The Trial
1209 Words
The Emberreach Wastes stretched out before them—miles of blackened sand, glassy dunes, and scorched rock that still hummed with ancient fire. Centuries ago, it had been the cradle of the Phoenix God's worship. Now, it was a cursed graveyard, abandoned after the last divine war.
The sun was a dull red disk behind the ash-veiled sky. Even the wind seemed afraid to breathe.
Kael staggered beneath the weight of his injuries. Blood soaked the torn sleeve at his shoulder where a dark-blade had sliced through to the bone. He said nothing about it, of course. He never did. But Elira noticed the way he leaned heavier with each step.
“Sit,” she said finally, dropping her own pack. “We rest. Just for an hour.”
“We’re being hunted,” he said hoarsely. “You saw the sky last night. They opened a gate.”
“I saw it. But if you collapse from blood loss, you’ll be dead before they find us.”
Kael didn’t argue. He sat on a cracked stone, wincing, while Elira knelt beside him and pressed her palms to his wound. She had no formal healing magic—none that worked as cleanly as the old priestesses—but she had fire. And fire cauterized.
“This will hurt,” she warned.
Kael grinned through his sweat. “I’ve been stabbed. How bad can—gods!—”
The flames sealed the wound, smoking. He nearly doubled over.
“Done,” she said, rising.
“I’m never marrying a fire priestess again,” he groaned.
She snorted. “You married a queen.”
“Same difference.”
---
They found it at dusk—a buried temple, swallowed by sand and time.
The entrance was marked by two half-melted statues of the Phoenix and the Wolf, their faces cracked beyond recognition. The runes across the lintel shimmered faintly, untouched by time.
“Elira,” Kael said quietly. “These aren’t just any ruins. This is the Sanctuary of the First Flame.”
Her breath caught.
She had read about it only in the forbidden pages of the Flame Codex. A place where the gods first descended. Where vessels were chosen. Where oaths became binding—and where those oaths could be undone.
They descended cautiously into the dark.
The air grew thick. Not with dust, but power.
---
Torches lit themselves as they entered. The grand antechamber had once been a place of worship—now, it was a labyrinth of crumbled altars and glyph-marked stone.
Then, from the shadows ahead, a voice rose. Clear. Unaged.
“The heirs return. Flame and frost. Flesh and faith.”
Kael raised his blade. Elira summoned fire to her palm.
“Show yourself,” she said.
A figure emerged—neither man nor spirit, but something between. His body glowed with internal fire, his eyes embers without end. Cloaked in smoke, he bowed low.
“I am Veyrn,” he said. “Guardian of the Trial. You seek power. You seek clarity. You seek survival.”
“Who sent you?” Kael asked.
“Ignarion. Orvaal. And something older still.”
The chamber shook.
A deep rumble echoed from the bones of the temple.
“Only those who face the Trial may emerge worthy.”
Veyrn stepped back. The floor split open in a ring, revealing a spiral staircase.
“One must burn. One must freeze. Both must choose.”
Elira glanced at Kael.
“If we do this,” she said, “there’s no going back.”
“There’s nothing left to go back to,” he replied.
They descended.
---
Elira’s Trial: The Mirror of Flame
The tunnel opened into a great hollow chamber pulsing with heat. At its center stood a mirror of obsidian framed in gold, its surface alight with dancing fire.
Elira stepped forward. Her reflection blinked—and smiled.
But it wasn’t her smile.
“You could end this,” it said. “Take the Ember Throne for yourself. Burn the gods who made you their pawn. Kael is in your way.”
Elira gritted her teeth.
“You’re not me.”
“I am the you who wins. The you who doesn’t hesitate.”
The mirror flared. Images flashed—Kael dying, Vaelir burning, her people kneeling before her as Empress of Flame.
Her heart twisted.
But then came a second image—her mother’s face, tired but proud. Valen’s sacrifice. Kael’s hands, bloodied, holding hers in the ruins.
She closed her eyes. When she opened them, her fire was steady.
“I don’t want to rule alone,” she said. “I want to change the world. And I’ll do it with him.”
She flung her flames at the mirror. It shattered with a scream.
---
Kael’s Trial: The Hall of Frosted Thrones
Kael entered a frozen cathedral lined with statues—ice-sculpted monarchs of Vaelir past. His ancestors.
At the far end stood his father.
King Tharan Drenvir. Cold-eyed. Alive only in memory.
“You betrayed your blood,” the statue said. “You serve a flameborn. You married the enemy.”
Kael didn’t flinch. “She’s not the enemy.”
“She is chaos. The gods whisper poison. Abandon her, and you can reclaim Vaelir. Lead it in purity. Alone.”
Kael stepped forward, each word slicing deeper than blades.
“She risked her life to save me. She lost her mother. Her crown. And still, she fights. If that makes me a traitor—so be it.”
The statue cracked. Then shattered.
---
They emerged from their trials at the same time—bloodied, sweating, but alive.
Veyrn bowed.
“You have passed. You are not who you were.”
He held out a relic—a black crown pulsing with heat and frost.
“This is the Ember Sigil. The last surviving link to the gods before they fell silent. It will shield you from divine corruption—and it will reveal the path to Neraxis.”
Kael reached for it—but the moment he touched the relic, the world shifted.
A vision engulfed them both.
---
They stood in a field of stars.
Before them, three gods—blazing Ignarion, icy Orvaal, and shadowed Neraxis, whose form changed with every heartbeat.
A war raged between them—planets burning, seas boiling, mortals crushed beneath their feet.
Then came a moment—when two gods united against the third. Neraxis was sealed, cast into the void. Forgotten.
“I was balance,” Neraxis said. “I was truth.”
“They feared me because I saw the lie in their war.”
“You, children of oath and ruin… will be my reckoning.”
And then the vision shattered.
---
Elira collapsed in the temple.
Kael caught her just before she hit the stone.
Her eyes opened, wide with terror.
“Neraxis isn't coming,” she whispered. “They’re already here.”
---
Far beyond the reach of mortal eyes, the Gate above the Ember Palace split further—tearing sky and time alike.
From within stepped a figure cloaked in silver ash, wearing no crown—but the absence of one.
The gods screamed.
And Neraxis smiled.
- Writer
