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Chapter 40 - chapter 40: Trial of the Promised

‎Chapter 40: The Trial of the Promised

‎The chapel door slammed shut behind them.

‎Kael turned. It wouldn't open.

‎The handle melted in his grip like wax.

‎"Of course," Maerin muttered, drawing her blade. "A cursed trial. Always ends in a courtroom."

‎But Lyra wasn't listening.

‎She was staring at the altar where the noose swayed gently over an open book, its pages turning on their own.

‎The pews were filled.

‎Not with townsfolk.

‎With memories.

‎Seren. Oran. Her mother. The Hollow Saint. A version of Kael from when he still wore shadows beneath his eyes.

‎And somewhere in the very back herself, younger, eyes wide, a candle burning in her chest.

‎---

‎A gavel rang out.

‎The sound didn't echo.

‎It multiplied.

‎Dozens of gavels slammed inside Lyra's skull.

‎Then a voice like velvet over rot said:

‎ "The trial of Lyra Elowen Vale is now in session."

‎She stepped forward because something inside her made her.

‎Kael moved, but the moment his feet left the circle of salt at the doorway, the floor screamed beneath him.

‎Lyra raised a hand.

‎"Stay there."

‎A judge appeared behind the pulpit.

‎Faceless. Robed in root threads. His gavel was made from bone.

‎ "The accused is charged with the following:

‎Abandoning her given role.

‎Witnessing the truth and denying it.

‎And living… when she was meant to burn."

‎Kael shouted, "This isn't real!"

‎But Maerin hissed, "Don't break the circle. This is binding magic. If you interrupt, it starts again."

‎Kael's fists clenched. "She's in there alone."

‎Maerin whispered, "She has to win this in memory, or we all lose in reality."

‎---

‎Lyra stood before the judge.

‎"I didn't abandon anything," she said. "I was a child. I didn't know."

‎ "Ignorance does not erase debt," the judge replied.

‎The gavel slammed again.

‎The pews shifted.

‎Every memory-Lyra turned to face her.

‎One by one, they stood.

‎Each one spoke a word.

‎ "Coward."

‎"Liar."

‎"Witness."

‎"Thief."

‎"Failure."

‎"Saint."

‎"Daughter."

‎She flinched.

‎The courtroom walls closed in.

‎Suddenly she was ten again, shivering in her old village, whispering to Oran that she couldn't sleep because her shadow wouldn't stay attached anymore.

‎The candle inside her flickered.

‎"I didn't want this," she whispered.

‎The judge leaned forward.

‎"Then why did you come back?"

‎That question silenced her.

‎Why had she?

‎To find Oran?

‎To uncover her past?

‎To fix what had been broken?

‎Or to burn it all down and see if anything could grow in the ash?

‎The gavel slammed again.

‎ "You have one final witness."

‎The door behind the altar opened

‎And Kael walked out.

‎But not the Kael beside her in the chapel.

‎This Kael had no eyes.

‎Just black root tendrils pouring from the sockets.

‎He looked at her and smiled.

‎ "You dragged me back."

‎Lyra shook her head. "No. No, I didn't."

‎ "You fed it. Every time you tried to fix it, you fed it. Every name you called, every memory you touched, every lie you exposed…"

‎He stepped closer.

"You kept it alive because you needed to matter."

‎The gavel raised.

‎Lyra dropped to her knees.

‎And then

‎She laughed.

‎The room froze.

‎The false Kael's face twisted. "What's funny?"

‎She looked up, her eyes wet but fierce.

‎"That's the curse. That's always been the curse."

‎She rose, candle still flickering.

‎ "It's not the root. Or the pact. Or the Saint."

‎ "It's the belief that I was born to die."

‎She turned to the judge.

‎ "I choose not to."

‎The book on the altar burst into flame.

‎The noose unraveled into ash.

‎The gavel cracked down

‎But the floor beneath it split open.

‎A scream rose not human.

‎Not god.

‎But town.

‎Whisperwood shrieked like it was being torn from its own bones.

‎Lyra was thrown back into Kael's arms as the circle shattered.

‎Maerin caught them both as the chapel imploded behind them roots, pews, judge, all dragged into the screaming sinkhole where memory had been sentenced.

‎The trial was over.

‎But something darker had awakened.

‎Not beneath them.

‎Above.

‎The sky was bleeding now.

‎And in the clouds, something massive stirred.

‎A shape made of names.

‎And in its center, one word glowed:

‎Nyra.

‎Kael whispered, "Who the hell is Nyra?"

‎Lyra stared at the sky, frozen.

‎Because she knew.

‎But she'd forgotten she had ever been called that.

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