The Trials are not over.
The true Trials have only just begun.
Aurora survived phase one of the King Trials. She emerged alive but scathed, new tests and new trials but she is still scarred by the old ones, stained by the blood that she had to spill...
Duce Merian, the Herems and I are being escorted by a troop of bastion guards, both in our forefront and our rear, with us safety in between. The massive hallways sounds with the percussion of clomping boots, a hard-beat crescendo. A page was sent to each of our bedchambers, a summoning from the supreme Ecclesia itself. My attendants practically had me ripped from my bed, bathed, and ornamented in sparkling fabrics.
Though I am faring quite grandly compared to the bleary-eyed Herems.
Though they are washed, well-groomed and attired in stately drapes befitting their nobility. It still cannot hide their lethargic state. Their slumped shoulders, sluggish gait, the heavy burden their eyes bear, dark and unabated.
I look at Solaris beside me. Two braids plaited in a row on the flanks of his head, the rest pulled down into a low ponytail. He sucks in another, slow-drawn yawn, eyes fluttering.
"Trouble sleeping, my son?"
The yawn dies in his mouth. He looks back at me, narrowing his eyes. "Did you just call me your son?" His voice all croaky.
"And did you call me your mother when you were completely out of your wits on dragon fire?" I ask with a teasing smile. "Both answers are a yes."
His face tautens into a grimace. Looking away, he says, "Let us agree never to recall the moments of my shame and humiliation."
I nod sharply. "So long as you never call me, mother. I happily agree."
Shortly, we all tunnel into a stairwell with a flight of stairs that spirals into an inestimable height. The only glimmer of light is at the apex. A scrap of hope that the ascendant abyss truly ends.
"Absolutely not," Brennon protests, his voice rough. "The only way I scale this steep staircase is if one of you guards carry me. The Ecclesia can climb down to me for all I care."
Treyton shoves him forward—Brennon stumbles, continuing grudgingly. He chucks a loathsome glare over his shoulder. We all trek up the steps, winding up and up, the further we go, the farther it seems we are from reaching the end.
But eventually we do. The troop ahead of us all diverge to the right, lining themselves up. We emerge on top of a temple-like, open chamber, in the head of a monumental spire. Once again, it is unrailed, only protected by a colonnade with enormous gaps between the dazzling pillars that borders the round circumference. The roofless peak is a treasure of sunlight, almost blinding, the floor overlaid with immaculate white tiles with golden flairs of motifs.
From this altitude, it gives a three-hundred-and-sixty-five degree view of the palace-city, and the heavenly greenery that surrounds the whole of Velheim. So much closer to the sun, the temperature ever-scorching but now it sears the skin like roasted pig on a spit.
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Down a short staircase, it leads to a council of people all seated on festooned seats. The same ornamented beings we saw at the banquet last night. I recognise their aloof disposition and artic stares. They look as flamboyant as they did before, bedazzled in jewels, dressed in regal silks.
