CH. 37 The Trial of Spirit, Part VII
When I find them again, the flames have dimmed to embers.
The Princes are crouched in the ash, battered and breathless.
Farro's tunic is torn; Gavin's left arm hangs limp; Sorien looks half-burned and wholly furious.
The hellhound stands watch behind them, shoulders smoking faintly, eyes twin coals in the dark.
Sorien rises first. "You're alive."
I manage a grin. "Mostly. Give or take a few internal organs."
Farro exhales a shaky laugh. "You're insane, you know that?"
"Occupational hazard."
But even as I joke, something tugs in the back of my mind. A missing piece.
Someone— two someones.
I freeze. "Where are Lord Arec and Lady Alenia?"
The Princes exchange glances. Gavin's jaw tightens. "Gone. They didn't make it."
"No." I shake my head. "No, they're not gone. The Warden said the unworthy souls remain. That means they're still here."
Sorien steps closer, cautious. "Drew—"
"We have to save them."
I turn to the hellhound, who's been silently watching me all this time. "You. You know where they are, don't you?"
Its molten eyes flicker — once, twice.
"Show me."
It rumbles low in its chest, then turns and pads into the smoke.
I follow. The Princes curse, then follow too.
---
The tunnels twist downward again, hotter now.
The air smells like burnt iron and salt.
We enter another cavern — vast, hollow, echoing with the sound of chains dragging.
And there, in the center — two figures suspended in air, bound by veins of fire.
Lord Arec and Lady Alenia.
Their faces are peaceful, too peaceful.
Their chests rise and fall only faintly.
Sorien steps forward. "They're alive."
The hellhound's growl deepens. "Barely. Their spirits are trapped between flame and void. The Warden holds them."
A shadow moves from the molten wall.
He steps out — towering, monstrous, his eyes twin furnaces.
The Warden.
His whip coils in his hand like a living serpent.
"You return," he says, voice like stone grinding on bone. "Few have the courage."
I lift my chin. "We came for them."
His head tilts, the movement inhumanly slow. "Mortals always come for what they love. And always, they pay."
"We'll pay," Gavin says. "Name your price."
The Warden's gaze slides past him — to me.
"You," he says. "The one with bloodfire."
The hellhound bows its head. Even it doesn't meet his eyes.
"I will release their souls," the Warden continues, "if you grant me a boon."
My throat tightens. "What kind of boon?"
"When I call, you will come."
The words fall heavy as iron.
Sorien steps forward immediately. "No. That's too vague. You'll twist it—"
"I will not twist," the Warden growls. "I will collect. When I summon you, witch, you will come — body and soul."
My pulse pounds in my ears.
He's asking for something I can't name yet — but I feel the weight of it. The inevitability.
"Drew," Sorien says quietly, "don't."
I glance at Arec and Alenia — their faces pale, their bodies flickering like smoke.
"I can't just leave them."
"Then let me—"
"No." I force a smile, small and tired. "You'd make a terrible witch."
I step forward until I can feel the Warden's heat crawling up my skin.
"Fine," I say. "You have my word."
His hand closes around mine — hot, rough, too solid.
My blood hisses where he touches it.
The mark burns into my palm — a spiral of flame that glows and then fades.
"It is done," he rumbles.
The fire binding Arec and Alenia snaps — dissolving into embers that drift away like snow.
The Warden's eyes flare one last time. "Go. The gate waits. Pray you never hear my call."
---
We run.
The tunnels shudder as we pass — the walls collapsing behind us, the heat fading to cold.
The hellhound leads us up, up, until a slit of light appears ahead.
When we emerge, the air is crisp and blue.
We're back in the Resanarum.
The sky above is dawn, soft and silver.
The Seer stands at the center again, as if he's never moved.
He looks at us — scorched, bleeding, trembling — and raises his staff.
"The Trial of Spirit ends," he says. "Fire has revealed the truth of your hearts."
He pauses — and for a flicker of a moment, I swear he's looking directly at me.
"But truth burns both ways."
The ground steadies. The light fades.
Arec and Alenia are carried away by healers, still breathing.
The Princes stand silent.
Sorien looks at me — really looks — and his gaze drops to my hand.
The mark glows faintly through the fabric.
He frowns. "What did you give him?"
"Nothing," I lie, forcing a smirk. "Just a little favor."
He doesn't look convinced.
The Seer's banners ripple overhead. "Rest well, princes. The next trial awaits."
I look toward the horizon, where the dawn bleeds into gold.
For the first time, the light hurts.
Because deep beneath my skin,
something whispers — a voice I now owe:
When I call, you will come.