Justice assumes balance.
Trials assume control.
This chapter marks the moment both are lost.
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I curled in on myself without meaning to.
My body folded as though it knew how to mourn before my mind could catch up. The space where the Flame had always lived felt wrong, hollow in a way I didn't have language for. I had carried it since before memory. I had never known silence there.
Seth's arm was beneath my head, steady, immovable. I pressed my face into the bend of his elbow and broke.
The sound surprised me. It tore out of my chest without permission, sharp and humiliating. My hands clenched uselessly in the fabric of his sleeve as if I could pull something back simply by holding on hard enough.
"I don't know how to do this," I whispered into him. The words came apart. "I don't know how to be without it."
His hand never left me.
It moved slowly, deliberately, tracing my arm, my shoulder, my back. When I shook too hard, it tightened. When my breathing stuttered, it matched mine, steady and patient, until my lungs remembered what they were supposed to do.
He didn't rush me.
He didn't tell me it would be okay.
He kissed my forehead once. Then again. Then lower, into my hair, where the grief had soaked through my skin and settled. His lips lingered there, as if he were trying to hold me together with warmth alone.
My sobs deepened, body hitching, grief pouring out unchecked now that I wasn't holding it back for anyone else. I felt small in a way I hadn't been in years. Not weak. Just unguarded.
"I gave it everything," I said, the words barely sound. "Everything."
"I know," he murmured, his voice low, close. "I felt it."
The Breath stirred faintly around us, not defensively, nor with any luminous display. It pressed in like a shared ache, like something kneeling with us instead of standing guard. Even it seemed quieter, as though it understood loss.
Seth shifted carefully, lowering himself to the floor beside the bed so I didn't have to move. His free arm slid over my waist, his palm resting against my belly, grounding me there. Anchoring all of us.
"You're still here," he said softly. "That's what matters."
Tears soaked the fabric beneath my cheek. My chest hurt from crying. My throat burned. I felt emptied out, scraped raw from the inside.
"I'm scared," I admitted.
"I know."
"I don't feel like myself."
His thumb brushed slow, gentle arcs against my skin. "You don't have to right now."
I turned my face just enough to look at him. His eyes were red. He hadn't let me see that before. He was holding himself together for me, piece by piece, and the realization cracked something open in my chest all over again.
"I'm sorry," I said, reflexive, useless.
He shook his head immediately. "No."
The word was firm. Final.
"You saved him," he said. "You saved our children. You saved yourself. Whatever it cost… we'll carry that together."
My breath hitched again. My hands tightened in his sleeve, my body curling closer, seeking something solid in a world that had suddenly gone soft at the edges.
He stayed.
He stayed when my crying turned quiet and ugly. He stayed when my breathing evened out only to shatter again. He stayed when exhaustion dragged me under against my will.
Sometime later, the world blurred.
The ache dulled into something distant and heavy. My eyelids burned. My body gave up before my mind was ready.
As sleep took me, I felt movement.
Not absence.
Care.
A blanket settled over me, tucked around my shoulders. A hand brushed my hair back from my face, lingering there for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
There was a sound at the door.
Soft. Cautious.
Seth stilled.
I didn't open my eyes, but I felt the shift in him, the way his attention lifted without leaving me. The mattress creaked faintly as he leaned back just enough to look.
"Not now," he said quietly.
The words carried no anger. Only boundary.
The presence at the door hesitated. Then retreated. Footsteps faded, careful not to disturb what had already broken.
Warmth moved away from me.
The arm beneath my head slipped free, slow and deliberate. I stirred without waking, my body reaching instinctively for what had steadied it. His absence registered as cold before thought could follow.
A moment passed.
Long enough to be felt.
Then weight returned.
The mattress dipped. Familiar warmth pressed close again. An arm slid around me, drawing me in, careful not to wake me fully.
I breathed out, tension loosening from places I hadn't known were still clenched.
Whatever else waited beyond the room could wait.
He was here.
And for now, that was enough.
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Hunger woke me.
It wasn't gentle. It cut straight through the haze of sleep and grief with sharp insistence, the kind that didn't ask permission. My body shifted before I was fully awake, one hand pressing instinctively to my stomach as if to quiet the protest there.
The room was dim. Quiet.
Seth was already up.
He sat in the chair near the window, elbows resting on his knees, hands loosely clasped. His head lifted the instant I moved, eyes finding me with such immediate focus it made my chest tighten.
I reached for him without thinking.
He was at my side before my fingers fully extended.
"Hey," he murmured, crouching beside the bed. His hand wrapped around mine, constant, solid. "I'm here."
My throat ached. My face felt tight.
"I'm hungry," I whispered, embarrassed by how small the words sounded.
A corner of his mouth lifted, relief flickering through his eyes. "That, I can handle."
He grabbed a wet wipe from the bedside table and gently wiped my face, careful around my eyes, around the places grief had carved itself into me overnight. I leaned into his touch without shame.
"I'll have someone bring you whatever you want," he said softly. "But you need to wash up first."
I hesitated. "I'm… not ready to see anyone."
"That's fine," he said immediately. No pause. No negotiation. "No one sees you."
He kissed my forehead and stepped back just long enough to give me space.
The bathroom light was too bright.
The mirror was worse.
I barely recognized the woman staring back at me.
The glow was gone. The subtle warmth that used to sit beneath my skin had faded, leaving my reflection flat and dull, like someone had turned the world down a few degrees. My eyes looked tired in a way sleep couldn't fix. Ordinary.
The word hurt more than it should have.
Something in my chest collapsed inward.
I turned the shower on and sank to my knees beneath it, clothes still on, water soaking through fabric as the weight hit me all over again. My hands came up to cover my face, my shoulders shaking as the sound tore out of me, raw and ugly.
This wasn't fear.
It was grief.
For the part of me that no longer answered.
For the quiet where there had always been fire.
For the certainty I didn't know how to live without yet.
The water kept falling.
So did I.
I didn't hear him enter.
I only felt the sudden warmth behind me, arms wrapping tight around my shoulders, pulling me into his chest like he was afraid I might disappear if he loosened his grip.
He climbed in fully, shoes and all.
"I've got you," he whispered into my hair.
I broke then. Completely.
My hands fisted in his shirt. My sobs shook us both. He held me through it without trying to fix anything, without telling me to breathe or be strong or rest. He just stayed, clutching me like the world outside the bathroom no longer existed.
Eventually, my cries softened. My breathing slowed.
I leaned back against him, exhausted, water still streaming down over us both. When I turned to face him, his hand moved instinctively to my belly, palm spreading there as if it belonged.
The babies kicked.
Hard.
He froze.
Then laughed, a startled sound breaking through the heaviness. "Alright," he said gently to my stomach. "I hear you. You win."
I huffed weakly. "They're dramatic."
"They get that from you."
I snorted despite myself, then sobered just as quickly. "I miss Jamey," I said quietly. "He'd have made a joke about this."
Seth's hand stilled. His thumb traced slow circles against my skin. "He's still sleeping," he said carefully. "Vitals are good. Stable."
That helped. A little.
After I was dried off and dressed, after food arrived and I ate more than I thought possible, the noise started downstairs.
Raised voices. Sharp edges.
I didn't care enough to ask.
But Seth did.
His body tensed, subtle but immediate, the way it always did when something crossed a line. Footsteps sounded outside the room. He leaned down and kissed my temple.
"I'll be right back," he said softly.
Then I heard his voice.
Low. Dangerous.
"Push your luck with me," he said, "and I will make you regret it."
Another voice answered him. Male. Unfamiliar. Cold.
"You're obstructing an investigation," the man snapped. "We need to speak to Max. Now. She leads this group."
The house went cold.
Not felt.
Seen.
Frost crept across the walls, spreading in thin white veins along the plaster and doorframe. The windowpane clouded, then crystallized at the edges. Even the metal fixtures dulled beneath a sudden chill, the air itself tightening until every breath burned sharp in my lungs.
Footsteps climbed fast.
Panic flared.
I moved on instinct, slipping back onto the bed, pulling the covers up just as the door opened again.
Seth stepped inside.
His expression was calm. His movements gentle. He crossed the room, sat beside me, and wrapped an arm around my shoulders as though nothing had happened at all.
The frost still traced the walls. The air had not fully warmed.
I tilted my head, searching his face. "Is everything okay?"
His arm tightened slightly, just enough for me to feel it.
"All good," he murmured, pressing a kiss into my hair. "You don't need to worry."
Outside, voices faded into low murmurs.
Inside, he held me.
And for now, that was enough.
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We lay there without speaking.
Seth's arm was around me, firm and steady, his hand spread across my back as if anchoring me to the bed, to the room, to him. My face was pressed against his chest. His heartbeat was slow. Deliberate. I counted it without meaning to, the way one counts waves when standing too close to the edge.
A knock came at the door.
Seth shifted beneath me, careful not to jolt me as he eased out from under my weight. He rose, crossed the room, and opened the door just enough to look through it.
He did not step aside.
"Sam's here," he said quietly, glancing back at me. "She wants to check on you."
I hesitated. Then nodded.
"Okay."
He opened the door wider and stepped back, but he stayed close, returning to the bed as Samantha entered. She moved softly, as though sound itself might bruise me. She did not rush. She never did.
She checked my pulse first. Then my breathing. Her hands were warm, steady, sure. She listened longer than necessary, not because she was uncertain, but because she was being careful with me.
"Physically," she said at last, "you're holding."
I huffed a quiet breath. "That sounds like a compliment wrapped in concern."
Her mouth curved faintly. "It is."
She met my eyes then. "How are you coping."
The question was gentle. It still hurt.
"I'm glad I have Seth," I said honestly. My fingers curled into his shirt without asking permission. "He… steadies me."
Seth's arm tightened around me, just a fraction.
"I'm not okay though," I added. "But I'm coping."
Samantha nodded once, accepting the truth without pushing it further. She hesitated, then asked carefully, "And the Flame."
The word settled into the room like a held breath.
Before I could answer, Seth cleared his throat.
"That's enough," he said calmly.
Samantha looked at him. She understood immediately. Whatever she saw on his face told her more than any answer I could have given.
She straightened and stepped back. "All right."
She glanced at me again, softer now. "Don't worry about the team. I'll tell them the world isn't ending tonight."
A pause. Then, quieter, "Rest."
She left without another word.
The door closed.
Seth returned to the bed and gathered me back into his arms, as if the space between us had been an error that needed correcting.
We stayed like that.
And for the first time since the Flame fell silent, I let myself believe that holding on was enough.
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Just over a week passed like that.
No announcements. No strategy. No spectacle.
Just Seth and me, the room shrinking and expanding with breath and sleep and quiet grief. I cried less as the days went on. Not because it hurt less, but because I learned how to carry it without breaking apart.
Seth never left my side for long. When he did, it was only to return with something small and reassuring. Food. Water. A blanket pulled higher. A hand resting where my heartbeat felt loudest.
Then the door exploded inward.
The Breath reacted before Seth did.
Silver surged sharp and instinctive, coiling forward in warning as Seth was already halfway out of bed, body between me and the threat before thought could catch up.
"Max…"
"WAIT."
The word tore out of me.
Because standing in the doorway was Jamey.
Barefoot. Pale. Eyes bloodshot and wild, like he had clawed his way back through something dark and unfinished. He swayed slightly, one hand braced against the doorframe as if the world had not quite decided whether to hold him yet.
Behind him, the rest of the team crowded the hall. No one spoke. Fear and hope twisted together on every face.
I did not think.
I sat up and launched myself off the bed.
My arms hit him full force and we collapsed into each other, both of us making sounds that were not words, not sobs, but something raw and animal and unashamed. I buried my face into his shoulder and wailed. He clutched me back just as hard, his hands shaking as if letting go might undo him.
"I died," he croaked into my hair. "I absolutely died. This is what dying feels like."
I laughed and cried at the same time, breathless. "You're an idiot."
"I know," he sobbed. "I missed you."
Seth was there in an instant, one hand steadying Jamey, the other supporting me, his breath finally easing as reality settled into place. Around us, someone choked out a laugh. Someone else wiped their eyes and pretended they hadn't.
Jamey pulled back just enough to look at me.
"Next time," he said hoarsely, "you are not allowed to go nuclear on my insides. I'm putting that in writing."
I pressed my forehead to his. "There will not be a next time."
He huffed weakly. "You always say that."
And for the first time in nine days, the room felt like it could breathe again.
Jamey stood awkwardly near the foot of the bed, hands shoved into his pockets as if he wasn't quite sure what to do with them now that he was awake.
"I might have a way," he said finally.
Seth didn't interrupt him. Neither did I.
"It won't be easy," Jamey continued. "And it won't be quick. But I think I can pull my power back out of you. Not all at once. Just enough to let the Flame release what it's holding."
The room went very still.
"You're sure," I asked.
He shrugged, a familiar gesture that carried more weight than humor this time. "As sure as I ever am when I do something reckless."
Seth studied him for a long moment.
Then he nodded. "We'll try."
Breakfast was… strange.
It was the first time Seth and I had sat at the table with everyone since everything had happened. No one quite knew where to look at first. Plates clinked. Someone passed the salt twice.
Alec broke first.
"I just want it on record," he said, stabbing at his eggs, "that I'm jealous. Deeply. Offended, even."
Jamey smirked. "I told you I'm special."
That earned him a weak laugh from more than one person, and for a moment, it almost felt normal.
Almost.
When we moved to the lounge, the air shifted again.
Jamey positioned himself behind me, careful and deliberate. Seth settled directly in front of me, close enough that my knees brushed his. Samantha hovered to the side, watchful, hands already glowing faintly as she monitored everything she couldn't afford to miss.
"This might hurt," Jamey warned quietly.
I nodded.
His hands pressed flat against my back.
The pain came immediately.
It wasn't sharp. It wasn't burning.
It was pulling.
Something deep inside me strained toward him, resisted, then strained again. My breath hitched hard enough that Seth noticed before I did. His hands came up, steadying my shoulders, his forehead resting briefly against mine.
"Hey, love. I've got you," he murmured. "You're doing so well. Just hold on."
I tried to answer him.
I couldn't.
The pressure intensified. My vision blurred. Tears spilled without warning, my body folding inward as if it were trying to protect something it didn't fully understand.
"Enough," Samantha said sharply.
Jamey pulled back at once.
I didn't remember falling, only Seth's arms catching me as the world slid sideways.
When I woke, I was in our room.
Seth was sitting beside me, calm in a way that made me immediately suspicious.
"You're awake," he said softly.
Something felt… different.
I frowned at him.
He reached into the bedside drawer and pulled out a small mirror, angling it toward me without a word.
I stared.
The glyph sat faintly along my lower lip, just as it had in the beginning.
It carried no glow, no heat. Only presence.
My breath caught.
Seth's thumb brushed my cheek, gentle. "It's not gone," he said.
He didn't explain further.
He didn't need to.
A few days passed.
They blurred together in a rhythm I learned to endure.
Each morning, Jamey returned to the room with the same careful resolve. Each time, his hands found my back. Each time, the pull followed. Pain still came, sharp enough to steal breath, deep enough to draw tears, but it no longer shattered me the way it had at first.
My body learned.
So did the Flame.
At first, it resisted him, clinging to what it had sealed as if unsure whether release would mean loss. But with each extraction, something shifted. Awareness stirred without fully rising.
The resistance softened. The weight eased. The pain dulled into something survivable.
By the fifth day, I remained conscious.
I woke in my bed afterward, exhausted but intact, Seth's presence steady beside me. The Flame stirred low and distant, aware without rising. Its hold on Jamey's power loosened, no longer defensive. Almost… willing.
The team felt it too.
They moved differently. Spoke less. Watched more.
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The trial date arrived without ceremony.
Preparation was quiet.
No speeches. No arguments. No reassurances.
When we entered the Obsidian Forum, the air changed.
The shift carried reverence rather than force.
Sound receded as we crossed the threshold, as though the structure itself recognized what had entered its halls. Power stirred along the stone, ancient and watchful, measuring rather than resisting.
I walked at the center.
Seth stayed close, his presence a constant at my side. The others flanked us, deliberate in their spacing, every step placed with purpose. Their auras brushed the edges of perception, restrained but unmistakable.
Someone moved too quickly from the side.
Adrian didn't raise his voice.
He leaned in, whispered once.
The man veered away as if redirected by instinct rather than command.
Further down the aisle, a group of spirit warriors shifted, forming a partial barrier. Alec's static responded before he did, a low crackle beneath the skin, warning without escalation.
They parted.
No one was permitted within reach.
The back corridor opened silently, ushering us forward. The path led upward, toward the chamber where judgment waited.
When we emerged onto the stage, the room fell fully still.
Lady Elsa stood already, composed and unreadable. Eric was beside her, posture rigid. Others occupied the tiered seats, eyes tracking our arrival with careful restraint.
This time, I was not alone.
My full team took their places with me.
Not as observers.
As presence.
As protection.
As reminder.
Whatever judgment awaited beyond this moment, the balance had already shifted.
Magister Kaelith's gaze lifted the moment we entered the chamber.
His smile reached his eyes this time.
It was the look of a man who had watched the world tilt once before and had never forgotten the weight of it. He inclined his head toward me, slow and deliberate, as though acknowledging a balance restored rather than a person returned.
The accused were brought forward.
Chains layered their bodies, iron over iron, every step punctuated by the dull clatter of restraint. The motorbikers came first, shoulders slumped, eyes hollow. The ring bearers followed, drained of everything that had once made them formidable.
Among them stood the Stone Bearers of Ga-Esha'Ryn, empty-handed now, their earliest weapons already spent. Stones had come first. Then machines. Then rings.
Each escalation had been deliberate.
Each had been built to reach us.
They were human now.
Bare.
Their gazes lifted in uneven sweeps. Faces in the crowd. The obsidian floor beneath their feet. Kaelith's still presence.
Then upward.
Toward us.
The realization struck like impact.
Their knees gave way all at once. Metal rang sharply as chains snapped taut. Bodies folded forward, foreheads striking stone hard enough to echo. Again. And again.
This was not submission alone.
It was terror wrapped in reverence.
Gasps broke through the chamber. Whispers rippled outward, spreading like fracture lines through glass. Some leaned back. Others leaned forward, unable to look away.
Something twisted low in my chest.
The sensation carried no pain, no warning sharp enough to name, only a wrongness that refused to be ignored. Unease climbed my spine as I scanned the chamber, reading posture, tracking breath, tracing the faint signatures of power threaded through the crowd. Every face appeared composed. Every alignment appeared intentional.
Contained.
Seth rose before I could speak.
He stepped forward, placing himself between me and the world without looking back. The message needed no words.
Then he moved.
He dropped from the platform in a clean descent, landing beside Kaelith at the center of the Forum. As he turned in a slow, deliberate rotation, his breath tightened, focused, controlled.
The Silver answered.
Eight afterimages tore free from him, arcing outward like reflected blades catching unseen light.
Eight men rose from the crowd.
Rings gleamed, blasphemous things, ugly in their confidence.
Power surged toward Seth in a brutal convergence. The impact drove him backward, boots scraping across obsidian as his shoulders jolted under the force. He caught himself, feet planting hard, breath sharp but unbroken.
Jamey stayed with me. Claire and Hannah flanked him, tension drawn tight through every line of their bodies. Alec, Adrian, and Marcus surged forward without hesitation.
The ring bearers advanced.
Claire moved.
She circled fast, arms sweeping wide as distortion ripped through the space. Power bent mid-flight, redirected violently away from our team, scattering in unstable arcs that cracked the air itself.
The eight men dropped to their knees.
Their bodies convulsed as the rings fought commands stripped of foundation. Power turned inward, tearing through muscle and breath alike.
The Forum exhaled.
Then the doors exploded inward.
Stone shattered. Metal screamed.
More figures poured through the breach, rings blazing, stones humming, generators flaring as they tore into the chamber. They struck indiscriminately, lashing out at anyone whose spirit carried resonance, anyone whose presence burned brighter than the ordinary.
Screams erupted.
A man with prayer-threaded lungs collapsed clutching his chest. A woman near the aisle was thrown back as her aura tore loose under the strain. Guards scattered. Magistrates shouted orders too late to matter.
The attack widened.
This ceased to be a trial.
It became a purge.
No one noticed the man behind Seth.
I did.
He came fast and desperate, blade already wet with intent.
Seth went down.
Blood spread across the obsidian floor.
The Forum lifted.
Stone groaned as the structure tore free of its own balance, rising just long enough for panic to seize the room before slamming back down under impossible force.
I rose with it.
The scream tore out of me, sound stripped of sound, a command that traveled through bone instead of ear. Fury, grief, loss, and authority braided together into something that did not ask permission.
Time faltered.
Motion continued, but at a cost. Eyes widened mid-blink. A blade hung suspended inches from flesh. Breath dragged through lungs like thickened air, shoulders lifting in agonizing increments. Shattered stone drifted instead of falling.
The Flame surged.
Within it, something long contained finally shifted. The last of Jamey's essence stirred where it had been held in suspension, compressed and volatile. It did not resist. It did not fracture. It yielded, dissolving fully as the Flame drew it inward, pulling it through its core.
The passage burned.
What entered the Flame did not remain unchanged. It passed through, stripped of instability, reshaped by authority older than intent, emerging transformed. The Flame learned it. Claimed it. Wove it into itself.
Absorbed.
Integrated.
Mastered.
The change reached me all at once.
Gold ignited behind my eyes, glyphs carving themselves into white-hot clarity as heat flooded my veins. My body changed with it.
Light gathered along my skin, no longer gold but silvery, refined, as if the radiance itself had been tempered. My eyes burned white, veined through with living gold, glyphs moving within them like law set into motion.
From my waist, Scripture unfurled.
Silver strips rose and wrapped upward in deliberate spirals, flowing tight around my body, covering breast and form in layered bands of living text. Each line moved with purpose, glyphs sliding endlessly along their paths, never colliding, never faltering.
At the center of my chest, a single glyph burned gold.
My hair lengthened in a violent rush, spilling white and silvery down my back as unseen currents caught it, lifting and pulling it outward, responding to forces the chamber could no longer contain.
The Breath answered.
Silver flooded through me, amplified instead of restrained, threading seamlessly through the Flame. Where once they balanced, they now multiplied, power folding into power without resistance.
Light unfolded outward, lifting me from the ground as if the space beneath my feet had quietly released its claim.
Forms emerged from the radiance, shaped and deliberate. Four afterimages took form, each mirroring my silhouette, tall and unmistakably feminine, bodies forged of translucent silver-blue essence that bent the air around them.
One hovered above me, suspended like a crown.
One anchored below, presence pressing downward without weight.
Two flanked me, one on either side, equal and unwavering.
White hair streamed from their heads in flowing currents. Living Scripture formed their garments, glyphs sliding endlessly along limb and waist. At the center of each chest, a single golden glyph burned steady and contained.
I felt their attention settle.
On the room. On the threat.
On Seth, at the same time.
They did not strike.
They waited.
Time trembled.
And every soul in the Forum, hunter and hunted alike, understood the same truth at once.
This was no longer a trial.
It was a reckoning.
And nothing moved.
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Some power does not arrive to punish.
It arrives to be seen.
What follows was never reaction.
It was always response.