The days following the duel passed in a blur. Whispers about Rhiannon's unmatched magic echoed in the corridors of the Academy. Though she remained distant and often silent, her name had become a symbol of unpredictable power. Yet inside, she was in turmoil.
Lady Veyra's warning clung to her thoughts: "You are a blood-bound heiress, born to awaken an empire's ruin or redemption." Rhiannon had no clue what it meant, but she feared every step forward might be a step deeper into something irreversible.
Tyrien had been quieter too, more thoughtful. He trailed behind her as they climbed the marble stairs of the North Wing Library. Autumn light poured through the stained-glass windows, casting colored shadows that danced like flames.
"You haven't asked me what I saw that night," he said finally.
Rhiannon glanced at him. "You said I wouldn't believe it."
"I still think you won't. But I can't stay silent anymore. That shadow that tried to control you—it wasn't just dark magic. It was ancient. Feral. It didn't belong here."
She paused. "You mean like forbidden magic?"
He shook his head. "No. I mean it didn't belong in this world. It wasn't a spell. It was alive."
Before she could respond, Professor Kael strode into the library, interrupting the moment. "Miss Aeloria, Lord Tyrien. A message arrived from the High Enclave. You are both to attend the tribunal this evening."
Rhiannon's breath caught. "Tribunal?"
"They are reviewing the duel, your use of the forbidden flame, and... other concerns," he added cryptically.
---
That evening, the Tribunal Hall was lit with floating lanterns, each containing captured starlight. The air was heavy with incense and judgment. Rhiannon stood at the center of a stone circle surrounded by robed figures: the Elders of the Enclave.
Elder Maeron, with a beard like snow-draped cliffs, raised his staff. "Miss Aeloria. You've shown power beyond your years. Beyond your station. Do you deny that your fire spoke a language lost to time?"
She hesitated. "I don't know what I spoke. It came through me."
"Exactly," murmured Elder Virel. "Power that channels through a vessel is not born of training. It is born of blood."
Gasps rippled through the hall. Tyrien stepped forward, fists clenched. "What are you implying?"
Elder Maeron fixed him with a sharp look. "We are saying that this girl is not merely gifted. She may be chosen. By forces we do not control."
Rhiannon's legs weakened. "Chosen by who?"
The silence that followed was crushing.
---
After the tribunal, Lady Veyra found her alone beneath the Moonspire Tree.
"They know what you are," she said, voice laced with dread. "And they are afraid."
"What am I?"
Veyra looked skyward. "You are the lock, and the key. The curse, and the cure. And the world will soon try to tear you apart to claim whichever part suits their agenda."
---
The next day brought another twist. An envoy from the House of Thorns arrived, led by a tall, hooded man. He bore a sigil shaped like a bleeding rose.
"I come bearing a royal summons," he said. "To Lady Rhiannon Aeloria, rightful heir to the Ashen Throne of Eldravar."
Rhiannon's heart pounded. "There must be a mistake."
The man bowed. "The blood never lies."
Within hours, the Academy was abuzz. Half the students looked at her in awe. The other half, in fear.
Tyrien found her at the edge of the cliff garden. "Are you alright?"
"No," she whispered. "I don't want a throne. I don't want any of this."
"But it's yours."
"No," she said again. "It's a trap. It's always been a trap."
As the wind howled around them, she remembered the vision: a city in flames, her hands dripping with power and blood, and a voice—her own—saying, "Let them kneel."
She turned to Tyrien. "If I fall into this path, will you still follow me?"
His answer was steady, fierce. "I will walk beside you. Even if the world burns."
---
Later that night, she returned to the hidden chamber beneath the library. The runes were glowing again—this time on their own. As she approached, the air thickened. The pages of an ancient grimoire turned without touch.
"Lady Aeloria," a voice echoed. It was not human. It was ancient and curious. "You seek answers. Ask, and I will give them."
"Who are you?" she whispered.
"I am what was sealed away when your ancestors grew afraid of their own strength. I am the Flame Beyond Flame."
Her heart pounded. "Why do you call me?"
"Because your blood sings the song of the first fire. The sealed one. The forgotten crown."
Images flooded her mind: a woman in armor weeping before a ruined throne, a dragon made of shadows and lightning, and a golden gate with thirteen locks.
"You will face trials," the voice warned. "The first gate opens with your choice: renounce the throne, or embrace it."
"I didn't ask for this," she snapped.
"Nor did the storm ask for the sky," the voice replied.
---
The next morning, the Academy council declared that Rhiannon must leave the school for her own safety—and for the safety of others. The decision sparked protest among students and a silent revolt from the faculty.
"You're exiling her because she's strong," Tyrien accused. "Because she scares you."
"She is a threat we don't understand," Elder Maeron said. "Until we do, she cannot remain."
She packed in silence. Her fingers trembled as she folded her robes, unsure if she'd ever return. Tyrien entered without knocking, his eyes stormy.
"You don't have to go alone," he said.
"I know," she replied. "But I have to go."
He clenched his jaw. "Then take this." He handed her an amulet—its crystal pulsing faintly. "It will shield your thoughts. From spies. From dreamwalkers."
Rhiannon stepped out into the courtyard where a skycraft awaited. As she climbed aboard, she looked back at the Academy—the place where she had first tasted power, fear, and longing. The place where everything had begun.
As the skycraft lifted, Tyrien remained below, watching until she disappeared into the clouds.
He didn't see her tears. But he felt them in the wind.
And far below the Academy, in a forgotten prison of stone, something ancient stirred. A being who had once ruled beside flame and fury.
"She rises," the creature whispered in a voice like cracking bones. "And so the chains weaken.