CHAPTER 33: THE BLIND KINGDOM

THE TRIAL OF FLAME

Dearest reader, by the fourth day of Pyrosanct, Solmire no longer merely celebrated, it blazed.

The Amphitheater of Cinders throbbed like the heart of a living sun. Flames leapt from the carved mouths of dragon statues; music rolled like thunder across the marble terraces. Even the sky seemed to quiver with anticipation, its edges hazed in gold.

This was the Trial of Flame, the most beloved and feared portion of the festival, where mortals dared to dance with fire itself.

Across the Sanctum Quarter, every forge roared, every tavern spilled its patrons into the streets. The cobblestones shimmered with ember-dust, and laughter rang out like sparks.

The morning opened with the Ember Run, brave souls racing barefoot through a spiraled corridor lined with fire vents, their silhouettes vanishing into smoke. The crowd roared blessings for each runner, praying Pyronox would grant them both courage and unburned skin.

Later came the Trial of Sparks, a grand duel of pyromancers whose conjured flames painted the air in wild shapes: phoenixes, serpents, suns bursting and collapsing. Judges sat upon high tiers, declaring whose flame burned truest, not in power, but in control. For in Solmire, dear reader, mastery of the flame mattered more than its size.

And amid this spectacle of heat and devotion, Queen Eris appeared once more.

Seated beneath the scarlet canopy of the royal dais, she was everything the people worshipped... untouchable, radiant, the living vessel of Pyronox. Nobles fell to their knees. Commoners threw petals of crushed saffron. And yet, as the flames danced before her, one might have noticed that her gaze was far away, fixed on something that burned only within her.

Beside her stood Caelen, her consort, the man once whispered to be the only one who could withstand her fire, and the small boy between them, Prince Rael, the living heir of Solmire’s flame.

Oh, dear reader, how the people cheered when they saw the royal family together again! How they rejoiced, believing their queen’s smile was genuine, her hand steady as she waved!

But if you had stood close enough, close enough to feel the heat of her robe brushing against your skin, you would have seen the faint tremor in her fingers when she looked at her son.

For Rael, that bright-eyed boy of barely five summers, looked not at his mother, but at the ground.

When the festivities paused, Eris knelt before him, her crown casting shards of light across the marble and said softly, "Rael, my heart. Do you not miss me?"

The child’s gaze flickered upward, uncertain, then away again. "Father says you’re busy," he mumbled.

A silence settled, heavy and unbearable.

Eris reached out, perhaps too quickly, but the boy flinched.

And before she could utter another word, Caelen’s hand closed protectively around Rael’s shoulder.

"Enough," he said quietly, almost kindly, but it was a kindness that cut. He lifted the child into his arms, turned, and walked away through the blazing crowd.

Oh, how swiftly joy can crumble into ash.

Eris remained kneeling, her expression unreadable. Around her, the air shimmered with heat; petals turned brittle beneath her touch.

And in the far stands, as always, Emperor Soren watched, his silver gaze following the retreating figures of father and son, then returning to her.

He could not hear what she whispered beneath her breath, no one could, but even the flames around her seemed to falter for a heartbeat.

Before her grief could consume her, fate (or perhaps mercy) intervened.

"Your Majesty," Soren’s voice broke through the roar of the crowd as he approached from behind. "It seems the amphitheater’s pyromancers are attempting something quite daring, a fire in the shape of a dragon. Will you allow me the honor of escorting you closer to see it?"

Eris did not look at him at first. Her jaw was tight, her throat rigid with unshed flame. Then, almost mechanically, she inclined her head. "Lead the way, Emperor."

They walked side by side through the sea of spectators as the great pyre took form, molten wings of light unfurling above the arena, spirals of flame coiling into the sky like a creature awakening. The crowd gasped in awe.

Soren glanced at her. "You command the respect of thousands," he said softly. "Yet somehow you look lonelier than all of them."

Eris’s eyes stayed on the dragon of fire. "Loneliness, Your Majesty, is the cost of power."

He said nothing more, but the way his hand brushed against the air near hers, as if resisting an impulse to reach out, did not go unnoticed.

When the dragon of fire finally began to fade, dissolving into a shimmer of drifting embers, the amphitheater erupted in applause.

Eris stood still beside Soren, the brilliance of the flames dying in her eyes but not in her chest.

He said something low, polite, forgettable... but his gaze lingered, searching for what she would not show. And when the attendants ushered them back toward their seats, the two walked together once more, side by side, as though nothing had passed between them, though every step carried the weight of what had.

The Queen Who Could Not Burn Her Sadness

Dearest reader, it was said that Queen Eris of Solmire could endure any heat, that she could stand within her own flames and emerge untouched, unshaken, unscarred.

But even fire, when made to burn too long, begins to devour itself.

The amphitheater still roared behind her, cheers, drums, the rhythmic chant of Pyronox’s name, when she rose from her seat. Caelen and little Rael were still bathed in the glow of the flames, Ophelia beside them, her hand steady on the prince’s shoulder as she whispered something that made him laugh.

That laughter, her son’s laughter, struck Eris harder than any blade could.

Soren, ever perceptive, noticed her stillness before anyone else did. "Leaving so soon, Your Majesty?" he murmured, his tone polite but edged with something gentler, something dangerously close to concern.

She did not meet his eyes. "There is nothing more for me to see."

"On the contrary," he said. "The night has only begun."

"I have had enough of fire for one lifetime."

And with that, she turned. Soren could have pressed her... could have offered some jest or comfort but something in the rigid set of her shoulders warned him not to.

He watched her go, her crimson cloak trailing behind her like a dying ember, and knew he would not forget that image easily.

The queen walked alone through the spiraled streets, past the echo of revelers, past children spinning lanterns, past the scent of smoke and spice.

Every light, every burst of laughter, seemed to mock her.

When she reached the edge of the palace grounds, she found herself before the place long forgotten, the Celestial Observatory, once home to star-watchers and dreamers before plague had silenced their songs.

Somehow it had become her sanctuary since she returned into the world. Aware.

Its glass dome was cracked like old crystal, vines curling through the breaks, yet within it lay the clearest view of Solmire’s sky.

Eris stepped inside, the air cool and still. The city spread below her, a living sea of firelight and music, a heartbeat of gold against the dark.

And still, she felt nothing.

Or perhaps, she felt too much.

"They cheer," she whispered, "because they don’t know."

Because they had been written to forget, the blood, the ashes, the screams.

She leaned against the rail, her gaze distant, and drew from the folds of her robe a small bracelet... golden, delicate, made for a newborn’s wrist.

Rael’s bracelet.

She had kept it herself in secret the night he was born, pressing her own magic into the links so that no flame would ever harm him. He had outgrown it, of course. Children always outgrow the things meant to protect them.

Now it sat cold in her palm.

Once, she had dreamed of being the kind of mother who could hold her child without fear... who could soothe him without burning him. A mother who could love without scarring.

But the gods, or perhaps the author, had written her differently.

Her throat tightened, a soundless sob rising, and with it came memory, one she had buried so deep that even flame could not reach it.

She was small again, barely Rael’s age, the scent of soot thick in the air. The palace corridors were dark that night, no torches, no guards, just her mother’s trembling hands.

"Eris," the woman had whispered, her voice cracking like dry wood. "Forgive me, my love. Forgive me before it’s done."

Her mother’s name was Lyra, Queen Lyra of Solmire, wife to King Aureth the Infernal, a man so cruel that poets dared not speak his name without choking on their own words.

One who Eris had learned her cruelty from or perhaps inherited it.

Lyra had once been beautiful, kind even, before marriage had burned those parts away. By the end, she had only her tears left and one terrible mercy to give.

Eris had been half asleep when her mother’s hand covered her face. Soft at first... the warmth of a mother’s touch, then pressure. Pain.

A pillow pressed harder.

She remembered the way her mother sobbed as she begged her to die.

"Please, my child... before you become him. Before you burn the world as he did."

But the body fights for life even when the soul does not want it.

Eris had screamed, or tried to. And then... the first spark.

A burst of flame, wild and bright.

She could still see her mother’s eyes as the fire took her... not angry, not afraid. Relieved.

Lyra had smiled as she burned.

And when the flames died, the room smelled of charred roses.

Back in the observatory, Eris’s fingers trembled around the little bracelet.

"Was it written?" she whispered to the night sky. Her voice cracked, and for a moment, perhaps it was not the queen who spoke, but the child who only wanted a mother’s love.

"Tell me, whoever writes this story of mine... tell me, was it necessary? Was there no other way for me to learn how to love, except through loss? Must cruelty always be inherited? Must my pain be your entertainment?"

Her words faded into the silence.

Below, Solmire continued to dance, a kingdom alive, a kingdom blind.

From where she stood, the lights looked like stars fallen to earth. So close, so beautiful. And yet, no matter how many she reached for, none would ever be hers.