---
A Test Of Fire
It began with a summons.
At dawn, before even the bell rang to wake the dormitories, a knock echoed through the stone corridor outside Liora's room. Sharp. Precise.
She opened the door to find two Wardens—cloaked in crimson, their faces unreadable.
"Liora Vale," one said. "You are summoned to the Hall of Judicium. Immediately."
No explanation. No refusal.
Liora dressed quickly, heart pounding beneath her ribs. Her fingers trembled as she fastened her cloak, but her face remained composed.
She had been careful. Too careful.
And yet someone had spoken.
---
The Hall of Judicium was vast and cold, carved into the heart of the academy's oldest wing. Pillars rose like twisted roots, black marble shot through with veins of silver. Torches flickered with pale blue flames that gave off no warmth.
At the center stood the Tribunal: three Masters of Warborn—one from Combat, one from Magic, and one from Lore.
Behind them, shadows. Spectators. Students. Riven Thornhart stood among them, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. He hadn't expected this.
No one was summoned here without cause.
And cause meant evidence.
---
"Liora Vale," intoned Headmaster Kael from the central dais. "You are brought before this tribunal to answer for suspicions of forbidden magic and falsified lineage."
A murmur ran through the crowd.
Liora lifted her chin, every muscle in her body taut.
"I have done nothing to warrant this accusation."
Kael's gaze was unreadable. "You survived the Mockery Games without injury. Bypassed enchantments students twice your level failed to see. And last night, you entered the restricted archives through sealed wards. Explain."
Silence fell like a blade.
Liora's voice remained even. "I study. I listen. I pay attention to the details others ignore."
The Master of Lore leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "And the bloodline? The name 'Vale' is forbidden by royal decree. Your enrollment record claims heritage from a dissolved merchant family—yet your sigil ring says otherwise."
Liora's hand clenched at her side.
Of course they'd found it. She had worn it only once, briefly.
A mistake.
"I carry the name only in memory. Not as a claim."
Kael's gaze sharpened. "But memory is power in these halls, child. Especially when it awakens."
He raised one hand—and a circle of fire burst to life around her.
Blue. Cold. Magical.
Riven stiffened.
A containment circle.
She was being tested.
Not questioned.
Hunted.
---
"You will be given a Trial of Verity," Kael said. "A truthfire will probe your mind and draw out your magical essence. If you carry power forbidden by treaty—if the old flame of Wyrmere burns in you—it will be revealed."
Liora's pulse thudded in her ears. "And if I refuse?"
"Then you will be expelled. And hunted beyond these walls."
She looked at the circle of fire around her. Then at Kael.
Then at the shadows of the crowd.
And she saw him.
Riven.
Watching. Waiting.
Not mocking.
Worried.
She took a breath. Stepped into the flames.
And let the truthfire take her.
---
It was not pain that greeted her.
It was memory.
She was seven again, hidden beneath floorboards as men in black sigils tore her home apart.
Nine, watching her mother's last breath as a wardblade pierced her chest.
Eleven, hands bloodied, drawing fire from nothing to burn through the chains.
Fifteen, kneeling before her aunt in the ruins of Wyrmere's last tower, being told what she carried. What she was.
And always, the fire.
Not rage.
But purpose.
---
Outside the circle, the flames flared high. Unnatural. Wild.
Gasps erupted from the crowd.
Kael's eyes widened.
"She—she's resisting the truthfire."
The Master of Magic stood. "Impossible. That's old magic. Pre-Uprising. Only the Vale line could—"
Riven stepped forward.
"She's not resisting," he said, voice sharp. "She's controlling it."
And then, in the center of the flames, Liora opened her eyes.
They burned gold.
The circle shattered.
Magic pulsed out like a shockwave. Not destructive, but cleansing. Ancient runes lit up across the floor—wards forgotten by time reawakened by her presence.
The Tribunal stood in stunned silence.
And Liora—still calm, still composed—met Kael's stare.
"I told you," she said softly. "I'm not claiming the past."
"But the past," she added, "never let go of me."
---
She was escorted back to her dorm, not in chains, but with reverent distance. No one spoke.
The rumors would multiply now. Take on wings. And maybe they should.
Because hiding had failed.
Riven was waiting for her outside her room.
He didn't smirk. Didn't jeer.
"Why didn't you tell anyone?" he asked.
She looked at him. Really looked.
He wasn't mocking her. He was curious. And something more dangerous.
Concerned.
"Would you have believed me?"
"No," he admitted. "But I would've helped."
"Why?"
Riven leaned against the doorframe, his tone low. "Because I don't like being blindsided. And I don't like the Council setting traps they don't understand."
"You think this was a trap?"
He nodded once. "You walked through it and didn't burn. That makes you dangerous. And valuable."
She folded her arms. "And you're suddenly a protector now?"
"I'm something better," Riven said. "I'm a strategist. And you just changed the board."
---
Elsewhere, deep beneath the academy, the hooded figure from before reported to a stone mirror.
"She passed," the voice rasped. "The fire awakened—but she contained it. Just like the old one did."
A new voice replied, smooth and cold.
"Then the prophecy is still alive."
"And the Thornhart boy?"
"He's circling. Closer every day."
A pause.
Then the command.
"Let them draw together. It will make breaking them all the sweeter."
---
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