The great doors were not quite shut. Elara pressed her cheek to the cold stone, a thin line of darkness showing her the hall. Gold light spilled through the crack, painting a stripe across the floor where she knelt. Voices hummed, low and deep, like a hive of angry bees. She saw bright robes, flashes of silver, and then the wide, white altar. Her necklace lay on it. Not around Lydia’s neck, but flat on the smooth, pale stone. It looked small from here, dull and grey, like a forgotten river pebble. But Elara knew it was hers. She knew what it smelled like when it warmed, and she knew the weight of it against her chest. A deep voice, Sir Kael’s, boomed through the hall. “The Rite of Blood will confirm the daughter of Selene, born of divine power. Only true blood will awaken the Soul Gem. Should it remain inert, the claim is false. Should it blaze, the claim is true.” Elara watched the necklace. It did not move. It did not glow. Not yet. Another voice, softer, like rustling leaves, spoke next. Sir Elias. “The five Lords of this realm will each offer a drop of their power. This channel will receive their gifts.” He pointed to a thin groove carved into the altar, leading directly to where the necklace lay. “Then, the claimant will offer her own blood. The Gem will know.” Elara felt a cold knot in her stomach. Lydia would cut herself. Her own blood, mixed with the others. But Aunt Margaret had a vial. Elara had seen it. Her own blood. Margaret would pour it in. --- Sir Kael was first. His hand, heavy and scarred, hovered over the channel. A single, heavy drop of molten crimson swelled from his palm. It fell with a soft *plink* onto the white stone, pulsing with a heat that Elara felt even through the thick door. Sir Lucian followed, his movements silent. From his hand, a stream of liquid night, impossibly dark and thick, flowed into the channel. It did not reflect the golden light, but seemed to swallow it, a deep void spreading slowly towards the gem. Sir Elias, gentle and slow, offered next. A drop like shimmering gold, caught in honey. It gleamed, a tiny sun that pushed back against the encroaching darkness, swirling with the red and black. Then Sir Aeron, quick and bright. Quicksilver, twisting and sparking, a miniature lightning bolt that danced along the channel. It hissed faintly as it joined the others, a scent like ozone reaching Elara’s nose. Last was Sir Orion. His hand was steady, unmoving. A slow, viscous pearl of light, almost grey, formed and dropped. It absorbed the light around it, unmoving, unlike the others, yet somehow holding them all in place. Five divine powers, mixed in the channel, waiting for a sixth. --- The hum of voices grew quiet. Elara shifted, trying to see better. Aunt Margaret stood beside Lydia, her hand on Lydia’s back, pushing her gently forward. Lydia looked small. Her shoulders were hunched, her head bowed. Elara could see her trembling, even from this distance. “The knife,” Sir Elias said, his voice calm. A silver dagger lay on the altar. Lydia reached for it, her fingers shaking so badly she couldn't grasp the hilt. Her breath hitched. She looked up at Aunt Margaret, her eyes wide and wet. Aunt Margaret’s lips were a thin line. Her hand moved. Not to comfort Lydia, but to close around Lydia’s smaller hand, guiding it to the knife. Margaret’s grip was firm. Too firm. She held the knife steady. Then, with a swift, practiced motion, Margaret made a small cut on Lydia’s finger. One tiny drop of blood, red and ordinary, welled up. At the same moment, Margaret’s other hand, hidden by Lydia’s shoulder, tipped a small, clear vial. A thin trickle of dark liquid joined Lydia’s blood, flowing into the channel. It was Elara’s blood. She knew it. --- The gem blazed. A blinding white light erupted from the necklace, swallowing the hall. Elara gasped, stumbling back from the door, her eyes squeezed shut. The light pressed against her eyelids, hot and fierce, like the sun had fallen inside the Temple. A sound tore through the air, high and ringing, like a thousand bells struck at once. The floor trembled beneath her feet. “It’s her!” Sir Kael’s voice ripped through the din, loud and raw with triumph. Elara blinked, trying to see. The light was too bright. She could only make out shapes, bright blurs against a whiter background. Sir Kael was on his feet, a huge, dark silhouette against the inferno. “Selene’s child,” Sir Elias murmured, his voice thick with awe. The words echoed, soft but clear, even over the roaring light. “Our daughter.” Elara opened her eyes a little more. She saw Aunt Margaret, a shadow at the edge of the light, her head bowed. Her face was hidden, but Elara knew what she was doing. She was smiling. --- Inside the blinding light, for less than a breath, a shape formed. It was tall, like a woman, a flicker of something vast and sorrowful. A hint of long, dark hair. A whisper of a graceful arm. It was there, then gone, a trick of the eye, a shadow in the glare. Elara blinked, and it was only light again. She frowned. Had she seen it? Or was it just the brightness hurting her eyes? No one else moved. No one else seemed to notice. The Lords were all looking at the gem, or at Lydia, or at Kael and Elias. Except for Sir Orion. His head was turned, just slightly. His eyes, sharp and still, were fixed on the exact spot where the shape had been. He stared, unblinking, into the pure, white light. When it faded, just a little, he was still looking. Looking at nothing. The light began to dim, slowly, like a huge lamp running out of oil. The ringing in Elara’s ears softened. She could hear the hushed gasps of the crowd again. The air in the hall felt heavy, thick with wonder and relief. Silence stretched, unbroken, then broke again. Broken sounds echoed from behind the doors.