Trial by Flame

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CHAPTER FOUR – “Trial by Flame”

They called it the Trial by Flame.

Rowan called it a death sentence.

She stood in the center of the arena, alone and exposed, surrounded by cracked stone and ghostly heat rising from the floor. Black scorch marks covered every inch of the walls, as if they were wounds that never fully healed. The circular platform beneath her boots still hummed with old magic, the kind that left a mark.

Above, the stadium seats were packed with Arcadia students—hundreds of them. Robes in crimson and black, eyes gleaming with curiosity, doubt, or something sharper.

Waiting.

Watching.

Hoping to see her break.

At the topmost tier, seated like judgment itself, Headmistress Vale loomed in her carved throne of basalt and flame. Her robes spilled around her like molten silk, and the golden dragonmark on her brow glowed bright under the sky.

“This trial,” she said, her voice cutting through the heavy air, “will determine whether Rowan Blake possesses the control required to remain at Arcadia.”

In simpler terms: Prove yourself—or burn.

Rowan’s throat tightened. Her fingers curled slightly at her sides, heat already flickering beneath her skin.

Her mind flashed back to the night before, down in the undercroft beneath Firestone Tower.

It had been just her and Kai.

“You’ve never even seen a flame spirit,” he’d muttered, pacing the cracked tiles, his hands clenched.

“I didn’t even know flame spirits existed,” she’d snapped back. “I didn’t even know I existed.”

He’d paused at that, his storm-gray eyes softening just a little. “Then we start there. With what you do know. Don’t push the fire. Feel it. Let it tell you what it needs.”

She’d scoffed. “It nearly turned the gym to ash.”

His mouth twitched. Almost a smile. “But it didn’t burn you. That matters.”

She’d stared at him, unblinking. “Why are you helping me?”

He had hesitated, then said softly, “Because you’re not ready. And I’m not going to let them destroy you.”

Now, standing under the weight of every eye in the arena, those words came back like a whisper against her ribs.

A deep, echoing crack split the silence.

Five black gates of shadow-glass rose from the stone, spaced in a half circle in front of her. Their surfaces shimmered with heat, their edges pulsing faint red, like veins of lava.

Something ancient stirred behind them.

Rowan’s breath hitched.

Then—without warning—a voice brushed her mind.

“Don’t panic. Their fire tests your soul, not your strength.”

Her heart skipped. Kai.

“Bond link. Temporary. I’m here.”

The word bond curled in her chest like a spark catching kindling. She didn’t know how it worked, didn’t care. All that mattered was that he was with her—somehow.

The first gate hissed open.

From the smoke emerged a flame spirit, swift and writhing, shaped like a snake made of sparks. It struck toward her, fast and bright.

Rowan didn’t flinch.

She lifted her hands, letting her fire rise—not to attack, but to meet it. Her flames stretched out like a veil between them, warm and steady.

The spirit paused. It hovered inches away, watching her with glowing eyes.

“Good,” Kai’s voice echoed in her mind. “You didn’t strike. You welcomed it.”

The second gate cracked wide.

A spirit shot through like a comet, wings of ash unfurling as it howled across the stone. The third followed fast—thick and crawling, its body melting into liquid flame.

Still, Rowan held her ground.

She didn’t fight.

She breathed. Felt. Matched their rhythm. Her fire moved with theirs, not against them. Like two pieces of the same melody finding each other.

The crowd sat frozen.

“She’s not even shielding…” someone murmured.

Then came the fourth.

It rose slowly—tall and slow-burning, its frame flickering with deep crimson light. It charged halfway—then stopped.

Rowan raised her hand. Calm. Certain.

The spirit froze.

Then slowly… it bowed its head.

And faded into ash.

The arena didn’t breathe.

And then—the fifth gate.

It groaned open like the mouth of an old temple.

The final spirit stepped through.

It didn’t slither or shriek. It walked.

Tall. Upright.

Flames clung to its shoulders like a cloak. Its face was hidden beneath fire, but its eyes—two burning stars—locked with hers.

It stopped a few steps away.

They stared at one another, motionless.

Then, slowly, as if they were mirrors, both raised their hands.

Rowan’s fire surged—not red, not gold.

Blue.

Clear. Bright. Blinding.

Gasps rang through the arena.

Headmistress Vale stood sharply, her mouth open but silent.

“Impossible,” someone whispered. “That’s… that’s bloodline fire.”

But Rowan didn’t hear them.

She felt.

Felt the truth of it moving in her bones. Not just the fire she had learned to control—but the fire that had always lived inside her, waiting.

The spirit didn’t move.

It looked at her—then bowed.

And turned to smoke.

One heartbeat.

Then another.

And then—clapping.

Soft. Scattered.

It grew, slow at first, then stronger. A wave of stunned applause swept the stands. Disbelief. Awe.

Rowan stood in the heart of the arena, her chest rising and falling with each breath, hands still glowing pale blue. Her legs trembled beneath her robes. But she didn’t fall.

She turned.

And there he was.

Kai.

Standing in the shadows, half-hidden. Watching her.

He didn’t clap.

He didn’t smile.

He nodded.

Once.

That nod said everything.

I see you.

I feel you.

And inside her, behind her ribs, she felt him too.

Not like a stranger.

Like something that had always been there, waiting to be found.

The bond between them wasn’t just magic. It was something deeper. Unspoken. Real.

The fire spirits hadn’t been a test of control.

They had been mirrors.

And in that mirror, Rowan had finally seen herself—fully, clearly, powerfully.

She wasn’t invisible anymore.

She wasn’t the girl who sat at the back of the room, the girl no one remembered.

She was fire.

She was storm.

She was something new, something bold.

She was fireborn.