CHAPTER 5 : ECHOES OF THE FLAME

The journey back to Maelric Keep was long and silent. The Eastern Guard rode with heavy hearts, their victory in the east overshadowed by the news from the capital. Ilyana kept her gaze fixed on the winding road ahead, her thoughts tangled between Solara’s challenge and Renard’s betrayal. The chill in the wind whispered doubts she dared not voice aloud.

As the towers of the Keep emerged on the horizon, she drew a deep breath. "Ready yourselves," she told her men. "Our battle is not over."

The gates of Maelric Keep opened slowly, groaning on their ancient hinges. Within, the atmosphere had shifted—guards watched from the shadows, servants hurried past with bowed heads, and banners of the royal lion hung alongside Renard’s personal crest.

"He moves boldly," Sir Alden muttered at her side.

"Too boldly," Ilyana replied. "A man who strikes before his crown is earned reveals his fear."

She dismounted and made her way to the Great Hall, Marin and Othric following closely.

Inside, the council chamber was filled with nobles and courtiers, their faces a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. Duke Renard stood at the head of the hall, clad in ceremonial armor, his smile thin and cold.

"Your Grace," Renard said, his voice carrying, "we had feared the worst when word of your battle reached us."

"You feared only that I might return," Ilyana answered calmly.

The room fell quiet.

Renard spread his hands. "In your absence, the council agreed to appoint a regent—one who could act swiftly in these dark times."

"And you, of course, were their choice," she said.

He inclined his head. "Until the trials are complete."

Torvell stepped forward, his presence still and powerful. "The final trial has been uncovered. By ancient law, the Flame of Veritas must decide between the twin heirs."

Gasps filled the chamber.

Renard’s composure slipped. "Twin heirs?"

Ilyana met his gaze, unwavering. "My sister, Solara."

Whispers swirled through the room like smoke.

That night, Ilyana stood alone in the Hall of Flame. The great brazier burned softly, casting shadows across the ancient runes etched into the floor.

"Will it choose me?" she whispered.

Othric approached quietly. "The flame reveals truth, not desire."

She turned to him. "And if the truth says I am unworthy?"

He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Then you will face it, as you have faced everything else—with courage."

The following morning, Solara arrived at the Keep.

She rode beneath a white flag, her soldiers camped beyond the outer walls. The gates opened cautiously, and she entered alone.

In the Great Hall, the sisters faced one another before the gathered court.

Solara’s voice was steady. "I come to claim what is mine."

Ilyana stood tall. "Then let the Flame decide."

Torvell raised his staff. "By ancient law, the heirs shall enter the Flame of Veritas together. The one it deems worthy shall rule. The other shall step aside."

Renard scowled but remained silent.

The hall emptied, leaving only the sisters and the flame.

They stood side by side, the heat of the fire warming their faces.

"Afraid?" Solara asked, a hint of challenge in her tone.

"Always," Ilyana admitted softly. "But I walk forward anyway."

Together, they stepped into the flame.

It was not fire that consumed them, but memory.

Visions swirled around them—their shared bloodline, the kingdom torn by war, the choices that had shaped them. They saw their mother, her face both tender and stern, whispering promises to protect them both.

The flame spoke.

"Two hearts born of one kingdom. One must lead. One must guard."

Ilyana’s voice trembled. "I seek peace."

Solara’s voice rang clear. "I seek justice."

The flame pulsed, casting a brilliant light that filled the hall.

And then—

Darkness.

When the light faded, they stood alone. The flame was gone.

Torvell entered slowly, his face unreadable.

"What did it decide?" Ilyana asked, her heart pounding.

Torvell bowed his head. "It chose neither."

Silence fell.

"The throne remains unclaimed," he continued. "The kingdom must be united by the will of its people, not the verdict of an ancient flame."

Confusion rippled through the sisters.

Solara stepped back, her brow furrowed. "Then we are to fight for it?"

Torvell’s voice was quiet. "You are to earn it."

That evening, Ilyana wandered the palace gardens, the scent of lilacs carried on the breeze.

Marin found her there, her steps hesitant. "What will you do now?"

"What I must," Ilyana said softly. "Win their hearts. Show them who I am."

"And Solara?"

Ilyana looked to the stars. "She will do the same."

Far beyond the keep, Renard gathered his remaining allies.

"Fools," he spat. "Leaving the fate of the realm to hearts and words."

He unfurled a scroll—a contract sealed with a foreign crest.

"If they will not choose, then I will."

The shadows closed in, and with them, a darker war began to stir.

And in the mountains, where ancient powers slept, something woke.

Its eyes opened—burning, watching.

Waiting for the sisters to fail.