"Speak, Ezra Valentine," the Castillons commanded again.
And then—
"Fine," he whispered.
A pause. The courtroom leaned in.
"What's so wrong with forging a few documents?" Ezra's voice trembled—not with fear, but with something sharper. "It's not like anyone got hurt. I hated District Five. Hated living there. Hated breathing there."
He took a breath, eyes blazing.
"I wanted better. Just a roof. Warm food. A place where I wasn't stepped over or spat on. Why is that a crime?"
"Why can't I have that—while you lot throw banquets and burn money while we dig through gutters?"
The fire beneath him pulsed—once. Bright. Hungry.
"So yes. I forged the papers. Yes, I lit the match. The school burned because of me."
His fists clenched. The air shimmered around him, heat warped by something deeper.
He turned—eyes catching movement at the edge of the courtroom.
And froze.
Huddled near the edge of the judgment circle, hidden under Academy cloaks they had no right to wear here, shadows pulled low over their faces—but unmistakable.
Rin, stiff and pale, her fingers clutching the edge of her sleeve, eyes locked on his like she could will him to keep standing.
Silas, mouthing something over and over—he couldn't hear it, but he didn't need to.
Asli, nervous but still, his hand resting on Silas's arm like an anchor. He gave Ezra a flicker of a smile—uncertain, but real.And Cassian, arms crossed, jaw tight, standing slightly apart but still there. His eyes met Ezra's, and after a beat, he gave the barest nod.
Support. Reluctant. Unearned.
But it meant something.
They weren't here because they had to be. They came because, despite everything—
He was one of them.
Ezra's chest ached.
Ezra blinked—his throat tight.
The chamber gasped.
Lord Eisenberg surged to his feet, slamming his staff into the obsidian floor.
"This is madness!" he roared. "He's a weapon—not a boy! Execute him now, before he ignites the entire chamberHe confesses to slaughter. He admits to losing control. And still he stands there, radiating power he cannot contain."
Other family heads murmured. A few nodded.
The Castillon twins raised their hands again.
"Verdict: Guilty."
The gavel turned crimson.
The courtroom held its breath.
And then—
A rupture. Not of fire. Not of voice.
But of light.
Pure. Blinding. Divine.
The gavel stopped mid-air—frozen.
The flames bowed inward. The very dome above them shivered.
The King stood.
The entire chamber fell to silence so deep Ezra could hear his own ragged breath.
Seven radiant points of the King's crown rotated around his head like stars trapped in orbit.
"Enough."
One word.
But it shattered the tension like glass under a hammer.
The fire receded. Ezra gasped. His knees buckled—but the circle beneath him caught him, gently, like a cradle.
The King stepped forward—robes trailing behind him like streams of starlight.
"He is not guilty." The voice rang, not with power, but truth.
The Eisenberg lord's mouth opened, furious. "You would override the court?"
The King didn't even look at him.
He looked only at Ezra.
And raised his hand.
Light gathered in his palm—not heat. Not fire.
But something more perfect. More refined.
The same gold-white glow that lived beneath Ezra's skin.
"He burns because we bound the sun inside a boy."
Ezra's breath caught.
And for the first time, the fire within him didn't fight.
It answered.
And yet—the King raised his hand.
Light spilled from his palm. Not heat. Not flame. Just pure, celestial brilliance.
"The law has spoken." His voice filled the dome, soft and absolute. "And so must I."
He turned, not to the court, but to Ezra.
"Ezra Valentine. The Crown does not pardon you."
Gasps flared in the gallery.
"But it does not discard you, either."
The gavel trembled, as if uncertain.
"You are hereby claimed by the Throne. You will not walk free. You will not burn alone."
He took one step forward.
"From this moment on, you will serve as the Crown's Incandescent—a blade drawn only by the hand of Majesty. You will burn only by royal command."
His hand lowered.
"You will answer to me."
Ezra stared, stunned. The fire inside him stilled—quiet, waiting. For the first time, it didn't scream to be released. It listened.
Lord Eisenberg leapt to his feet, voice full of outrage. "This is subversion! You bind a weapon to your hand and call it justice?"
The King turned his gaze—slowly.
"Justice was served. The court gave him guilt."
"I give him purpose."
The silence that followed was vast—total. Even the flames in the sconces seemed to flicker in hesitation.
The Castillon twins stood still, watching the King.
Then, as one, they turned toward the gavel. It pulsed once. Twice.
And fell.
CLANG.
The sound rang out like the toll of a death bell.
"Verdict rendered. Sentence bound."
"The case of Ezra Valentine is concluded."
"The Court of Divine Judgment is adjourned."
The light in the dome dimmed.
The circle beneath Ezra faded from searing white to dull gold. The fire in his veins remained quiet—but it pulsed now in rhythm with the King's own aura, as if some invisible tether had been drawn between them.
The stained-glass saints above turned back toward heaven. The courtroom began to dissolve around them—vanishing like morning mist, leaving only stone, silence, and memory.
One by one, the aristocrats rose and filed out in cold silence.
Some sneered. Some whispered. A few lingered, staring at Ezra like he was still burning.
Lord Eisenberg's cape snapped behind him as he strode off without bowing.
The Castillon twins offered a shallow nod to the King and vanished into thin light.
Ezra remained kneeling, unsure if he could stand. Unsure if he even wanted to.
Then—quiet footsteps.
A hand on his shoulder. Familiar. Steady.
Rin.
Behind her, Silas, Asli, Cassian… even Karsan. Their hoods were down now.
They didn't speak. They didn't smile.
They just stood with him.
And for the first time since the fire, he felt the weight in his chest settle.
In the streets of the capital that night, the news spread like wildfire.
The boy who burned the academy had not been executed.
He had been claimed.
Branded not a criminal, but something else.
A weapon. A Crown-bound flame.
The people whispered a new name in the taverns, the alleys, the marble halls:
The Incandescent.
And in the dark, some shivered.
Not from cold.
But because they knew—
The King had just rewritten the rules.