The First Trial — Chapter Eight By E. Kane

 

The summons arrived without ceremony.

No herald.
No proclamation.

Just a shift in the air, subtle, unmistakable, that rippled through the Dark Court like a breath drawn too deep. The kind of magic that did not ask to be acknowledged, because it expected obedience.

Nyx felt it first.

A tightening, not at the vow itself, but around it. Like pressure applied to a forged edge, not to dull it, but to see where it might bend. His shadows drew closer, instinctive, alert. The violet fire beneath his skin remained steady, contained.

The vow did not react.

It waited.

The Empress halted mid-stride.

“Yes,” she said aloud, already aware.

The corridors around them dimmed slightly, torches lowering in unison. Stone listened. It always did.

“The Circle has convened,” came the disembodied voice, neither male nor female, neither singular nor many. “By the authority of the Dark Court, the bonded are summoned.”

Nyx turned toward her, not to seek instruction, not to defer, but to check alignment.

She met his gaze immediately.

“This is a trial,” she said quietly.

“I know.”

“Not of strength.”

“I know.”

Her eyes searched him once more, sharp and precise. “You may withdraw.”

The offer was genuine. The vow recognized it.

Nyx felt the option clearly, not hidden, not forbidden. He could step back now. Let the Court test her alone. Let the scrutiny fall where it always had.

He did not.

“I will stand,” he said. “But not as proof.”

A corner of her mouth curved, brief, approving.

“Good,” she said. “Then we go together.”

The Trial Circle lay beneath the High Court, older than the throne itself. The stone there bore scars from vows tested and broken, alliances forged and undone. It was not a place of punishment.

It was a place of measure.

The Circle members stood spaced evenly along the perimeter when they arrived, twelve figures cloaked in shadow, faces obscured, power coiled and waiting. Vaelor stood among them, unreadable.

Nyx felt the weight immediately, not crushing, but focused. Each presence pressed inward, assessing. Not him alone.

Them.

The Empress stepped forward first, her posture composed, her power quiet but unmistakable.

“You summoned,” she said.

The Circle answered as one.

“A vow has altered the internal balance of the Court,” the voice intoned. “We will determine whether it stabilizes—or destabilizes.”

Nyx felt the words slide beneath his skin. His shadows stirred, then settled.

“What is the nature of the trial?” the Empress asked.

“Choice,” the Circle replied.

A ripple of magic spread across the stone floor, forming three faintly glowing sigils.

One flared gold.
One shadowed black.
One dimmed, uncertain.

Nyx recognized the pattern immediately.

“Separation,” he murmured.

The Circle acknowledged him with a subtle shift.

“You will choose,” the voice said. “One path for the next turning of the Court.”

The Empress’s gaze flicked to the sigils—but she did not move.

“Explain,” she said.

“The first path,” the Circle continued, “releases the Warrior King from proximity to the throne. He will be stationed beyond the inner borders, power intact, bond acknowledged, but distant.”

Nyx felt the weight of it settle. Not exile. Distance.

“The second,” the voice went on, “binds him fully to the inner Court. His presence becomes constant. His power is visible. His vow is unquestioned.”

A pause.

“The third path,” the Circle finished, “dissolves the vow’s public recognition. The bond remains private. Unacknowledged. Unprotected.”

Silence followed.

Nyx felt the tension rise, not within himself, but between the options. Each carried a cost. Each demanded sacrifice from a different place.

He did not look at the Empress.

He did not need to.

“This choice is yours,” the Circle said to him.

Nyx stepped forward one pace.

The vow pulsed, not directing, not constraining. Present.

“I will speak,” he said calmly. “But not alone.”

The Circle hesitated.

The Empress’s voice cut clean through the space.

“He will not be isolated for your comfort,” she said. “If you test the vow, you test us.”

The sigils flared in response, reacting not to dominance but to truth.

Vaelor’s voice emerged then, smooth and sharp.

“And if your bond fractures, the Court?”

“Then it reveals what was already brittle,” she replied.

Nyx felt it then, the real test.

Not which sigil he would choose.

But whether he would defer the choice upward… or claim it with her.

He turned to face the Circle fully.

“I will not accept distance as safety,” he said. “Nor visibility as proof.”

The gold sigil dimmed slightly.
The black one flickered.

“And the third?” the Circle pressed.

Nyx inhaled slowly.

“I will not make us invisible,” he said. “What is chosen deserves witness.”

The third sigil extinguished completely.

Only one path remained—unspoken, unlit.

The Circle shifted.

“There is a fourth,” the Empress said quietly.

The stone beneath her feet warmed.

“A path where the vow stands as it is,” she continued. “Neither hidden nor weaponized. Where proximity is earned by presence, not demanded. Where power is not performative.”

The Circle went still.

“That path,” Vaelor said slowly, “has never held.”

“Then it is time it did,” Nyx said.

The vow flared, brief, steady, undeniable.

The Circle’s silence stretched long enough to be dangerous.

Then the sigils vanished.

“The trial stands,” the voice said at last. “So chosen. So witnessed.”

The pressure lifted, not gone, but recalibrated.

Nyx felt the release ripple through his shoulders.

The Empress turned to him then, not to command, not to reassure.

“To witness,” as promised.

“You chose well,” she said quietly.

“So did you,” he replied.

As they turned to leave the Circle, Nyx felt it clearly now: the path ahead would not be easy.

But it would be theirs.

The vow had not shielded them from ruin.

It had taught them how to stand inside it, together.