“Only the ones I hope survive the night,” he says, glancing sideways with a look that could burn worlds. Then he looks away, jaw tight, like the words cost more than they should and I read his real answer in the silence. Daemari don’t date.
The archway’s ahead of us now—taller than it should be. Brighter. I can see it reaching for the crimson sky even as the arena walls come into view. The flame is already waiting. But we’re not alone. Sarai stands just beside it, as if she’s part of the stone. Her braid is coiled like a crown, and her eyes flick to mine with a mixture of relief and warning. She steps forward before I can speak.
“I thought I might find you both here,” she murmurs, tugging a small pouch from her belt. “You’ve been summoned.”
I nod, and my throat tightens. Of course I have. Caziel’s hand lingers at my back, just between my shoulder blades. Not pushing. Just… there. Sarai moves behind me without being asked. Her fingers are deft, undoing the remnants of my braid, and I feel strands of hair fall loose against my neck like rain. She doesn’t speak while she works, but I hear the message in the gentleness of her hands: you are not alone.
“Argent?” I ask, swallowing hard.
She nods. “Joy. Chaos. Celebration. Illusion. It will try to delight you. And it will test whether you still believe you deserve it.”
Of course it will.
Caziel steps around in front of me again, and for a second, I think he might say something brave or reckless or comforting. He doesn’t. He just looks at me like he wants to memorize my face, and it’s enough to make my stomach twist.
“Hey,” I say, fingers brushing the back of his wrist. “You’re more than just a pretty face, too, you know.”
That earns me the tiniest half-smile. “So they tell me.”
“You told me it’s easier advice to give than take,” I murmur, repeating his words back to him. “But I’m going to try anyway. This place—Crimson, the Rite—it’s not Hell. Not really.” He looks startled. I lift my chin. “You said there’s rot, yes. Pain. But also joy. You told me one of Crimson’s phrases, but humans have one too. Only in the dark do we see stars.”
His throat bobs. “I didn’t think you were listening.”
“I always listen to the people I care about.”
Before I can say more—before I can even blink—the flame ignites. It doesn’t roar to life. It explodes—a burst of prismatic light that engulfs the archway in dazzling, strobe-like ribbons. Every color I’ve ever seen, and several I haven’t. It whirls and flashes and dances, spinning shadows across the courtyard. I take a step back. My heart skips. It’s not like the other trials. This isn’t fear or sorrow or longing. This is… invitation.
Sarai’s voice barely reaches me over the song the flame has become.
“Whatever you feel… let it in. Let it all in.”
I nod.
And I step forward into the chaos.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
KAY
The light is blinding. Not warm, not cold—just bright, so all-encompassing it feels like stepping inside a sunbeam. My breath catches. The air here tastes like silver and sugar and rain right before it falls. There’s no horizon. No sky. Just light stretching in every direction like an infinite blank page. There’s something unsettling about the perfection of it. Too clean. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that doesn’t feel empty, but waiting.
I take a step. My boots make no sound. Leave no footprint. I could be standing on glass, on a cloud, on light itself. My fingers twitch toward my pendant for comfort, but stop halfway. I don’t know why.
A hum starts in the base of my spine. Soft. Gentle. But not passive. A presence. Watching. Weighing. The Flame? No—something else. A thread, maybe. Or the realm itself. It isn’t threatening, but it’s not friendly either. It’s curious. As if it’s tilting its head, wondering what I’ll do next.
Click.
A desk appears twenty feet in front of me. Just appears. One moment there’s nothing, the next there’s a sleek, shining desk made of what looks like mother-of-pearl and quartz, edges glinting like polished bone. Behind it sits a woman.
She’s not young, not old. Her skin glows in a rainbow shimmer, like a holographic overlay, and her hair is an intricate weave of silver and white threads, piled atop her head like a crown of woven starlight. Hereyes are bright. Knowing. Unreadable. She lifts a hand and gestures to the chair across from her.
It wasn’t there before, but it is now—Crimson velvet against the endless white, framed in gold that somehow doesn’t shine. I hesitate. Every instinct screams trap. Test. Trial. But that’s what this is, isn’t it? That’s the point. I walk forward, the air thickening with each step. Like wading into a pool made of sunlight and silk. I sit. Slowly.
The woman nods.
“Welcome, Kay of the Other Flame.” Her voice is smooth. Measured. Like a song composed of balance, it whispers like the tickle of wind chimes in my ear. “We will begin shortly.”
She doesn’t look at me when she says it. Her fingers shuffle a stack of paper that wasn’t there a blink ago. A silver feather quill scratches across the top sheet without her touching it. I open my mouth, then close it. I’ve faced illusions. Nightmares. Longing and grief and the warped face of desire. But this…this is different. It doesn’t feel like a trial. It feels like a job interview.
