Rain slicked the palace rooftops by morning, turning the stone paths into shimmering glass and soaking the banners until they hung like colorless rags. But Elara didn't seem to mind the storm at all.
She walked right through it.
Her hood down. Her pace unhurried.
Every raindrop that touched her skin hissed and evaporated, steam coiling around her like a living, second veil.
"You're becoming a rumor," M said, easily matching her stride under the eastern balcony. "Some people say you're not even human. Others think you were born from the Stone itself."
"What do you think?" she asked, without turning her head.
"I think you haven't even begun to burn."
Down in the city, the markets stirred with a different kind of energy. Word of the Flamebearer's trial and Kael's arrival had rippled through the streets like a strong wind through dry grass.
And through it all, one question spread faster than any gossip:
Would the stone choose again?
In the Temple of Embers, whispers filled the sacred halls. A second Choosing Ceremony was being planned. Not by the royals, surprisingly, but by the High Priests themselves.
"The flame has never chosen twice," one elder muttered, shaking his head.
"It may be tradition," another countered, "but what if the fire still holds secrets we don't know?"
And quietly, behind closed doors, the Empress began to listen intently.
Kael found Elara again that afternoon, not in the gardens or the training courts, but in the old library, a place where even the windows seemed too proud to let in full light.
"I thought you preferred storms," he remarked.
"I prefer quiet," she responded, not looking up from her scroll. "And books don't ask questions they already know the answers to."
He approached slowly. "Do you think the fire will choose again?"
She rolled the scroll shut. "I think it already has. Everyone else is just catching up."
"You keep saying things that sound like riddles."
"Maybe I'm a riddle."
Kael smiled. "I like riddles."
Elara finally met his gaze. "Then you'll enjoy being wrong."
They stood there, surrounded by the rich scent of ink, parchment, and old magic, as something sharp and distinctly unusual passed between them.
It wasn't romance.
It wasn't rivalry.
It was recognition.
Later that evening, a grand feast was announced.
It wasn't in Elara's honor.
Nor was it in Kael's.
It was to celebrate the beginning of a new Choosing Ritual.
The hall buzzed with palpable excitement. The Empress delivered a carefully worded speech about unity and tradition. Isla preened beside her, glittering in a gown of striking red and garnet.
Elara remained perfectly silent.
Until her name was called.
"Elara of the Flame," the High Priest announced, his voice carrying through the hushed room. "Will you stand as witness to the next Choosing?"
The room fell completely silent.
Kael's gaze found her instantly.
The Empress waited, her face a mask of careful diplomacy.
Elara rose slowly. Her voice was calm, clear, and resonated with quiet power.
"I will stand. But I will not kneel."
And the room stirred with more than just applause.
It stirred with fear.