SHE GAVE A DYING DRAGON HER LAST WATER—THEN THE CURSED KING TOUCHED HER

The High Tribunal Hall was the most magnificent and imposing room in the entire citadel. Built entirely of white marble and gold leaf, its soaring vaulted ceiling was dominated by a massive stained-glass mosaic depicting the history of the kingdom. Hundreds of nobles, magistrates, merchants, and citizens packed the chamber, whispering anxiously among themselves as the rhythmic patter of rain beat against the massive glass panes overhead.

At the center of the raised dais stood the obsidian judgment seat—a throne reserved for the king when dispensing absolute law.

When the heavy iron-and-gold doors swung open, a hush fell over the entire assembly.

King Evander walked into the hall with measured, deliberate strides. He wore his full ceremonial armor, polished to a mirror shine, but his head was unmasked and his expression was carved from granite.

And walking right beside him, with her head held high and her sapphire eyes shining with quiet dignity, was Mira Halden. She wore a simple, elegant tunic of deep midnight blue, embroidered along the cuffs with delicate silver threads forming the pattern of the Rainkeeper crest. Resting comfortably on her shoulder, half-hidden beneath her dark hair, the baby dragon peered curiously at the crowd.

Behind them, four royal guards dragged a disheveled, furious Malakor in heavy iron chains.

Evander ascended the dais and took his seat upon the obsidian throne. He didn't speak immediately. He let the silence stretch across the hall until every cough, every rustle of silk, and every nervous breath completely vanished.

"Citizens of the empire," Evander’s deep, resonant voice echoed off the marble walls. "For centuries, you have been told that the crown rules by divine right, and that the temple protects you from the chaos of the old world. Both statements are true. But a crown is only as righteous as the truth it upholds, and a temple is corrupted when its priests worship power instead of justice."

He swept his gaze across the crowded room, locking eyes with several nervous nobles who had ties to Malakor’s inner circle.

"Today, we bring before this tribunal former High Priest Malakor," Evander continued, gesturing to the chained prisoner. "Charged with high treason, the assassination of the late King Valerius, the illegal harvesting of royal dragon blood, and the orchestration of a false plague to manipulate the governance of this realm."

Malakor let out a harsh, rasping laugh, straining against his iron chains as he stepped forward.

"Treason?" Malakor shouted, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. "You speak to me of treason, Evander? Look at her! Look at the witch standing beside you! The Rainkeepers are a plague! Their bloodline brings floods, destruction, and chaos! Two hundred years ago, my order saved this empire from their tyranny, and I would do it again a thousand times!"

The nobles in the gallery began to murmur anxiously, casting fearful glances at Mira.

Mira stepped forward, her footsteps echoing sharply against the marble floor. She didn't cower. She raised her right arm, turning her wrist so that the glowing silver Rainkeeper crest caught the light filtering through the rain-slicked glass above.

"Your ancestors didn't save the empire, Malakor," Mira said, her voice cutting through the murmurs like a blade. "They stole it. You murdered my family, locked away our records, and twisted our elemental magic into a tool of fear so that no one would ever question why the grain silos were empty while the temple cellars overflowed with gold."

"Lies!" Malakor shrieked, lunging forward before the guards yanked him back. "Prove it! Show them the blood! Show them what happens when a Rainkeeper touches the storm!"

Malakor suddenly wrenched his hand free from a distracted guard, pulling a hidden dagger coated with the toxic dragon distillate from his sleeve, and lunged directly toward Mira with murderous speed.

Gasps echoed through the hall. Several nobles screamed, covering their eyes.

Mira didn't even flinch.

Before the blade could reach her, Evander moved with terrifying speed. He leaped down from the dais, intercepting Malakor mid-stride.

As Evander’s bare hand gripped Malakor’s wrist, the toxic elemental distillate on the dagger reacted violently to the king's skin. But instead of exploding in fire, the raw, chaotic energy was absorbed entirely into Evander’s palm, channeled safely through his body, and discharged harmlessly upward through the glass ceiling in a brilliant flash of harmless blue lightning.

The dagger slipped from Malakor’s paralyzed fingers, clattering loudly against the marble floor.

The high priest stumbled back, staring at his empty hand in sheer disbelief. The eternal warmth radiating from Evander’s skin suddenly flared outward, washing over the entire hall like a gentle, spring breeze that chased away the oppressive sulfur smell of the poison.