The vast dome of Caelmont's Hall of Concord seemed to drink in every sound. Footsteps struck the marble floor like drumbeats, their echoes curling upward into the gilded ribs of the ceiling before vanishing into the air. That air itself felt charged, as if holding its breath for the moment before a storm.
The lords of the realm were all here. Councilors in their high seats, scribes with quick quills, nobles crowding the galleries, their silks whispering in restless anticipation. Today was no ordinary hearing.
The High Oracle herself had come.
Elyria Venn sat upon the Aether Throne....an ancient seat of glass-veined marble, shimmering faintly with threads of starlight.
She was said to be centuries old, yet her form held the beauty of a woman in her prime: hair dark as midnight, skin unlined, and eyes… those eyes.
Violet irises that seemed to drink in the soul of whoever they touched. When her gaze fell upon Aurelia Flameborne, there was the briefest curve of her lips....more knowing than kind....before she let her lids drift shut, as though slipping into some private vision.
The Hall grew quieter for her presence. Even the most arrogant lords shifted in their seats, remembering that before Elyria Venn, titles meant little and pretense meant nothing.
Azarion Flameborne stood in the center of the chamber, cloaked in crimson, the fabric spilling behind him like a tongue of fire. His hair was like the golden red of volcanic, his molten-gold eyes fixed on the dais where the Council presided.
Across from him sat Lord Neris Winterbourne, the Lord of Frostmere. His robes were white as hoarfrost, his silky ice blue hair gleaming under the high lights. He looked carved from ice...perfectly composed, perfectly cold.
"Lord Azarion," intoned Councilor Elandor Quen, his voice carrying through the chamber, formal and restrained.
"You stand before this Council to present your claim. Lord Winterbourne has contested the union arranged between your daughter and himself. The Council will hear your reasoning before judgment is rendered."
Azarion's jaw flexed, a muscle shifting in his cheek.
"My reasoning is simple," he said, his voice deliberate, like a blade drawn slowly from its sheath.
"A betrothal was agreed upon. Fire and ice joined in good faith, binding Emberhold and Frostmere as allies. A pact sealed with our word....and our word is our honor. To break it now is to spit on that honor. On my house."
Behind him stood Aldric Flameborne, tall and composed, eyes fixed ahead. Beside Aldric lingered Calista, draped in silks the color of deep embers, her fingers idly tracing the gold chain at her throat. Her lips curved in the faintest smirk, like someone savoring a private jest.
Lord Neris's voice came, calm and crystalline.
"I will not bind Frostmere's future to a woman cursed by dark magic. This is not whim, lord Azarion....it is preservation. My house will not suffer ruin for sentiment."
Gasps fluttered through the galleries. All eyes swung toward Aurelia. She kept her gaze lowered, but she felt the weight of every stare.
The memory of her beauty...the kind that once drew poets and princes...hung in contrast to the deformities the curse had carved upon her face.
Azarion's voice dropped to a dangerous quiet.
"Careful, Winterbourne. Words have power… and so do I."
A younger councilor shifted uneasily. Elandor Quen raised a placating hand. "My lords, threats have no place in this Hall."
"They have every place," Azarion cut in, stepping forward, the red sweep of his cloak licking at the marble.
"When my blood is slandered before half the realm. You speak of curses as though they are more dangerous than cowardice.
My daughter is no shadow-spawn. She is a Flameborne. Fire runs in her veins. And I will not have her name dragged through the mud because you lack the courage to honor your word."
From his seat, Neris did not so much as blink.
"I have already told you, I act from necessity, not fear."
Councilor Serathis Durn, older and broader than the rest, leaned forward. "Lord Winterbourne, you claim your refusal is grounded in supernatural danger. The Council invites you to present evidence."
Neris rose with unhurried grace. "I will." He stepped into the open floor, the white folds of his robe whispering against the stone.
"Before this Council, I will show what I have learned...what you all must understand. And when I am finished, judge for yourselves whether I was right."
Whispers swept through the chamber like a wind through dry leaves.
Calista leaned toward Aurelia, her tone dipped in honeyed venom. "Enjoy the performance, dear sister. It's not every day one's ruin is staged for an audience."
Aurelia lifted her head then, meeting Calista's gaze with a calm that was almost regal. She would not look away.
Neris drew from his sleeve a scroll bound in silver cord, the wax seal marked with the sigil of Aiseryn's Seers.
He held it aloft. "This is the record of a prophecy kept in my house for three generations. It speaks of a union that would bring Frostmere to ruin.
A darkness that would seep into its heart until the ice itself turned black. The Seers' words have guided my bloodline for centuries. I would be a fool to ignore them now."
Several councilors exchanged knowing glances. The Seers of Aiseryn were not given to dramatic claims, and their counsel carried weight far beyond their frozen homeland.
Aurelia stood still, the prophecy like a shadow creeping across the chamber. She felt the subtle shift in the crowd...the pull of superstition, the sway of ancient warnings. Yet she would not let it shape her.
Azarion's reply came sharp as a whip.
"Prophecies are words on parchment. They hold power only over those too weak to defy them. My daughter is not a herald of ruin."
Serathis Durn's deep voice rolled over the murmurings. "The matter before us touches the honor of two great houses. It demands more than accusations and old verses. The Council will deliberate with care before rendering judgment."
The lords of Caelmont inclined their heads in agreement.
From above, in the high galleries, Vaelric Stormborne leaned against the railing beside his father's companions, eyes wide as saucers. He had begged to attend, and now he could hardly breathe for the weight of the scene before him. His eyes fixed on Aurelia.
The Councilors withdrew behind the carved doors at the rear of the dais, their robes whispering like waves retreating from shore. The Hall filled at once with noise...voices rising in speculation, in whispered alliances and quiet wagers.
Aurelia remained where she was, spine straight, chin lifted just enough to keep the despair from reaching her eyes. Whatever the Council decided, she would not crumble before them.
Not now. Not ever.
The bells of Caelmont rang somewhere beyond the Hall, their deep chime marking the hour, counting down to a verdict that would either bind her life...or set it ablaze.