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Power explodes from his skin. The guardian tattoo blazes with fire that makes crystal fixtures ring like struck bells. Academy barriers—woven from centuries of oaths—meet something older and angrier.

The containment shatters like glass hitting bedrock.

Magic rebounds through his body like liquid lightning. Every nerve ending screams as Academy defenses lash back. Blood fills his mouth. His knees buckle.

But he’s already moving, already reaching for me.

Orion drops to his knees beside the dais, one hand hovering over my trembling form.

“Can I touch you?” The words tear from his throat like broken glass, like asking permission for breathing. “After all the lies, all the manipulation—I won’t take anything you don’t want to give.”

My eyes flutter open, unfocused with exhaustion and magical strain. “Please.”

His arms fold around me carefully, like I’m something precious that might shatter. Heat radiates from his skin, chasing away the Truth Stone’s invasive cold.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against my hair, voice rough with barely contained rage. “You’re not alone. Not anymore. They want to break you apart? They go through me first.”

Strong arms and warmth, and for the first time since entering this chamber, I can breathe. This. This is what choosing feels like. Not the desperate attachment Davis described, but recognition. Home. The missing piece of myself I never knew was missing.

Davis staggers backward, his obsessive certainty shattered by truth he can’t deny or manipulate or suppress.

Graves stares at the stone like it personally betrayed him, steel composure gone.

And Amarantha... Amarantha’s perfect composure fractures as she realizes what just happened. She granted Graves this question expecting it to destabilize my claims.

Instead, she just provided irrefutable magical proof that human “protection” was systematic abuse—and that the Fae bonds are legitimate.

For exactly three heartbeats.

Then her violet eyes sharpen with predatory calculation, and her smile returns like winter sunrise—beautiful and deadly.

“How utterly illuminating,” she purrs. “The magical deception runs far deeper than even I anticipated.”

But Amarantha didn’t survive two millennia of court politics by accepting defeat gracefully. If she can’t prove the bonds are false, she’ll have to break them entirely.

The Morrigan surges to her feet, battle leathers creaking. “The trial has concluded! The candidate has proven her worthiness beyond any doubt. Ancient law demands?—”

“Has she?” Amarantha’s crystalline laughter cuts through the Morrigan’s protest like a blade through silk. “Or has she simply demonstrated the extent to which magical manipulation has corrupted her perception of reality?”

Ice crystallizes in my veins as understanding crashes over me. She’s not admitting defeat. She’s doubling down.

“The candidate believes her feelings to be authentic,” Amarantha continues, “but magical bonds this deep require... extraction. Careful removal to determine what lies beneath the supernatural influence.”

The Morrigan’s silver eyes blaze with ancient fury. “You dare question truth magic itself?”

“I question nothing,” Amarantha replies. “I simply observe that truth filtered through magical corruption may not be truth at all. The candidate requires deeper examination.”

“The Trial of Truth is complete!” The Morrigan’s voice carries the weight of centuries, making crystal fixtures ring. “Ancient law demands?—”

“Ancient law,” Amarantha interrupts with a smile sharp as breaking glass, “provides for additional trials when the first reveals contamination this extensive. The Trial of Power offers such... clarity. It will strip away every magical influence, every supernatural conditioning, revealing her authentic nature beneath all that beautiful deception.”

Terror spreads through my bones as her meaning becomes clear. The Trial of Power doesn’t just test magical ability—it can sever magical bonds entirely.

Graves steps forward, steel-blue eyes lighting up with renewed hope. “The Seelie Court’s wisdom is... appreciated. Agent Morgan requires protection from influences beyond her comprehension. She’s been compromised by forces she can’t recognize or resist.”

“The human delegation will remain,” Amarantha announces with crushing finality, “to provide objective perspective during the extraction process.”

The Morrigan’s face goes white with rage, but she’s trapped by the very laws she invoked. Ancient protocols that seemed like protection have become weapons aimed at my heart.