The silence inside the circle was not empty.
It pressed.
Aurelia felt it in the soles of her feet, in the tight pull at the base of her spine, in the way the air itself seemed to wait for her to make the first mistake. The ancient markings beneath her boots glowed faintly, responding to her presence with a slow, deliberate pulse.
She did not move.
Across the circle, the elders remained seated, their expressions carefully neutral. Too careful. They watched her the way hunters watched unfamiliar prey—not with confidence, but calculation.
The eldest elder rose.
"The Trial of Dominance is not a contest," he said, voice carrying easily across the grounds. "It is a measure."
Aurelia lifted her chin slightly.
"A measure of what?" she asked.
A ripple of unease moved through the crowd.
The elder's eyes narrowed. "Of control. Of restraint. Of worthiness."
Aurelia's lips curved faintly. "You mean obedience."
