The morning came slow and heavy, as though the sun itself hesitated before rising over Dranevor Keep. Outside, the rivers of molten rock glowed faintly red in the dim light, and the air carried the scent of ash and sulfur. Inside the keep, the silence was deliberate, broken only by the faint crackle of fire running through the walls.
Lysandra sat on the narrow bench in her chamber, staring at her hands. The warmth beneath her skin had not faded overnight; if anything, it had grown stronger. Each heartbeat felt like a drumbeat of magic, of something ancient and forbidden, pulsing inside her chest.
Serath appeared at the doorway as if materialized from the shadows. "Time to move," she said, her fox ears twitching. "The ritual will begin soon."
Ritual. The word alone made Lysandra's stomach tighten.
"I… I don't know if I'm ready," she murmured.
Serath's sharp gaze met hers. "You don't get to choose. Not here. Not ever."
Lysandra swallowed hard. "And if I fail?"
Serath tilted her head, letting her long tail flick lazily. "Then you won't survive the hour. That's how the beasts operate."
With that, she guided Lysandra down the spiraling obsidian staircase to a vast hall Lysandra had not seen before. The space was enormous, a circular arena carved from the volcanic rock itself. Stone seats rose in tiers around the floor, and in the center, a pool of faintly glowing molten magic shimmered like a heartbeat.
This was the Circle of the Mark.
Beastmen were already assembling. Wolves with fur like polished obsidian, lions with golden manes brighter than the flames, serpents whose emerald scales glimmered under the torchlight. They moved with a predatory elegance that made Lysandra's pulse race. And at the very center of the circle, on a raised platform, sat Veyrath Dranevor, watching with the patience of a predator observing its prey.
"You'll stand here," Serath instructed, guiding Lysandra to the center of the arena. "This is where the magic binds you. Where your limits will be tested."
Lysandra's eyes widened. "Magic… binds me?"
"Yes," Serath said. "Humans cannot control it, but the Circle can test what sleeps inside you. If the spark you carry awakens… it could be dangerous—or useful."
Lysandra's throat went dry. "I don't know if I want it to awaken."
Serath's expression softened briefly. "You don't get to decide. You survive by enduring. That's the law here."
---
The beasts moved closer, forming a perfect ring around her. Lysandra's chest heaved with every heartbeat, fear and fascination tangled together.
Veyrath rose from his seat, his long coat brushing the stone, his claws catching the light. He descended the steps to the center, stopping just a few feet from her. His gaze was molten gold, intense, unyielding.
"You are not just a human," he said quietly, so only she could hear. "And this will not be a test of obedience alone. It is a test of essence. Magic does not lie. It will show what you truly are."
Lysandra trembled. "Essence…?"
"Everything you hide, everything you think, everything you feel… it will be exposed."
Her pulse quickened. She took a shaky breath. "And if I fail?"
He smiled faintly, a dangerous, intimate curve of his lips. "Then I will decide whether failure is the end… or the beginning."
The beasts began chanting, low and resonant, a sound that vibrated through her bones. The molten magic in the pool glowed brighter, reaching up like living fire. Lysandra's breath caught. She could feel it drawing at her, a thread of warmth inside her skin tugged toward the glow.
She tried to pull back, but her feet felt rooted. Her hands shook, and the warmth in her veins flared stronger, spreading through her chest, her arms, her neck.
"Focus," Veyrath said softly, stepping closer. His presence was overwhelming, yet grounding, as if he were the axis around which the world turned. "Do not resist. Let it find you, but control yourself."
Lysandra swallowed, her heart hammering. She closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. The chant around her grew louder, more insistent, and the pool's light became blinding.
Then—something inside her broke free.
A flame of pure, untamed energy flared within her chest, invisible yet undeniable. It surged along her nerves, lighting her veins as though her blood itself had become molten magic. The Circle pulsed in response, the beasts stepping back, eyes wide.
Veyrath's expression shifted, a flicker of surprise—or was it awe?—crossing his features.
Lysandra gasped, clutching at her chest. "I… I can feel it!"
"Yes," Veyrath murmured. "Feel it, and do not fear it. This is your essence. The spark you carry. You are not empty."
Her body trembled, and the warmth grew, spreading outward until it brushed against her skin like a caress. She raised her hands, and instinctively, the molten energy in the pool reacted, coiling and twisting like a living thing, as if recognizing her touch.
The beasts whispered among themselves, tension rippling through the arena. No human had ever done this.
"Now," Veyrath's voice was low, commanding, intimate, "control it."
Lysandra's mind screamed. How? She had no training, no guidance, nothing but raw fear and wonder. But as she concentrated, she realized the warmth inside her was listening. It pulsed in rhythm with her heartbeat, as if it were alive.
She focused, drawing the heat inward, shaping it with her will. Slowly, the energy bent to her direction, spiraling into a soft orb that hovered above her palms.
Gasps echoed through the Circle.
Veyrath's golden eyes burned brighter. "Well done," he murmured. "You survived the first stage. Most humans would have collapsed by now."
Lysandra's legs shook, and she collapsed to her knees, exhausted and exhilarated. The energy faded, leaving only a gentle warmth under her skin.
"You…" a lion-man said, his voice trembling with respect. "You're… extraordinary."
The beasts around her whispered, some stepping back, others studying her like prey-turned-threat.
Veyrath placed a hand on her shoulder. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down her spine, but it was steadying, anchoring. "Do not let their fear unnerve you. The Circle responds to power, not species. You have awakened something dangerous and beautiful. Do you understand?"
Lysandra nodded, still kneeling. "Yes… but I don't know what it means."
"It means," he said, voice soft but sharp, "that you are not just prey. You are a spark. And sparks can start fires that no beast can extinguish."
She swallowed hard, glancing at him. There was something in his gaze—something almost protective, almost tender, but layered with danger.
Then, as if to remind her of the world she was in, a wolf warrior stepped forward. His claws were long, eyes narrow, lips curled. "Do you really belong here, human? Or do you think this magic makes you equal to us?"
Lysandra rose slowly, drawing herself taller despite the exhaustion. "I don't know if I belong," she admitted. "But I know I will survive. And if that scares you, it should."
Veyrath's hand tightened on her shoulder, and the wolf took a half-step back, caution replacing aggression.
The Emperor's golden eyes met hers. "Remember this moment, Lysandra Elowen. You've taken the first step into a world where survival depends on power, perception, and control. And you've done it without begging, without crying, without yielding. That… earns respect."
Her chest heaved, and for the first time, she felt something she hadn't since the raid—a sense of agency, raw and fragile, shining through fear.
The Circle dispersed. The beasts returned to their stations, some murmuring in awe, others scowling. The platform where she knelt felt empty now, but the warmth in her veins remained, a constant reminder of the spark she carried.
Veyrath released her shoulder and stepped back. "Rest tonight. Tomorrow, the lessons begin. You'll learn to control it, or it will control you. And one day… you may find that even dragons notice sparks like yours."
Lysandra watched him leave, the weight of the day settling in. Exhaustion pulled at her limbs, but beneath it all, a flicker of hope burned—dangerous, forbidden, exhilarating.
For the first time, she realized: she was no longer just a human slave in a world of beasts.
She was something else.
Something powerful.
Something that might survive.
And maybe… something that might one day stand beside a dragon.