The stone spiral ended in silence.
Kaelen emerged into a place that defied the dark. Beneath the castle's bones and the weight of centuries, there bloomed… a garden.
It stretched impossibly wide, blanketed in silver grass and trees whose leaves whispered in tongues older than flame. Moon-petaled flowers opened to no sky. Vines glistened with dew that shimmered like stars. The air was warm here, fragrant with memory.
The Midnight Blade dimmed.
It wasn't needed here.
Kaelen stepped carefully between the roots. The moment he did, he felt it—eyes. Not watching, but waiting.
"This is the garden of the first flame," came a voice from everywhere and nowhere. "Where all heirs must walk before the trial begins."
He turned. No one.
But as he passed a tree that bent low over a pool of still water, he saw something within the reflection. Not himself, but a younger boy—eight, maybe nine—dressed in rags, barefoot, his gaze burning with defiance.
Kaelen's breath caught.
That was him.
But not this him.
The child lifted his hand, and the reflection fractured—petals drifting across the water like falling ash.
"The dagger is not always in the hand," said the voice again. "Sometimes, it is buried in the place you feel safest. Sometimes, it is offered with a smile."
Kaelen froze. "Who are you?"
From behind a willow of shadow-steel leaves stepped a girl. No older than him. Cloaked in ivy, eyes like polished stone.
"I am the garden's test," she said simply. "And I am the one who must kill you."
The blade flared to life in Kaelen's hand. "Try it."
But she didn't draw a weapon. She sat instead, cross-legged in the moss.
"That's what your father did too. Drew steel when the garden asked for truth. It's why he failed."
Kaelen hesitated. "I thought the Council said he was betrayed."
She met his eyes. "Yes. And so are you."
The vines behind him shifted, unraveling a path of memories—snapshots from the last weeks: Elira's sideways glance, the sealed letters the steward claimed never arrived, the assassin who knew Kaelen's route before he even left the southern pass.
The girl's voice was soft. "Someone close to you planted the dagger. Someone still walking at your side."
Kaelen clenched his fists.
"You must choose," she said, rising. "Pull the blade and strike blindly at those you love, or walk forward and risk being cut again."
A tree opened its bark to reveal a mirrored door. Carved above it was a single phrase:
Trust is the first flame. Betrayal is the last.
Kaelen looked at the girl. "Will I survive the next trial?"
She tilted her head. "That depends. Can you name the dagger… before it finds your heart?"
Kaelen turned to the mirrored door.
He saw not one reflection—but three.
Himself. Elira. And someone cloaked in shadow.
He stepped forward.
And the door opened.