The flame's embrace tightened, not burning but illuminating. Soren staggered under the onslaught of sensations, not pain, but a pressure that threatened to crack him open from within, revealing something buried so deep he hadn't known it existed.
Visions flashed before his eyes, fragmented but vivid:
A throne constructed entirely of blades, their edges gleaming in torchlight.
A battlefield over which loomed a dragon's shadow, massive and ancient.
A crown wreathed in flames that matched the color of the fire now surrounding him.
The chains around his wrists began to glow red-hot, the metal softening, scripture warping as hairline fractures appeared in the links.
From the gallery came sounds of confusion, gasps, muttered prayers, a chair scraping back as someone rose in alarm.
Soren could barely focus on them through the curtain of light that enveloped him, but he caught glimpses of wide eyes, pale faces, hands clutching religious symbols for protection.
