Kira's POV
I wake up alone in Vaelor's chambers, and for one beautiful second, I forget where I am.
Then reality crashes back. The Eternal Flame. The miracle. Vaelor claiming me as his prisoner to save my life.
The door slams open before I can even sit up. Guards storm in—not the ones from yesterday, but new ones with faces twisted in rage.
"Get up, forest rat," one snarls. "The king demands your presence. Now."
My heart hammers. Something's wrong. These guards look at me like they want to throw me back into the flames themselves.
They drag me through corridors while Ash People spit at my feet and shout words I'm grateful I can't understand. Whatever miracle happened yesterday, half the clan clearly sees it as an insult rather than a sign.
We enter the throne room, and I immediately know this isn't a normal audience.
Every council member is present. Warriors line the walls. And in the center, chained between two pillars, are my parents.
"Mom! Dad!" I try to run to them, but guards block my path.
Dad's face is bruised. Mom's hands are bound so tight her wrists are bleeding. Behind them, Lo'ak, Spider, and Tuk are held by more warriors.
"What is this?" I turn on the Ash King, fear turning to fury. "They did nothing! Let them go!"
Volcyn rises from his throne slowly, like movement pains him. In daylight, he looks even more broken than yesterday—a shell of a man held together by rage alone.
"Do you know what happened during the night, forest girl?" His voice is dangerously quiet. "While you slept in my son's private chambers?"
My face burns, but I lift my chin. "Nothing happened—"
"Three of our scouts died." He cuts me off. "Found with strange vines wrapped around their throats. Vines that glow with your goddess's light."
Ice floods my veins. "No. I was asleep. I didn't—"
"Convenient." Sylara steps forward from the shadows, her beautiful face twisted with satisfaction. "The forest witch brings death wrapped in pretty miracles. Just like Eywa always does."
"That's not true!" Tuk shouts, struggling against her guards. "Kira would never hurt anyone!"
But doubt creeps in even as I deny it. Last night, I had nightmares. Dark, violent dreams where vines strangled and thorns pierced. I woke up three times with my hands glowing.
Could I have done something without knowing?
"I can see it in your eyes," Volcyn says coldly. "The uncertainty. You don't even trust yourself."
"She's being framed!" Dad roars. "Those scouts were probably killed by someone trying to turn you against us!"
"Convenient theory." The king's empty eyes fix on Dad. "Tell me, Jake Sully—how many of your enemies have died mysteriously over the years? How many has your goddess-blessed daughter removed as obstacles?"
"You son of a—" Lo'ak lunges forward, but warriors slam him to the ground.
The throne room erupts in shouts. Half the council demands our immediate execution. Others argue for investigation. Asha the fire-speaker tries to speak reason, but no one listens.
Through it all, I search desperately for Vaelor.
He's not here.
Panic claws at my throat. Where is he? Did his father imprison him too for protecting me?
"ENOUGH!" Volcyn's voice cracks like a whip. Silence falls. "I will not have foreign magic poison my people from within. The forest girl will face the Trial of Truth."
Gasps ripple through the crowd. Even Sylara looks shocked.
"Father, no—" Asha starts, but Volcyn silences her with a look.
"What's the Trial of Truth?" I ask, though dread already tells me I won't like the answer.
A cruel smile touches the king's dead face. "An ancient test. You drink volcanic water mixed with truth-root. If you're innocent, you survive and your mind stays whole. If you're guilty—or if you've used dark magic—the root will burn through your lies and your sanity."
"That's barbaric!" Mom shouts. "She's just a girl!"
"She survived the Eternal Flame," Volcyn counters. "Surely your goddess will protect her from mere volcanic water."
The trap is perfect. If I refuse, they'll assume guilt and execute my family. If I accept and fail, I'll either die or go mad.
"I'll do it," I hear myself say.
"Kira, no!" Dad strains against his chains.
But I'm already walking forward. "I'll take your trial. And when I survive, you'll release my family and admit you were wrong."
Volcyn studies me with those horrible empty eyes. "And if you fail? If the truth-root reveals you're a threat?"
I force myself to meet his gaze. "Then do what you want with me. But let them go."
"Deal."
A warrior brings forward an obsidian cup filled with liquid that steams and bubbles. Even from here, I can smell the sulfur and something else—bitter and sharp like poison.
"Wait!" Tuk's voice breaks. "Please don't make her drink that! She's good! She's the best person I know!"
My baby sister's tears nearly break my resolve. I want to run to her, hold her, tell her everything will be okay.
But I can't lie to her. Not now.
The warrior holding the cup steps closer. The liquid inside writhes like it's alive, reflecting red light from the lava channels.
I reach for it—
The doors explode inward.
Vaelor strides through, and he's not alone. Behind him march twenty warriors wearing different armor than the throne room guards, carrying weapons that blaze with blue flame instead of red.
And in his arms, he carries the real bodies of the murdered scouts.
"Father," Vaelor's voice cuts through the shocked silence. "Before you poison an innocent girl, perhaps you should see this."
He drops the bodies at the king's feet. Even I can see they weren't killed by vines.
They were killed by fire. Specifically, by blue fire—the kind only one person in the Ash Clan can create.
Vaelor turns slowly to face Sylara. His golden eyes burn with fury I've never seen before.
"You killed our own people to frame her," he says quietly. "You murdered three scouts and used forbidden magic to create fake evidence."
Sylara's face goes white. Then red. Then she laughs—a horrible, broken sound that makes my skin crawl.
"Of course I did," she spits. "Everything was perfect before she came! You were mine! The clan was strong! And then this forest witch shows up and suddenly you're risking everything for her?"
"You murdered innocent warriors—"
"I SAVED US!" Sylara screams. "I saved you from making the worst mistake of your life! She'll destroy you, Vaelor! Just like Eywa destroys everything she touches!"
Guards move to restrain her, but Sylara's hands burst into blue flames. The warriors holding her scream and fall back, their arms burning.
"You want to see destruction?" Sylara's eyes have gone mad. "I'll show you destruction!"
She slams her flaming hands against the ground.
The entire citadel shakes. Cracks split the volcanic rock beneath our feet. From deep below, I hear something terrible—a rumble that sounds like the earth itself waking up angry.
"What did you do?" Volcyn demands, fear breaking through his empty expression for the first time.
Sylara smiles—beautiful and insane. "I've been channeling forbidden fire magic into the deep vents for weeks. Building pressure. Redirecting lava flows. All I needed was the right moment to trigger it."
She looks directly at me. "If I can't have him, no one can. If you won't let the flame burn the forest witch, I'll make the flame burn everyone."
Another massive tremor. The ground splits wider. Through the cracks, I see red light—magma, rising.
"She's triggered an eruption," Asha breathes in horror. "Just like the one three hundred years ago."
Volcyn's face crumbles. "No. Not again. Not my people again—"
The citadel shakes so violently that people are thrown to the ground. Chunks of ceiling crash down. Someone screams that the lava channels are flooding, that the outer villages are in danger.
Through the chaos, Vaelor's eyes find mine across the throne room.
And in that moment, I feel Eywa's whisper—not in words, but in knowing:
This is why I sent you. Not to survive the flame. To save them from it.
"I can stop it," I say quietly, though somehow everyone hears me. "But I'll need help."
Vaelor doesn't hesitate. He cuts through the panicking crowd and takes my hand.
The moment our skin touches, power floods through both of us—his volcanic fire, my forest growth, combining into something neither of us could create alone.
"What do you need me to do?" he asks.
I look at him—this boy who claimed me as prisoner to save my life, who defied his father for me, who's now trusting me with his entire people.
"Something impossible," I admit. "Something that might kill us both."
Sylara laughs wildly as the citadel continues to crumble around us. "Too late! You can't stop what's coming! The mountain itself will—"
"We're not stopping it," I interrupt, sudden clarity flooding through me. "We're redirecting it."
I turn to Volcyn, who's on his knees, broken all over again by the thought of losing his people.
"Three hundred years ago, your king failed to save everyone from the eruption. Your goddess couldn't prevent all suffering," I say urgently. "But today? Today we try again. Together. Fire and forest. Forsaken and faithful."
Another massive tremor. The walls start to crack. People are fleeing now, abandoning the throne room.
"But if we fail—" Vaelor starts.
"Then we burn together," I finish. "Which honestly seems appropriate for us."
Despite everything, his mouth twitches. "You have a terrible sense of humor, forest girl."
"You love it, flame boy."
The word hangs between us—love—as the mountain prepares to explode.
Volcyn looks up at us with his dead eyes finally showing something like hope. "Can you really save them?"
I squeeze Vaelor's hand tighter. Feel his power and mine swirling together, volatile and beautiful.
"I don't know," I answer honestly. "But Eywa sent me here for something. Maybe it was for this."
The rumbling grows deafening. Red light floods through every crack. We have seconds, maybe less.
Vaelor pulls me toward the door. "Then let's not die in a collapsing throne room. If we're doing something impossible, we might as well do it spectacularly."
We run together toward the heart of the mountain.
Toward the volcanic core that's about to destroy everything.
Toward either salvation or death—I honestly can't tell which.
Behind us, I hear my family shouting. Volcyn calling orders. Warriors mobilizing.
But all I can focus on is the feeling of Vaelor's hand in mine and Eywa's whisper in my soul:
"Plant the seed where faith burned to ash. Even if you have to burn with it."
The citadel splits open above us.
And we dive into the fire together.