Soren's vision narrowed to pinpricks of light swimming in darkness. His lungs burned for air he couldn't seem to find. Yet still he remained upright, still the flame failed to consume him entirely.

Gasps rippled through the chamber. A cleric in the front row half-rose from his seat, face pale with shock. Two knights exchanged glances heavy with unspoken questions.

"The corruption interferes with the sacred flame!" the lead Inquisitor declared, voice sharp with what might have been alarm. "See how it resists Solmir's purifying light!"

But the whispers had already begun, spreading through the assembled crowd like fire through dry timber.

"—should have burned instantly—"

"—something's wrong—"

"—the flame falters—"

Veyr's voice cut through the growing murmurs, cold and precise as a surgeon's blade. "How curious," he said, each word perfectly audible in the sudden hush. "If your blessed flame cannot purge corruption from a mere common-born Blade, one might question the potency of your relics."

The lead Inquisitor's head snapped toward Veyr, winter-cold eyes narrowing with dangerous intensity. "Take care, Lord Velrane. Such words border on blasphemy."

"Observation, not blasphemy," Veyr replied, his tone suggesting bored disinterest rather than fear. "House Velrane has witnessed many demonstrations of Solmir's power over the centuries. This one seems... underwhelming." He glanced at the assembled nobility, many of whom shifted uncomfortably in their seats. "I wonder if others share my disappointment?"

The calculated dismissal hit its mark. Several priests glanced at one another with obvious unease. A knight bearing House Ashgard's iron fist emblem leaned toward his neighbor, whispering behind a gloved hand.

Even some of the black-robed Inquisitors seemed to hesitate, gazes darting between their leader and the still-burning figure at the center of the ash circle.

Ser Calvian's perfect features remained unchanged, but something in those burning eyes intensified, not anger exactly, but a hardening of purpose that made the flames around his sword burn higher, hotter.

With a single fluid motion, he withdrew the golden fire, pulling it back into Solbrand's gleaming blade. The flames retreated from Soren's body, leaving him gasping and trembling but unburned.

The sudden absence of heat made the chamber's air feel freezing against Soren's sweat-soaked skin. His lungs heaved, drawing in oxygen with desperate greed. The shard against his chest pulsed once more, then settled into its familiar cold, Valenna's presence receding to a watchful distance.

Silence held the chamber in its grip as Calvian regarded Soren with those burning eyes. When he finally spoke, his voice carried absolute certainty despite the demonstration's apparent failure.

"The depth of corruption clinging to this vessel exceeds what can be cleansed in this chamber," he declared. "It has taken root too deeply for even Solmir's blessing to reach in a single purge."

His gaze swept the assembled crowd, challenging anyone to question his interpretation. "The final judgment must come before the true Flame of Solmir itself, the eternal fire that burns in the heart of the Inner Sanctum."

The lead Inquisitor stepped forward, seizing the explanation like a drowning man clutching at driftwood. "Indeed, the spectacle has only confirmed the necessity of more stringent measures. The corruption resists ordinary flame, proof of its malignant nature."

Murmurs rippled through the audience, some accepting this reasoning, others clearly skeptical. The political damage Veyr had inflicted couldn't be entirely undone, even by Calvian's commanding presence.

Soren's strength finally failed him. He slumped forward, barely catching himself before his face struck the stone floor. The world swam around him, voices blending into meaningless noise. His body felt hollowed out, scraped raw from inside.

Through the encroaching darkness, Valenna's voice reached him one last time, sharp with something that might have been satisfaction.

'See? Their fire cannot reach the root. He is not your executioner. Not yet.'

As consciousness slipped away, Soren felt hands gripping his arms, dragging him backward across the polished stone. The last thing he saw was Veyr's face, those pale eyes watching him with calculated interest, not concern for a person, but assessment of a valuable asset whose worth had suddenly, unexpectedly, increased.

The stone floor swayed beneath him as they dragged him backward, the world tilting like a ship in high seas. Black spots bloomed in Soren's vision. The chains around his wrists felt heavier than anvils as his body surrendered to exhaustion.

He came to in a different chamber, smaller and more austere than the grand audience hall. His back rested against a cold wall, legs splayed awkwardly before him. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth where he'd bitten his tongue during Calvian's display.

"Drink."

A cup pressed against his lips. Water spilled down his chin as he gulped greedily, the simple act of swallowing requiring more concentration than it should have. When his vision cleared, he found Veyr crouched before him, still bound but somehow managing to look composed despite the chains.

"You survived," Veyr said, his voice pitched low enough that the guards stationed at the door couldn't hear. "Rather spectacularly, I might add."

Soren tried to speak, but his throat felt scraped raw. He managed only a hoarse croak that barely resembled words.

"Don't strain yourself," Veyr continued, settling beside him against the wall. "The flame takes more than it appears to. You'll need time to recover."

The shard against Soren's chest pulsed weakly, its familiar cold a comfort after the searing heat of Calvian's golden fire. Valenna remained silent, her presence faint but steady, like a candle flame sheltered from wind.

"What..." Soren swallowed painfully. "What happened out there?"

Veyr's pale eyes darted toward the guards before answering. "Politics happened. The Church staged a demonstration meant to break you publicly and validate their authority." His lips curved in what might have been a smile on anyone else. "Instead, they've created doubt. Ser Calvian's flame should have consumed you instantly if you were truly corrupted. Its failure suggests... complications to their narrative."

Soren remembered the faces in the audience, the confusion, the whispers, the uncertain glances between clergy members. "They'll try again."

"Of course they will." Veyr shifted slightly, favoring his bad leg. "But now they must contend with witnesses. Noble witnesses who saw the Cathedral's champion falter against a common-born fighter with no religious training." He paused, studying Soren with renewed interest. "Though perhaps not so common as they believed."

The implication hung between them, dangerous as a naked blade. Soren looked away, unwilling to meet that searching gaze. The chains around his wrists had stopped burning quite so fiercely, though the skin beneath remained raw and blistered.

"You spoke against them," he said instead. "Challenged them publicly."

"I merely observed what everyone saw," Veyr replied. "Their flame failed to consume you. That suggests either their power is weaker than claimed, or..."

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