The chamber felt colder than it should have. Torchlight danced across polished marble walls, but even the flames seemed to tremble in the draft. Shadows stretched long and thin, like fingers reaching for something lost. Isla knelt on the floor, the weight of the black stone heavy in her palm.
She stared down at it the veins of molten gold coiled beneath the glassy surface, silent. Still.
Nothing.
Her fingers curled tighter. Not even a flicker.
"Still nothing," she muttered, voice sharp as broken glass.
Across the room, the King sitted, arms folded, gaze fixed on the floor as if the stone's silence was a passing nuisance, not a pronouncement.
"You're wasting your breath, Isla," he said, flat.
Her head snapped up, anger flaring.
"I'm not wasting anything."
"This stone should respond. It must."
His lips twitched, but no warmth reached his eyes.
"The stone has chosen. It did not choose in error."
Her pulse hammered.
"And if it did? If this so-called verdict is flawed? Am I meant to accept it because the Gods say so?"
His eyes lifted at last slowly, tired.
"The Gods have spoken." No more trial."
"Trial?" Her voice cracked.
"You think this is some test to fail once and give up like that?
"There must be something you can do father" The stone is not a judge, jury, and executioner"
The Empress entered like a whisper, silk flowing around her like a second skin. Her presence dropped the air a degree colder. Graceful. Watchful. Unyielding.
"Trial is the correct word," she said, her tone as soft as it was cutting.
Isla's glare turned on her, defiance burning hotter than any torch.
"Then why does my King sit there in silence? Why no hope? No guidance?"
The Empress's gaze touched the King briefly.
A flicker of disappointment passed between them.
His jaw worked, but no answer came.
"Support is not a gift," the Empress said quietly. "It is earned.
Not all flames burn at the same heat.
Not all stones are ready to glow."
Isla clenched the stone harder.
"Then what does that make me? If this thing stays cold? If I can't summon even a single spark?"
The Empress stepped closer, shadows clinging to her. For a fleeting moment, her voice gentled.
"You are the flame beneath the glass."
Isla swallowed hard. The words scraped against old doubts.
A flame that scorched.
A flame they feared.
"Waiting for what? When?"
The King spoke again, voice heavy with something between duty and grief.
"The Gods decide the path. We only walk it."
She looked at him then really looked eyes hard, accusing.
"And what if the path is wrong? What if I'm meant for more?"
He met her staring fully now, unwavering.
"Then you'll burn brighter when the time comes."
A silence throbbed in the room like a held breath. The stone remained cool in her palm, its surface mocking in its stillness.
The Empress turned her attention back to the isla. "Patience, Isla. Fire that burns too soon consumes itself."
"I feel it," Isla said, voice raw. "I feel it inside me wanting to break free."
"Then learn to hold it. Control it. That is your true test."
A flicker of doubt gripped her. Maybe they were right. Maybe she wasn't ready. But then she heard it not with her ears, but in her bones. Her mother's voice, softer than she remembered: You were never made to wait.
The King stood, his shadow stretching long across the marble.
"Until then, trust the Gods' will."
But Isla didn't move. Her breath came shallow. The stone had judged her not worthy. Not chosen. What did that make her? A vessel too cracked to carry flame?
No.
She gritted her teeth, rising to her feet.
"I won't beg for power. I won't kneel to a stone. If this is not my trial, then I'll forge my own fire."
The King blinked.
The Empress said nothing.
The torches flashed.
And in Isla's chest A flicker. Small. Fierce. Unrelenting.
The flame was waiting.
She turned and walked from the chamber, the stone still cold in her hand.
But her heart?
It had already begun to burn.