Chapter 8: The Council’s Trap

The heavy oak doors of the High Sanctum didn't just close; they sealed with a pressurized click that sucked the air right out of my lungs. I was still tasting the copper tang of the guard’s kinetic energy on the back of my tongue, a buzzing leftover from the corridor that made my fingernails itch to claw at the stone walls.

"One step further, Elara, and you’ll find the floor is less solid than it looks," Lord Valerius said, his voice trailing like smoke through the cavernous chamber.

I froze. Beneath my boots, the obsidian tiles pulsed with a faint, rhythmic violet light, timed perfectly to the beating of a heart that wasn’t mine. I looked up. The Council of Five sat on a crescent dais of white marble, their faces obscured by the shifting prismatic veils of the Aurelian Ward. They looked like ghosts trapped in stained glass.

"I was summoned," I said, forcing my voice to stay flat. I didn't want them to hear the way my pulse was hammering against my larynx. I reached deep inside, feeling for the knot of stolen power I’d taken from the initiate in the gardens—a flicker of pyrokinesis that felt like a hot coal trapped in my gut. It was small, but it was mine. Or it was *his*, and I was holding it hostage.

"You were invited," corrected Lady Maren, the only one who didn't hide behind the veil. She leaned forward, her fingers tracing the edge of a silver bowl filled with liquid starlight. "There is a difference between a command and an opportunity, though I suspect a girl of your... volatile pedigree struggle to distinguish the two."

"The invite felt a lot like a spear at my back," I retorted. I shifted my weight, and the obsidian floor hummed. A thin line of frost began to creep from the edge of my left boot. I bit my lip. That wasn't the initiate's fire. That was something else. Something cold and ancient that I’d brushed against in the library three days ago. I hadn't realized I’d kept a piece of it.

Valerius stood, his silk robes rustling like dry leaves. "You are leaking, Elara. Like a cracked vessel trying to hold the ocean. Can you even feel it? The way the room’s temperature just dropped four degrees because you can't contain the resonance of a man you walked past an hour ago?"

I squeezed my fists until my knuckles turned white. "I’m not a vessel. I’m a person."

"Are you?" Valerius stepped down from the dais. He didn't use the stairs; he simply walked on the air, each step creating a ripple of golden light. "A person is defined by their boundaries. By where they end and the world begins. But you? You have no edge. You are a smudge on the canvas of reality, blurring into everyone you touch."

He landed three feet in front of me. He smelled of ozone and ancient paper. I could feel his magic—a towering, gargantuan weight of pure atmospheric pressure. It felt like standing at the base of a mountain that was about to fall on me. My skin pricked. The hunger woke up in the pit of my stomach, a yawning, screaming void that didn't care about the Council or the Trap; it just wanted to *eat*.

*No,* I told the void. *Not now. Not him.*

"You brought me here to talk about the border skirmishes," I said, the lie tasting like ash. "To see if my 'gift' could be weaponized against the northern clans."

"We brought you here to see if you could be saved," Maren said, though her eyes were predatory. "And to see if the Crown we serve is truly hollow."

Valerius held out a hand. A single spark of white light danced on his palm. "Take it."

I recoiled. "What?"

"Take a piece of me, Elara. If you are as strong as you think you are, take this spark and hold it. Don't let it consume you. Don't let it turn into fire or ice or shadow. Keep it as pure lightning. If you can do that for one minute, we will give you the keys to the archival vaults. You want to know who your mother was? The truth is in the vaults."

The mention of my mother was a hook in my jaw. I looked at the spark. It was beautiful. It was terrifying. It was exactly what I’d been hunting for since the day the marks appeared on my arms.

"It's a trap," I whispered.

"Of course it is," Valerius smiled, and his teeth were too sharp. "Life is a trap for the weak. For the strong, it is a gauntlet."

Values moved his hand closer. The spark leaped toward me, drawn by the vacuum of my soul. I didn't even have to reach for it. As soon as the light touched my skin, the world turned inside out.

The sensation wasn't a burn; it was an invasion. It felt like liquid diamonds being poured into my veins. My vision whited out, and suddenly I wasn't in the Sanctum anymore. I was everywhere. I could feel Maren’s heartbeat, slow and calculating. I could feel the guards outside the door, their boredom a dull grey hum. I could feel the foundations of the castle, the way the stone groaned under the weight of centuries.

But mostly, I felt the void.

It surged up to meet the lightning, a black tide rushing to swallow the sun. I screamed, but no sound came out—only a shower of white sparks that scorched the floor. 

*Hold it,* I told myself. *Don't let it change.*

But the lightning was screaming. It wanted to be a storm. It wanted to tear the roof off the Sanctum and strike the earth until the mountains crumbled. It wasn't just energy; it was Valerius’s will, and it was trying to rewrite me from the inside out. 

I saw a memory that wasn't mine—a young Valerius standing over a scorched battlefield, crying as he held a broken crown. I felt his grief, sharp and jagged, and for a second, I *was* him. I hated the girl standing across from me. I hated her filth, her common blood, her thieving hands.

"Stop," I gasped, my voice sounding like two people speaking at once.

I shoved the memory back. I forced the lightning into a tight sphere in the center of my chest. It resisted, lashing out at my lungs, my ribs, my heart. I felt my own identity slipping. Was my favorite color blue, or was that the color of the sky Valerius saw when he killed his first man? Did I love the smell of rain, or was that the ozone of his magic?

"Thirty seconds," Maren’s voice drifted from a thousand miles away.

The obsidian tiles beneath me shattered. The violet light flared, turning into jagged shards of glass that rose into the air, suspended by the sheer pressure of the energy leaking out of me.

"She’s losing it," someone whispered. "Look at her eyes."

I knew what they saw. My pupils wouldn't be black anymore. They’d be swirling with that stolen white fire, the iris dissolving until I looked like a monster. 

I leaned into the pain. If I was a cracked vessel, I would use the cracks. I stopped trying to hold the spark and started trying to *be* the spark. I let the lightning flow through me, not into me. I became a conductor.

The pressure vanished. The screaming in my head settled into a low, vibrant hum. I opened my eyes—my own eyes—and looked at Valerius.

He wasn't smiling anymore. He looked pale. He tried to pull his hand back, but the connection was locked. I was the one holding him now.

"The minute isn't up," I said, and my voice was a resonant chime that made the marble dais crack.

"Enough!" Valerius barked. He tried to sever the flow, but I could feel the tether. It was a golden cord of pure intent. I didn't just want the lightning; I wanted the *source*. I wanted the mountain.

I pulled.

Valerius gasped, his knees buckling. The prismatic veil around the other Council members flickered and died, revealing four terrified elders. The liquid starlight in Maren’s bowl boiled over, hissing on the floor.

"Elara, release him!" Maren screamed, standing up. She raised a hand, and a whip of pure gravity lashed toward me.

I didn't even look at her. I caught the whip with my free hand. The heavy, crushing weight of it should have snapped my wrist, but I just absorbed it. I drank it down like cold water on a summer day. I was no longer a smudge on the canvas. I was the ink.

"I am the Crown," I whispered, the words bubbling up from a place deep inside that didn't belong to any of them.

Valerius collapsed, his eyes rolling back in his head. The spark between us exploded in a shockwave that threw the Council members from their seats and blew the oak doors off their hinges. 

Silence rushed back into the room, heavy and suffocating.

I stood in the center of the wreckage, my skin glowing with a soft, terrifying luminescence. I felt bloated. I felt like a god. I felt like nothing at all. I reached for the memory of my mother’s face, but it was blurry, obscured by the charcoal-grey silhouettes of a hundred other people I’d touched.

I looked at my hands. They were steady, but the marks on my arms had grown, the black veins now reaching all the way to my collarbone.

Valerius groaned on the floor, his magic flickered out like a dying candle. He looked old. He looked human.

I walked toward the dais, my boots crunching on the shattered obsidian. Maren was pulling herself up, her silver hair disheveled, a line of blood trickling from her ear.

"The vaults," I said. "Now."

Maren looked at me, and for the first time, I didn't see disgust in her eyes. I saw the look a person gives a natural disaster—a hurricane, an earthquake, a fire. 

"You don't know what you've done," she whispered. "You didn't just take his power, Elara. You took his place in the Ward. The Sanctum is failing."

As she spoke, the ceiling groaned. A massive block of white marble plummeted from the shadows above, aimed directly at my head.

I didn't move. I didn't have to. The air simply hardened into a shield before the stone could touch me, shattering the marble into dust. But the sound of the impact was followed by something worse: a low, rhythmic thumping coming from the catacombs beneath us.

The bells of the city began to chime—a frantic, uneven tolling that only meant one thing.

The Breach.

"The Ward is tied to the Council’s strength," Maren said, her voice trembling. "By hollowing him out, you’ve opened the door. They're coming."

I looked at the doors I’d blown open. Usually, the sky over the capital was a brilliant, protected blue. Now, it was a bruised purple, torn open by a jagged black rift that bled shadows into the world. 

I had the power I wanted. I had enough magic to level the city. 

But as the first of the Shadow-Wraiths shrieked and dived toward the palace, I realized the Council hadn't trapped me in a room. They had trapped me in a choice.

I could run for the vaults and find the truth about who I was, or I could use the stolen sun in my chest to save a city that hated me. 

The void inside me screamed, hungering for the shadows in the sky. It didn't want to save anyone. It just wanted to grow.

I turned toward the rift, my fingers sparking with Valerius’s stolen lightning, and realized I couldn't remember the color of my own mother's eyes.