An hour later,
Still in the Chamber of Aethelred, beneath the Black Citadel.
The bells of the Black Citadel tolled three times - each chime heavy as a prophecy, echoing through stone that had tasted centuries of blood and betrayal.
Far below the capital's shining spires, the Chamber of Aethelred waited - a cathedral of judgment carved from living obsidian. Torches guttered, blue and silver, painting the circle of thrones in unearthly light.
Ten beings who ruled what the living feared to name - the Council of Ten, keepers of balance, masters of the supernatural realm were present.
Lord Dexter Valerius, the Vampire Chancellor, spoke first. His silver hair gleamed like a blade in the dim. His eyes, red as spilt wine, glowed with ancient patience. His words dripped slow and precise, every syllable a warning.
Beside him, Selena Moondrake, Witch High Regent, sat regal and venomous. Her robes of midnight shimmered with runes that whispered faintly, and a crown of thorns and crescent moons pressed against her brow like punishment and pride.
Kaelen Ironfang, Alpha Marshal, leaned forward - half a mountain of scars and sinew, his amber gaze molten with contempt.
Cassiel the Unyielding, Archangel Arbiter, gleamed in quiet fury - his golden wings folded neatly behind him, his expression carved from divine disapproval.
Asmodan Veythar, Demon Minister of Pacts, lounged as though he owned the air, his smile silk-wrapped sin. Even his laughter smelled faintly of brimstone and honey.
Next to him, Tharion Embervault, Dragon Treasurer, exhaled smoke from his nostrils, scales glinting beneath his dark cloak, eyes smoldering like two twin furnaces of greed.
Lady Elaris Thornveil, Fae Emissary, gleamed pale as cut glass, movements sharp enough to wound. Her beauty was like poison - deadly even when admired.
Morthos Gravemind, Necromancer Overseer, was half skeleton, half man, his pen carved from bone scratching endlessly as if already drafting Lumira's epitaph.
Aeris Stormrend, Elemental Warden, flickered between flame and frost, his voice like a thousand storms compressed into one body.
And at the head, Nymera of the Veil, Oracle of Time, floated slightly above her seat. Galaxies rippled across her robes, her eyes glowing with entire eternities.
They were gods, monsters, and kings, and Lumira stood before them, her heart pounding like a war drum.
Nymera's voice fell like the toll of fate.
"The matter before this Council: the claim of dominion by a resurrected heiress over the Wastelands of Nespresso, lands once belonging to the declining House Duskbane. As the dead can't interfere in the fates of the living, the resurrected one shall be tested."
At that, whispers rose - full of a hisses of scandal and disbelief.
"Declining," murmured Selena Moondrake. "An empty line cannot lay claim to the living world."
Lumira's fingers curled in fury; she had expected this. Afterall, the council chamber always smelled of politics and the rot of old grudges.
Then a sharp, regal, and unapologetic voice rang out.
"My house is not declining."
Heads turned as Lady Evelyn Duskbane rose from her seat among the observing nobles.
Her presence was thunder wrapped in silk. White hair fell in regal waves, her purple and black gown shimmered like a snake's scales beneath torchlight. The serpent cane in her grasp gleamed with spells too old to name.
"My granddaughter is alive," Evelyne declared, "and more deserving of this land than half of you are of your thrones."
"Ah." Asmodan's grin widened. "The infamous Lady Evelyn. I was beginning to think you'd turned to dust - or scandal."
"Scandal keeps me young, darling." She tilted her head, voice dripping with amusement. "You should try it - might make you less tedious."
Even Valerius's mouth twitched in what might have been a smirk.
"This is not a stage for theatrics, Lady Duskbane." Selena's eyes narrowed. "The claim concerns the living, not ghosts of reputation."
"Then watch closely, Regent." Evelyn's smile sharpened. "My granddaughter breathes."
The Shadow Emissary then stepped forward - a tall, faceless figure woven of smoke and night.
The air trembled as its voice rippled through the chamber, echoing in layers.
"Only the living may claim dominion," it intoned. "Only breath may hold land."
Lumira's bound shadow trembled beneath her. The marble sigils at her feet pulsed, searing her name into the stone.
"Therefore," the Emissary declared, "the claimant shall undergo the Three Trials of Life. Blood, Flame, and Reflection. Let the realm decide if she belongs among the living... or the dead."
"So it shall be." Lady Evelyne conceded, folding her arms as the First Trial began.
It was Reflection...
Attendants wheeled forth a towering Mirror of Moon-Glass. Its hungry surface rippled like mercury.
As Lumira boldly stepped before it, the chamber fell silent.
At first, her reflection wavered in the mirror - pale, wary, and trembling like something half-alive. Then, before her eyes, it twisted. The image's pupils hollowed into pits of nothingness, the mouth stretching open in a soundless scream. Shadows spilled across the surface like ink bleeding through silk, crawling beneath the glass until the mirror itself seemed to rot.
"She is empty!" one of Selena Moondrake's envoys cried, his voice sharp enough to slice through the hush.
The darkness pressed harder, clawing to escape. It wanted her; it wanted the breath she had stolen back from death itself.
Lumira's chest tightened, as cold fingers scraped through her mind, dragging her toward that same endless void that had once devoured her heartbeat.
"Not again."
She reached inward - past the terror, past the pull of death - searching for the voice that had always anchored her.
It was her grandmother's voice that anchored her.
"Don't give in, Mira!" Lady Evelyn's whisper still echoing in her bones.
And beneath it all, something deep inside her burned, like a spark that refused to die.
A flash of silver ripped through the glass. Light flooded her reflection's eyes, burning the darkness to cinders. The twisted image stilled - then straightened, whole and alive once more. The mirror shimmered with power.
"She endures," murmured Lady Elaris Thornveil, her voice like crystal melting in fire.
A slow, knowing smirk tugged at Lady Evelyn Duskbane's crimson lips.
"Of course she does. She's a Duskbane."
The Second Trial was Flame, and moments later, a brazier was carried to the center of the hall - a vessel of red fire, coiling and writhing like something struggling to live. The flames hissed when they saw her.
"The Fire tests truth," said Nymera of the Veil, her voice echoing from every shadow and star.
Lumira's pulse thundered in her ears. She inhaled, steadying herself, then plunged her arm into the blaze.
Pain ripped through her body - not the pain of flesh, but of soul.
The fire didn't just burn her skin; it reached for her memories, her regrets, her lies. The scent of charred blood filled the chamber.
Selena Moondrake leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with cruel fascination.
"She'll break."
But Lumira didn't break, as she remembered the inscription etched into her grandmother's ring according to the novel:
"What is forged in fire does not fear it."
Her body trembled, but her will held. The flames shifted, as if recognizing something ancient in her defiance. The red flames turned white, then turned turned to silver, and the silver bled into deep, impossible blue. The fire curled around her like a serpent, wrapping her arm in light that pulsed with life.
When she withdrew her hand, her skin was unscathed — not even a blister. It glowed faintly, veins shimmering with the same blue as the fire that had tried to consume her, and gasps filled the hall.
"She is marked by Luck," Kaelen Ironfang growled, though the word tasted like suspicion.
Lady Evelyn then lifted her chin, eyes glittering like a storm.
"She is marked by blood, not luck. Stop making things up."
The Third Trial was Blood, and the Shadow Emissary stepped forward, his face veiled in smoke.
From his cloak, he drew a blade forged of pure darkness — a weapon that seemed to drink the light around it.
Without hesitation, he sliced her palm, but Lumira didn't flinch, not even when her blood began to fall.
Each drop hit the sacred basin below with the sound of thunder made small. The water glowed silver where her blood touched it, rippling outward like moonlight on a restless sea. For a heartbeat, it was beautiful.
Then the light faltered, as dark tendrils began to coil beneath the surface — alive, hungry, and whispering in tongues that had not been spoken since the first death. The basin trembled, caught between life and decay.
"Fascinating…" Morthos Gravemind leaned forward, his skeletal hand twitching. "Her essence dances on the knife's edge between realms. Death has claimed her once, yet she refuses to stay claimed."
Nymera's veil fluttered like a dying star. "She is alive," she said softly, "but death still breathes through her veins. The price of that defiance will follow her forever."
Lumira lifted her gaze to the Oracle. Her eyes burned with something fierce, something unholy.
"Then let it follow. I'm done running."
Lady Evelyn's expression softened — not with worry, but with pride sharp enough to cut. Her granddaughter then stood up like a storm given flesh, nervously clutching on Seraphina's arm as the final verdict was about to be voted on.
Lord Valerius rose from his throne. His silver hair caught the firelight like blades, his crimson eyes gleaming with the promise of conflict.
"Council of Ten," he said, voice smooth as spilled blood. "Cast your seals."
The air thickened with power as, one by one, the sigils ignited.
Selena Moondrake's seal flared silver. "Denied."
Kaelen Ironfang's burned crimson. "Denied."
Cassiel's blazed gold. "Denied."
Asmodan Veythar's pulsed black as night. "Approved."
Elaris Thornveil's shimmered emerald. "Approved."
Morthos Gravemind's flickered bone-white. "Approved."
Aeris Stormrend's thundered with blue lightning. "Approved."
Tharion Embervault's glowed molten gold. "Approved."
Nymera's veil rippled — a thousand stars blinked once, then dimmed. "Approved."
Nine voices had spoken, and all eyes turned to the last, causing Lord Valerius to smile faintly — the kind of smile wolves give before they bite.
"The Council finds your claim dangerous," he said, lifting his hand, "but this realm was not built by cowards."
His crimson seal ignited in the air, bleeding across the marble walls.
"By decree of the Decemvirate," he declared, "dominion over the Wastelands of Nethras is hereby restored to House Duskbane."
The chamber exploded into chaos. Senators shouted, magic cracked through the air, and the floor shuddered beneath the weight of outrage and awe.
Selena's composure fractured, Kaelen's snarl shook the chandeliers, and Asmodan only laughed — low and delighted, as if he'd just witnessed history repeat itself.
Valerius's gaze found Lumira once more. "Congratulations, Lady Duskbane," he said. "You've just outplayed an empire."
Lumira bowed her head, her voice steady despite the storm rising around her.
"Then let the empire beware," she said. "The White Witch will rebuild what weremen destroyed."
The great doors of the chamber swung open. Outside, thunder rolled like applause across the heavens.
And far beyond the capital, the black sands of the Wastelands stirred. The cursed land whispered her name, rising from its slumber.
The Witch had survived the Trials of Life, but something ancient had survived with her.