CH. 66 And the Winner Is.
Morning in Gazaar is usually beautiful.
Today it’s nauseating.
I hardly slept — thanks to a certain molten warlord threatening to drag me into the underworld like a midnight snack — and now I’m standing in the Resanarum trying not to faint dramatically.
The arena is overflowing: nobles in jewel-bright robes, soldiers in gleaming armor, scholars scribbling, courtiers whispering like crows in silk.
And at the center—
The Seer stands tall, draped in shimmering white and gold.
His staff glows a deep amber.
The color of judgment.
The color of endings.
Everyone knows what today is.
The day the crown chooses its next heir.
Sorien stands to my right, stiff with tension.
Gavin to my left, arms crossed, jaw locked.
Farro bounces nervously, fiddling with the rings on his fingers.
I pull my hood closer, hiding my face even though I’m in my beautiful form again.
The last thing I need is the Seer or Warden noticing me.
Not today.
Please.
---
A bell tolls.
Silence drops over the arena like a velvet curtain.
The Seer lifts his staff.
His voice echoes, ancient and absolute.
“Princes of Resan.
You have faced the Trials of Courage, Wisdom, Spirit, Integrity, Leadership, Endurance, and Truth.”
The runes on the ground flare in seven colors — one for each trial.
“Each of you has been weighed.
Each of you has been seen.
Each of you has been broken, and each has risen.”
Gavin swallows hard.
Farro straightens.
Sorien closes his eyes, steady.
The Seer turns slowly, his gaze sweeping across the crowd.
“Today, Gazaar gains its future king.”
A ripple of excitement surges through the audience.
My heart slams painfully in my chest.
Sorien’s hand brushes mine for half a second — a quiet grounding touch — before he steps forward with his brothers.
---
The Seer raises his staff to the blazing sky.
“Let the truth of the Trials be spoken.”
Three beams of light shoot upward, each a different color:
The beams intertwine above us — twisting, clashing, weaving — forming a single spiraling helix.
My breath catches.
They’re merging.
They’re choosing.
The light descends in a single column—
And strikes Sorien.
---
A gasp tears through the Resanarum.
Gavin’s eyes widen.
Farro exhales, almost relieved.
Sorien just… freezes.
The light softens around him like an embrace.
The Seer speaks, voice ringing like prophecy.
“The Trials have chosen.
Prince Sorien of Resan —
you are the rightful heir to the throne.”
The arena erupts.
Cheers.
Cries.
Applause thunderous enough to shake the pillars.
Sorien stands motionless, overwhelmed, chest rising and falling in disbelief.
Gavin moves first.
He places a hand on Sorien’s shoulder — firm, proud, real.
No jealousy.
No bitterness.
Farro steps next, pulling Sorien into a tight hug.
“You did it,” he whispers. “We knew you would.”
Sorien’s eyes shine, his voice breaking.
“I… didn’t expect…”
I swallow hard.
He deserves this.
He deserves all of it.
I clap quietly, hidden under my hood.
Proud.
And terrified.
Because if Sorien becomes king…
And the Warden comes for me…
Everything breaks.
---
The Seer lifts his staff once more.
“Let the coronation preparations begin.
The kingdom has found its future.”
The princes step forward, bowing gracefully.
And the whole time—
Sorien is looking for me.
Searching the crowd.
Searching the shadows.
Searching for her — the girl he trusts, the girl he danced with, the witch who keeps catching fire and chaos wherever she walks.
But I stay hidden.
Because the Warden’s words still claw at my mind:
“Deliver her to me… or I will take you instead.”
And today of all days,
I cannot let Sorien see my fear.
Not when the crown finally chooses him.
Not when danger is creeping closer than ever.