. "Then act as your ancestors did, my prince. Do not wait for crowns or councils. Aeloria needs more than words."
Kael's gaze fell to the sword, its silver runes glimmering in the firelight. "Then I'll free her. And with her, I'll tear the truth from Varrow's lies, no matter the cost."
---
Later that night, the cell door creaked open. Isolde rose sharply, ready to defend herself, but it was not Kael.
Varrow stepped inside, cloaked in black, his smile a shadow in itself. The guards outside did not move, their eyes glazed, enthralled by his quiet spell.
"Ah," he murmured, "the flame in a cage. How poetic."
Isolde's hands glowed faintly, golden sparks licking the air. "Leave me."
Varrow chuckled, stepping closer. "Do you think fire frightens me? No, girl. I have courted fire and shadow both. I know their dance better than you ever will." His gaze deepened, piercing. "The Hollow chose you because you are the key. But tell me, will you burn for the kingdom… or burn the kingdom itself?"
Isolde's heart pounded, but she forced her voice steady. "I will never serve him. Or you."
For the first time, Varrow's smile faltered. His voice sharpened, a whisper edged with command. "You already do. Every time you breathe, every time that mark burns, you weaken his chains. And when they break, when he rises—" He leaned close, his breath cold as the grave. "—you will be the crown upon his head."
Her light flared, blasting against him, forcing him back a step. His cloak smoked faintly, but his smile returned, crueler than before.
"Good," he said softly. "The flame learns to fight. Burn brighter, little spark. Burn until there's nothing left."
With that, he slipped into the shadows, the guards blinking as though waking from a dream. The door shut, leaving Isolde trembling, her heart pounding against the weight of his words.
She pressed her hands to her chest, whispering to the silence. "Kael… hurry."
And in the darkness beyond the bars, the Hollow whispered back, eager, waiting:
Soon. Soon the flame will choose.
---