The island celebrated loudly.
Firelight spilled across the paths, drums echoed from somewhere near the shore, and laughter rose without restraint. People shouted names, slapped backs, lifted cups, and retold moments from the Trial like legends already in the making. The air was warm, thick with smoke, salt, and excitement.
The Trial of Embers had passed.
So had I.
I should've felt lighter. Victorious. Instead, my thoughts kept circling back to Nuku.
He hadn't tested us like an examiner.
He'd hunted us.
I'd expected pressure. Difficulty. Even brutality. But the way he pushed—especially at the end—felt excessive, like he wasn't measuring who could pass, but who would break. The island called it tradition. Still, the question lingered uncomfortably in my mind.
Was that really necessary?
Change was settling in. I could feel it, the way you feel the tide turning long before the water actually moves.
Ikaroa walked beside me, hands folded behind his head, wearing that same easy grin he always did.
"See?" he said. "Told you we'd make it."
I glanced at him. "You didn't tell me. You assumed."
"Confidence," he corrected.
"Arrogance," I shot back.
He laughed, completely unbothered. That was the thing about Ikaroa—annoying, loud, too sure of himself for his own good. And yet… when things actually mattered, he never hesitated. He didn't fold under pressure. He didn't run.
Strength recognized strength, whether I liked him or not.
"What's next?" he asked.
"Training," I said immediately. "Always."
We turned toward the infirmary.
Kael was awake when we arrived.
That alone made my shoulders loosen.
"We passed?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
His breath slipped out slowly. "Good."
He stared at the ceiling for a long moment before speaking again. "What… happened to me?"
Ikaroa's expression sobered instantly.
"It wasn't rage," Ikaroa said carefully. "You didn't lose yourself. You just—changed."
Kael frowned. "Changed how?"
I stepped closer. "You basically beat Nuku."
His head snapped toward me. "What?"
"You cornered him," I said. "he fainted after your fight."
Silence followed.
Nuku wasn't just an examiner. He was supposed to be untouchable.
Kael swallowed. "What about Mikaia and Tanoa?"
"…They failed," I said.
Kael turned to Ikaroa. "Mikaia okay?"
Ikaroa scratched his head. "How should I know?"
He paused. "Oh!"
"Uhh…Actually, I don't know."
I shot him a look. Disgusting.
Kael didn't laugh. Neither did Ikaroa. Whatever had surfaced inside Kael hadn't been violent—but it had been wrong in a way none of us could name yet.
Before I could say anything else, footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Messengers.
Their robes marked them immediately.
"Accepted challengers," one of them announced, voice clear and practiced. "You are summoned."
Ikaroa straightened. "That's us."
Kael swung his legs off the bed. "Alright."
"You're not healed," Ikaroa said.
"I passed the trial."
"Kael."
Aria entered then, quiet as tidewater.
"You always do this," she said calmly.
Kael stiffened. "Do what?"
"Pretend nothing happened."
Ikaroa gave her a small bow. "The champion."
"Ikaroa," she acknowledged.
Her eyes met mine, and her expression softened. "You did well."
"Of course." I replied.
"Hey, Aria.." Kael said.
Kael exhaled sharply. "Can't I just leave already, go home? I passed the test, right?"
Aria stepped closer. "You can. But we have to awaken your spirit first."
"Is that really necessary?" Kael questioned.
She lowered her voice.
"It is so you'll be safe in the outside world. They'll be searching for you now."
Kael froze.
We left together.
We didn't get far before we ran into him, Nythrel.
He stood near the edge of a stone bridge, looking entirely too relaxed for someone who had just overturned an entire trial. Hands loose at his sides, gaze tilted toward the horizon like he was listening to something only he could hear.
"Hey, Leilani," he said when he noticed us. "You passed."
"Barely," Ikaroa replied, eyeing him openly. "So this is him, huh?"
Kael studied him too, expression unreadable.
Nythrel smiled faintly. "I take it I was mentioned?"
"Yeah." Ikaroa said.
"That's good." Ugh..
I didn't even realize how natural it felt to stand near him until Ikaroa cleared his throat pointedly.
"So," Ikaroa said, "why are you here?"
Nythrel replied. "I got into the oath too."
Before I could say it Ikaroa asked, "How?"
Nythrel shrugged. "I had a talk with them. I was very convincing."
That was it. That was the explanation.
I shook my head, hiding a smile. "You always vague like that?"
"Only sometimes."
We fell into step easily, conversation light, unforced. Ikaroa remained wary. Kael quiet. Nythrel… himself.
And for once, that didn't bother me.
The Oath of Ember hall was alive with movement.
More members than I could count—some armored, some robed, some carrying themselves like warriors and others like scholars. We went into the council chamber. At the center stood Nuku. Nearby was a broad-shouldered young man with corded muscle.
"That's Koa," Ikaroa murmured. "Hits like a landslide."
"Yeah, believe me I know." Replied Kael. Oof..
A woman leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, eyes sharp with calculation.
"Maile," Ikaroa added. "Vice captain."
I scanned the room instinctively, noticing something else.
"…Where's the captain?" I asked.
Nuku's gaze flicked briefly toward me. "Absent."
I filed that away.
They were balance. Watchers. Guardians. The only ones permitted to leave the island, to walk the outside world and ensure it never found its way back. Their battle against The Banished. Everyone here already knew about the Banished.
Kael didn't.
"The Banished.." he asked. "Who are they?"
Nuku answered this time.
"The previous champion," he said. "He abused the island's gifts. Broke the taboo."
Maile continued, voice cold. "When confronted, he resisted. His followers joined him."
Koa crossed his arms. "Elders. Oath. Champion. It took all of them."
Nuku finished, "They were expelled. Cut off. And recently… they have resurfaced."
Kael went quiet.
Kael frowned. "So you operate in the modern world?"
"Yes." Maile answered.
"How are they gonna blend in?" Kael gestured broadly. "Yeah, no offense, but they can't walk around like that."
I glanced down at my own gear. "Do I dress that badly?"
"Nope," Nythrel said instantly, giving a firm thumbs up. "Perfect."
I felt heat creep up my neck. "You didn't have to answer that so fast."
"I absolutely did."
Ikaroa snorted. Koa chuckled. Kael blinked.
Maile clicked her tongue. "Focus."
Nuku didn't react at all.
Maile answered. "Worry not, outsider. We have been functioning in the outside world for centuries. We will teach them to blend in."
We were dismissed—but not released.
Instead, we were led upward.
The mountain path grew quiet, stone worn smooth by centuries of passage. The ceremonial site waited at the summit, ancient and patient.
Not ominous.
Just old.
As the mountain path narrowed, my thoughts drifted briefly to Elder Vaiola.
We'd already decided.
Still, I felt the weight of what that meant settling in now—not just guidance, but expectation. Someone watching my steps. Measuring how far I could go.
Good.
I wanted that pressure.
The elders stood in a wide arc.
Names were called.
Ikaroa stepped forward first.
Every hand rose.
They argued over him openly, voices overlapping, promises and boasts thrown like sparks. Ikaroa looked pleased. Not overwhelmed.
He chose Elder Anuenue with a grin.
When my name was called, fewer hands rose.
I noticed.
I didn't break.
"I already agreed with Elder Vaiola," I said calmly. "I am her disciple."
A ripple passed through the elders. Acceptance followed.
Then Kael.
Only Elder Kahoni raised his hand.
I frowned. "Why only one?"
Nythrel's voice was quiet beside me. "Uncontrolled power becomes chaos. Elders don't take what they can't guide."
Kael bristled. "I'm not calling anyone my master."
Kahoni smiled. "We'll change that."
The words settled heavy.
Finally, Nythrel.
Only Elder Saualii raised her hand.
"Well," he said lightly—and accepted.
When it was over, when the air finally released its breath, Aria stepped toward Kael.
"We can finally unlock your spirit," she said.
Kael hesitated.
Then nodded.
And something in the air shifted—subtle, inevitable.
Like the first note of a song that hadn't yet decided what it would become.