CHAPTER 20: “The Trial of Fire and Blood”
1120 Words
The air inside Mirror Chapel was thick as smoke though no incense burned. The stone walls breathed with memory, shadows moving across stained glass as if stirred by invisible hands. Every step Aria took echoed not just in the hall, but inside her ribs. She felt the weight of centuries pressing down, testing her.
Damaris waited at the center of the dais, framed by the pale circle etched into the floor. His presence was not loud; it didn’t need to be. He was a man carved from arrogance, and arrogance had its own gravity. His eyes tracked her like a hawk watching a storm it didn’t yet believe could touch it.
“You look stronger,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “But strength is not enough. You mistake defiance for power, little wolf.”
Aria stopped at the edge of the circle, her blade low at her side. The Chapel hummed around them, faint lines of light crawling through the carvings like veins. “I’ve seen your power. Contracts and cages. Wolves and humans bound like cattle. That isn’t strength. That’s theft.”
Damaris’s smile was thin. “And yet they obeyed me. Even your father, once. Even your blood. That is power.”
Aria’s jaw tightened. “Not anymore.”
The Chapel seemed to exhale. The circle flared, faint lines of silver light rising between them like threads. The ground itself demanded combat, demanded truth tested in blood.
Damaris spread his hands, claws slipping free, black and gleaming. “Then show me.”
---
The duel began with silence.
Aria lunged first, blade flashing. Damaris slid aside with impossible grace, claws raking for her shoulder. Steel met bone with a ringing crack, sparks spraying. Her arms trembled with the force, but she didn’t falter. She twisted, slashing across his chest—cloth tearing, skin smoking where silver kissed it.
He laughed, low and cruel. “Better. But not enough.”
He struck, claws a blur. One carved across her thigh, hot pain searing. She staggered, then drove her knee into his ribs, forcing him back. He didn’t flinch. His smile widened, blood on his teeth.
“You fight like an animal,” he said.
“I am an animal,” she spat. “But I’m also more.”
The Chapel pulsed, as if agreeing. Light spilled down from the stained glass, bathing her in gold and crimson. For a heartbeat, she felt her family there—their howls, their strength, their rage—woven into her bones.
She surged forward, every strike fueled by names. Jace. Lira. Her mother. Her pack.
Damaris caught her blade in his claws, sparks screaming. He pushed, muscles straining, forcing her to her knees. His breath was hot on her face. “You were born to kneel,” he hissed.
Her legs shook. The weight of him pressed down like iron. For a heartbeat, she almost broke.
Then she remembered the howl in the tunnels, the crowd in the Verge chanting her name, the city straining against its chains.
“I was born to break you,” she growled.
Her blade flared, silver burning against his claws. She twisted, wrenching free, and slashed upward. The strike carved across his jaw, splitting skin, spraying black blood. He roared, staggering back.
The Chapel roared with him. Stained glass shattered overhead, shards raining like colored fire.
---
The fight turned savage.
They circled, bleeding, panting. Damaris moved like a storm, each strike meant to kill. Aria moved like fire—fast, relentless, consuming. Her blade cut his arms, his side, her own blood dripping with every swing. The circle beneath them pulsed faster, silver lines wrapping them like a cage.
“You can’t win,” Damaris snarled. “You don’t understand what I am.”
“You’re afraid,” she said, voice rough.
His eyes blazed. He lunged, claws sinking into her side. Pain exploded. She screamed, slamming her head into his, stars bursting in her vision. Her blade dropped. His claws dragged her down.
The Chapel shifted. The floor rippled like water. For a heartbeat, she was falling—not through space, but through memory.
She saw her mother’s face, stern and proud. Stand straight. Choose your truth.
She saw her father’s shadow, broken but still burning. We are Vex.
She saw the hybrids howling in the dark, their voices echoing inside her chest. We are free.
She landed hard, blade in her hand again, her body screaming but alive.
Damaris loomed above her, black blood dripping from his wounds. “You think visions will save you? You are nothing but ash waiting for wind.”
Aria rose, slow and steady, her eyes burning gold. “Then I’ll be the fire no wind can kill.”
---
The final clash shook the Chapel.
She charged, blade raised high. He met her, claws slashing. Steel met bone again and again, the sound like thunder. They tore through pews, shattered stone, blood smearing across ancient carvings.
Aria drove him back, strike after strike, until his heels hit the dais. He caught her blade, forcing it aside, claws piercing her shoulder. Pain blinded her, but she didn’t stop. She leaned in, teeth bared, and bit into his neck.
He roared, slamming her into the stone, but her blade found his chest. Silver sank deep, burning, hissing.
“You’re done,” she whispered.
His eyes widened, fury twisting into something else—fear.
“No,” he rasped. “I am eternal—”
Her blade cut the word from his throat.
He staggered, black blood spilling, hands clutching at the wound. The Chapel’s light flared, silver and crimson blazing brighter than fire.
Aria shoved him back. He fell, crashing onto the dais. The circle beneath him burned, lines of light searing into his skin, pulling him down, down, until only ash remained.
The Chapel went silent.
---
Aria stood alone, drenched in blood, her body trembling. The wound in her side burned like molten iron, her breath ragged, but she was still standing.
The circle faded. The Chapel exhaled.
She looked up at the shattered glass above, at the night sky beyond. Rain fell through the broken windows, hissing against the hot stone.
Dominic was there, at the edge of the dais, his face carved in shadow and light. He hadn’t moved to interfere—he knew it had to be hers. But his eyes held her, steady, unflinching, as she stumbled toward him.
“It’s done,” she whispered.
He caught her as she fell, his arms steady, his voice low against her ear. “No. It’s just begun.”
Outside, the city waited. The fire had started. And now, nothing could stop it.
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- Writer
