Page 54 of Trial By Fire

But as he looked around the chamber, a new thought began to form in the back of his mind. A feeling, a hunch. There was something off about this. The way Vizra was smiling, like a cat toying with its prey. The cold glint in Sylthris’s eyes, like she was daring him to see through her.

And then he saw it, out of the corner of his eye. A flicker of something, a distortion in the air. It was gone before he could be sure of what he’d seen, but it set his teeth on edge. He was a fool to trust his senses in a chamber full of demons and their tricks, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was an illusion at play here, a deception he couldn’t yet unravel.

He had no idea what that was. Not yet. The pieces were there, but they refused to fit together. All he knew for certain was that this trial had something to do with the recent escalation of demon attacks. It was no coincidence that the attacks had grown more brazen just as he was returning to the town with Malekith. And the assassins who had tried to kill him in his chambers, the ones who had mysteriously vanished when Malekith raised the alarm—he was sure they were connected as well. But how, and why, and who was really pulling the strings? Those were the answers that remained frustratingly out of his reach.

He forced himself to his feet, his muscles coiling with tension. Outwardly, he appeared calm, composed. Inwardly, he was a storm of doubts and fears and questions. He had to tread carefully here, had to play the game that Vizra and Sylthris and the others were so adept at. He needed more information, more clues. And if that meant going along with the demons’ sadistic game for a little while longer, then so be it.

“If I am to face this trial,” he said, his voice steady, “then I would ask for the chance to examine the chambers where the children are held. To better understand the nature of the magic that binds them, and how I might counter it.”

Zaxos’s eyes narrowed, but after a moment, he nodded. “You may examine the chambers. But be warned, human. The time for games is over. You will make your choice, and soon.”

“Of course, sovereign.” Aric bowed his head, and then turned to the guards. “If you would be so kind as to show me to the chambers?”

The guards glared at him, their hatred for his kind burning in their eyes. But they were loyal to their sovereign, and so with a curt gesture, they led Aric to the doors at the back of the hall, where the chambers were waiting.

As he walked, Aric’s mind raced. The clues were there, he was sure of it. He just had to find them, unravel the illusions that bound them up. His fingers itched with the memory of the spell he’d cast, the threads of magic he’d unravelled, then re-knit together. He scanned the corridor for any signs of illusion, of trickery, but it appeared to be solid, real.

Too real, perhaps. If the chambers were an illusion, then it was a masterful one, one that fooled all the senses. But there were ways to pierce the veil, to expose the lie. He just had to be patient.

He reached the doors and nodded to the guards, and with a hiss of stone on stone, the doors swung open, revealing the two chambers beyond. One was filled with human prisoners, their eyes wide with terror as the flames rose higher, the heat of them scorching Aric’s face. The other was filled with demon children, their skin already blistering, their screams echoing in the chamber.

He closed his eyes, refusing to look, to see their suffering. Instead, he focused on the sensation of the magic around him. He reached out with his senses, searching for the same threads of illusion that he’d felt in the grand hall, but the magic here was different. It was a more subtle weave, one that he couldn’t unpick so easily. But it was there, he was sure of it.An undercurrent of darkness, a wrongness that he couldn’t yet name.

The guards watched him, their eyes hard, daring him to make a move. But Aric held himself perfectly still, even as his thoughts raced. All he had to do was puncture the illusion, and the truth would be revealed. The truth that would answer the questions burning in his mind, and, just maybe, lead him one step closer to the solution of this deadly puzzle.

“I will save them both.”

The words fell from Aric’s lips with the weight of a death knell, and the chamber fell silent. The guards stared at him, their faces contorted with rage. Vizra looked like she might choke on her own fury. Even Malekith, bound and helpless, raised an eyebrow in silent question.

Then the demons erupted into a chorus of howls, their voices a wave of hatred and disbelief. Aric was knocked back by the force of it, the guards advancing on him, ready to tear him limb from limb. But he held up a hand, and a wall of golden fire sprang into being, forcing them back.

“Silence!” Zaxos’s voice echoed through the chamber, and the demons fell quiet, though their anger still smoldered in their eyes. “You dare to defy me, human? To question the will of the sovereign of the demon realm?”

Aric dropped to one knee, his head bowed. “Never, my lord. I only seek to find a way to prove my loyalty, to show that I am worthy of your mercy.”

Zaxos’s eyes bored into him, and Aric knew that his words were a flimsy shield at best. But it was all he had. He had to buy himself some time, had to find the clues that would unravel the demons’ deception.

“Very well,” Zaxos said. “You may attempt to save them both. But know this, human. The flames are already spreading, andsoon it will be too late. You must act quickly, and with absolute certainty, if you are to have any hope of saving even one group.”

Aric’s mind raced. He knew it was impossible. The demons had designed this trial to force him to choose, to tear him apart no matter what path he took. But he couldn’t give in to their cruelty. He had to find a way to outwit them, without letting them know he’d figured out their ruse.

And then the answer came to him, a flash of insight that brightened in his chest. It was a long shot, a desperate gamble. But he had no other choice.

Aric rose, his movements slow and deliberate. He had to tread carefully, had to make it look like he was following the demons’ rules, even as he worked to unravel the illusion. He closed his eyes, reaching for the threads of magic that he knew were there, even if he couldn’t yet see them. He called upon his golden fire, letting it dance and flicker around his outstretched hands.

The guards tensed, ready to pounce at the first sign of trouble. Aric ignored them, focusing all of his attention on the chambers before him. He wove a spell, a complex, intricate thing that drew on everything he knew—his golden fire, the techniques he’d observed in demon magic, the clues he’d gathered about the illusion wrapped tight around the chambers. He let the magic guide him, let it show him where the weave of reality had frayed.

And then he tugged on those frayed threads, unraveling them further, even as he wove new ones to take their place. He introduced subtle disruptions, twists and turns that would make the illusion shudder and strain. He made it look as though he was tearing the fabric of reality itself, that he was rending the world apart.

The guards shouted, but their voices sounded distant, like a memory. The chambers wavered before his eyes, the illusion beginning to unravel. The guards lunged at him, but Aric wasready. He slammed his hands together, and a blinding wave of golden fire exploded out from him, engulfing everything in its path.

The illusion begins to waver and crack under Aric’s magical assault. He pushes harder, sweat beading on his brow, acutely aware of the hundreds of eyes watching his every move. In his mind, he grapples with the moral implications of his actions—is he truly saving lives, or merely playing along with a cruel game?

The guards’ cries turned to screams as the flames consumed them, their bodies crumbling to ash. Aric didn’t look to see if the chambers were real or merely an illusion. He had no time to waste. He ran forward, his eyes fixed on the human prisoners, their faces contorted with terror.

And then the illusion shattered like glass, fragments of false reality dissolving into motes of light that winked out of existence. Aric stood alone in the center of the throne room, his chest heaving, golden fire still dancing around his fingertips. The oppressive heat of the illusory flames vanished, replaced by the cool, stale air of the demon stronghold.

Silence fell over the assembled demons. Their eyes, once filled with malice and anticipation, now widened with shock and disbelief. Vizra’s smug smile had frozen on her face, twisting into a grimace of confusion. Sylthris’s impassive mask slipped, revealing a flicker of respect—or fear.

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