Kael ran a hand over the polished obsidian of the council table. Eight years. Each day a fresh erosion of hope, a widening wound in their collective soul. Selene had been light, a rare bloom in a world of shadows, and they had all loved her, each in their own furious, protective way. Her death had been a tearing, a silence that never truly settled. “The wards grow stronger,” Elias murmured, his golden wings, usually so vibrant, muted by the heavy air of the chamber. He looked at Orion, whose eyes, though clear and bright, held no answers they wanted to hear. “They obscure more each passing week. We are losing her trail.” Aeron paced the edge of the circular room, his movements restless as a caged storm. “Consuming her, Lucian said. Not merely hiding.” He stopped, facing the empty chair Lucian should have occupied. “He felt it, a draining. The ward is a parasite.” “A child cannot simply vanish,” Kael rumbled, his voice low, a distant echo of dragonfire. “Not one born of our blood, infused with our essence.” He slammed a fist lightly on the table, the sound a dull thud. “We made a pact, the five of us, when Selene was taken. That her daughter would be found. That her blood would sit on the throne.” Orion finally spoke, his gaze distant, as if seeing beyond the heavy stone walls. “The gem. It alone holds the truth. Selene herself bound a part of her soul within it. It will sing for her blood, and her blood alone.” He looked at the others, his expression calm. “There is no other way to be certain. Not now, not after so long.” --- “I have looked,” Orion stated, the silence that followed his words thick and unforgiving. He met Kael’s impatient glare without flinching. “For eight years, I have cast my sight into every corner of this realm, searching for the child of Selene. My visions have shown me a thousand possibilities, a thousand false leads. But never, not once, have they shown me a daughter in the Aldric house.” Kael scoffed. “Your sight is not infallible, Orion. Wards obscure it. That much you have admitted.” His voice hardened, edged with the frustration of years. “Are we to dismiss a family who claims to have the girl because your foresight is… inconvenient?” “Inconvenient or not, a void is still a void,” Orion countered, his tone even. “My visions show nothing of substance there.” Aeron paused his pacing. “Then we are back where we started. A claim, a gem, and a Rite. What else is there?” Elias stepped forward, his expression weary. “We are sworn to the blood of Selene. If the Aldrics present a child, and she holds the gem, we must honour it. Our doubts, however strong, are not proof.” He looked from Orion to Kael, his voice a soft plea. “Let the Rite decide. Let the gem speak.” Kael leaned back, his jaw tight. “Very well. The Rite it is. May the ancestors forgive us if we are wrong.” --- The great doors of the Temple of the Five swung open, not with ceremony, but with a quiet shift of ancient stone. Lucian stepped into the hushed hall, a small, still form clutched against his side. The child was impossibly small, wrapped in a tattered cloak that did little to hide the grime of the forest. Her hair was a tangle of dark knots, her face streaked with dirt, and a faint, unnatural flush burned high on her cheeks. No one spoke. The few priests and acolytes present merely paused, their tasks suspended. Lucian, the Demon Lord, who moved through shadows and rarely acknowledged the sun, held a sleeping, feverish girl. It was an anomaly so profound it seemed to steal the air from the massive chamber. Elias, standing near a towering pillar of white marble, watched them approach. His gaze, usually calm, sharpened as it fell upon the child’s exposed hand, peeking from the cloak. It was swollen, red, and angry. A dark line traced the palm where a deep cut had festered. Lucian walked past the others, a silent shadow among the light. He carried the girl as though she weighed nothing, his eyes fixed on some distant point. Elias moved to intercept him, placing a gentle hand on Lucian’s arm. “Her hand,” Elias said, his voice low, almost a whisper. “It needs to be seen to, immediately.” Lucian only nodded, a flicker of something unreadable in his dark eyes, and continued on, a faint, sweet scent of wild roses trailing in his wake. --- Elara woke to the silence. It was a clean, sharp quiet, nothing like the soft hum of the forest or the creaks of the Aldric house. The room was all white, with high walls that seemed to reach forever. A single tall window let in too much light, and the floor was cold stone beneath her bare feet. Someone had taken her cloak. She was wearing a soft, plain tunic, too big, that smelled of soap. Her hand throbbed, a dull, insistent beat, but it felt clean now, wrapped in soft bandages. She touched the cloth, surprised. Nobody had ever bandaged her before. She saw a chair, heavy and carved, too big for her. It looked important, like something grown-ups sat on to make loud noises. Elara stayed near the wall, away from it. She slid her bandaged hand into the sleeve of the tunic. Best to keep it hidden. Good things never lasted, and pain always came after. She looked around, her eyes darting to every corner. There was nowhere to hide. No dark space under a table, no cupboard to curl into. Just wide, open stone, and the terrifying, empty air. --- She walked to the window, drawn by the faint sound of carriage wheels on stone. It was higher than she was tall, but a low bench ran beneath it. She climbed onto it, kneeling to peer through the clear glass. A grand carriage, black and shining, pulled up to the temple's entrance far below. Two men in fine uniforms jumped down, opening the door with a flourish. A woman, tall and severe, stepped out first. Margaret. Then a girl emerged, dressed in a rustling gown of bright blue silk. Lydia. She looked taller, older than Elara remembered, her hair neatly braided, ribbons woven through it. She held her head high, a small smile playing on her lips as the uniformed men bowed low to her. Lydia paused, her hand rising to her throat. Sunlight caught something there. Something silver. Her mother’s necklace hung around Lydia’s neck. It was on another child.

Five Thrones and One Small Chair