The letter arrived at dawn.

  Martha brought it on a tray along with breakfast. A black envelope bearing the seal of the Council of Seven. Red wax. The symbol of the Scales entwined with a serpent.

  Adrian didn't even open it. He just glanced at the seal and smirked.

  “Finally,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee. “I thought they were going to drag this out until the end of the week.”

  I sat across from him, trying to swallow a bite of toast. My throat tightened. My stomach twisted into an icy knot. Every movement echoed with a dull ache in my chest—right where the channel had ruptured yesterday.

  Victor had forbidden me to get up. Categorically. But Adrian had insisted. “The Council won't wait for you to recover. They'll summon you tomorrow, whether you want them to or not.”

  And he was right.

  “Is it... a summons?”

  “An invitation,” he ripped the envelope open in one smooth motion, not looking at the text. “To a debriefing. The official wording: ‘Hearing on the incident with the Red Inquisitor Valerian and suspicion of using forbidden magic.’ Tomorrow. Noon. The Council Hall.”

  He set the letter aside and looked at me. Violet sparks danced in his eyes. Then his gaze swept over my face—pale, with dark circles under my eyes, and dried blood at the corners of my lips.

  “Are you ready, Anya?”

  “No,” I answered honestly. My voice was hoarse, broken. “And I can barely stand.”

  “Excellent. That means you're assessing the situation soberly,” he stood up, walking over to me. He took my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes. “Victor will give you stimulants. You'll hold on for a couple of hours. That will be enough for the trial. And then we'll come back, and you'll sleep for a week.”

  He leaned in, his lips brushing my forehead.

  “Let's go. We have twenty-four hours to turn you into an actress. Even if you're bleeding out from the inside.”

  ***

  The next twenty-four hours were hell.

  Adrian wasn't just preparing me for an interrogation. He was breaking me, the way an animal trainer breaks a wild beast, turning it into a circus horse.

  “They'll push,” he said, pacing around the study. “Morozov is an old fox. He won't yell. He'll ask questions quietly, politely, with a smile. And every question is a noose around your neck. Eliza will play the role of the insulted aristocrat. She'll cry, sob, demand justice for her ‘murdered child.’ Voronov will stay silent and watch. He's waiting for you to show weakness.”

  He stopped in front of me.

  “Your task is not to break. No matter what they say, you stay silent. You answer only direct questions. Briefly. Without emotion. You're a blank, remember? You aren't dangerous. You're just a girl who lost her baby and accidentally ignited a crystal at an auction.”

  “And if they ask about Valerian? About the Sphere?”

  “Tell the truth. The Sphere showed ‘Zero.’ You're a blank. Valerian made a mistake.”

  “But I'm not a blank.”

  “They don't know that,” he leaned in, gripping my chin. “And they won't find out. Because you're going to play the role perfectly.”

  He forced me to rehearse. Again and again. He asked questions—provocative, cruel, hitting my sore spots.

  “Why did you kill your child?”“Did you sleep with the Prince of Shadows to get protection?”“Are you a witch? A demon? A mutant?”

  I answered. Monotonously. Without emotion. Like a robot.

  “I didn't kill him. Eliza did.”“No.”“I'm a blank.”

  Every time I broke down, when my voice trembled, when tears welled up in my eyes, he stopped me.

  “Again. From the beginning. You can't show weakness. Weakness is death.”

  By evening, I was drained. My head was splitting. My throat was raw from repeating the same phrases.

  Adrian poured me some water. He handed me the glass.

  “Good. You're managing. But it's not enough.”

  He sat across from me, locking his eyes onto mine.

  “Tomorrow, they'll ask you to demonstrate your power. It's inevitable. Morozov won't believe words. He needs proof.”

  “What should I show?”

  “Entropy. Only Entropy. Not Light. Never Light. If they see the Light, they'll realize you're a Primordial Spark. And then they'll kill you. Immediately. Without a trial.”

  He took my hand, squeezing it tight.

  “Entropy is a rare but not forbidden magic. It frightens people. But it doesn't violate the Codex. Show them control. A localized effect. No casualties. No destruction. Just... the aging of stone. The decay of matter. They'll be scared, but they won't execute you. Especially after you destroyed the artifact at the auction, they're expecting roughly that kind of magic. But they don't know its nature or its magnitude.”

  “What if I can't control it?”

  “You can,” he brought my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles. “You've already learned. You held the Zero Veil for three days straight. You killed three elite mercenaries on the training ground with a single touch. You're stronger than you think.”

  I looked at him. At his exhausted face. At the shadows beneath his eyes.

  “And if they pass a death sentence anyway?”

  He smirked. Predatory.

  “Then we'll burn the Citadel to the ground and walk away on the ashes.”

  ***

  The morning turned out gray. The sky was covered with leaden clouds, sprinkling fine, biting snow.

  I stood in front of the mirror in the bedroom, staring at my reflection.

  The dress was austere. Black, closed all the way up to the collar, with long sleeves. No jewelry. No makeup. My hair was pulled back into a tight bun. I looked like a widow at a funeral.

  That was exactly what Adrian wanted.

  “You have to evoke pity,” he said, buttoning my collar. “Not fear. Not admiration. Pity. You're the victim. A poor, unfortunate girl abandoned by her husband, who lost her child.”

  His fingers brushed against my neck. Cold. Hard.

  “Remember: they want to kill you. But they need a reason. Don't give them one.”

  I nodded. My throat clenched.

  Adrian turned me to face him, grabbing my shoulders.

  “Anya. Look at me.”

  I raised my eyes.

  “No matter what happens today, I won't let anyone hurt you. If they try to arrest you, I'll slaughter them all. If they pass a sentence, I'll appeal it. If they try to execute you...” his voice grew harder, “I'll destroy the Council. Down to the last man.”

  I believed him. Every single word.

  “Thank you.”

  He leaned in. He kissed me. Shortly. Roughly.

  “Let's go. It's time to show those old foxes what real power is.”

  ***

  The Citadel of the Council towered in the First Sector, right in the heart of the city. White marble. Golden spires. Stained-glass windows depicting the seven Great Clans.

  We arrived in an armored limousine. Adrian stepped out first, offering me his hand. I took it, feeling my fingers tremble.

  People were crowding around the Citadel. Journalists with magical cameras. Onlookers. Representatives of minor clans. Everyone wanted to see the ‘monster’ who had destroyed the crystal at the auction.

  Flashes. Shouts.

  “Lady Belskaya! Is it true that you wield forbidden magic?”“Prince Chernov! Are you protecting a murderer?”“Anya! Look over here!”

  Adrian paid no attention to them. He led me forward, cutting through the crowd, toward the entrance.

  At the doors, guards met us. Two mages in silver armor, holding spears topped with suppression crystals.

  “Surrender your weapons,” one of them said.

  Adrian smirked.

  “I don't have any weapons.”

  “You are a weapon, Prince Chernov. Protocol demands the application of a restrictor.”

  He held out a bracelet. A silver hoop with suppression runes.

  Adrian took it without objection. He snapped it onto his wrist. The runes flared red.

  “Your turn, Lady Belskaya.”

  I looked at Adrian. He nodded.

  The bracelet was cold. When it clicked into place, I felt the Darkness inside me flinch, hissing, but it didn't break free. The bracelet didn't block it completely—it merely squeezed it, like a chokehold on a snake's neck.

  “Go ahead. The Council Hall. Third level.”

  ***

  The Council Hall was massive.

  An amphitheater. A circular arena in the center, surrounded by tiers of marble benches. On the top tier sat seven thrones. The seven Heads of the Great Clans.

  Morozov sat in the middle. An old man with a gray beard and eyes like ice. To his right was Eliza Ogneva, in a crimson dress, her face contorted with grief. To his left was Voronov senior, Demyan's father. A face made of stone. A dead stare.

  The other four were strangers to me. The Heads of the Wind, Earth, Lightning, and Water Clans.

  Observers sat on the lower tiers. Representatives of minor clans. Advisors. Magisters. All of them were watching us. Evaluating. Hungry.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  We walked into the center of the arena. Adrian led the way, and I stayed one step behind. Just as protocol dictated.

  “Adrian Chernov,” Morozov's voice rang out like the strike of a bell. “Anna Belskaya. You have been summoned by the Council of Seven to testify regarding the incident with the Red Inquisitor Valerian.”

  Adrian bowed. Formally. Without an ounce of respect.

  “We have arrived, Head Morozov.”

  “Good. Let us begin.”

  Morozov raised his hand. A holographic screen flared up in the air. On it was footage from the security cameras. The Obsidian Palace. Valerian walking inside. The Sphere of Truth. The flash.

  “Explain what happened.”

  Adrian spoke calmly, methodically. Valerian arrived without warning. Conducted a search. Used the Sphere of Truth on Anna Belskaya. The Sphere showed ‘Absolute Zero.’ Valerian recognized her as a blank and left.

  “And that's it?” Morozov narrowed his eyes.

  “That's it.”

  “Then why did Valerian file a report about a ‘suspicious anomaly’?”

  “Ask Valerian.”

  “We did. He claims that the Sphere malfunctioned. That the girl ‘drank’ its charge.”

  Silence.

  I felt all eyes shift toward me.

  “Is this true, Lady Belskaya?” Morozov asked.

  I raised my head. I looked straight into his eyes. Drinking a sphere was IMPOSSIBLE!

  “I don't know what happened. The Sphere showed ‘Zero.’ I am a blank.”

  “A blank who destroyed the ‘Heart of the Labyrinth’ at the auction?”

  Eliza jumped up from her throne.

  “She's lying!” her voice cracked into a scream. “It was her who burned out the child, the Voronov heir, right in her own womb! She's a demon! I saw her devour the Heart of the Labyrinth!”

  Adrian took a step forward.

  “Eliza Ogneva destroyed the fetus herself,” Adrian's voice lashed out like a whip. “Right in front of my eyes. She launched a Fireball straight into the stomach of a pregnant woman. A direct hit.”

  “It was self-defense!” Eliza shrieked.

  “Against a pregnant girl?”

  “Against a monster!”

  Morozov struck the floor with his staff. The echoing thud forced everyone into silence.

  “Quiet. Eliza Ogneva, take a seat. Adrian Chernov, are you accusing the Head of the Fire Clan of murder?”

  “I am stating a fact.”

  “A fact,” Morozov smirked. “The child was not registered in the Registry. Officially, he never existed. Therefore, there was no murder.”

  I clenched my fists. My nails dug into my palms.

  Pain. Sharp. Physical. It kept me from snapping. From screaming out loud.

  *My baby. He existed. He lived. He moved inside me. He was real.*

  But to them, he was nothing. Just... a statistical error.

  “However,” Morozov continued, “the question of the nature of Lady Belskaya's powers remains. We saw the destruction at the auction, but we need an official protocol. A spectral analysis.”

  He stood up. Slowly. Leaning on his staff.

  “Demonstrate your magic. Here. Right now. We have to classify it. Is it Chaos? Or an unknown Gift?”

  Adrian looked at me. He nodded.

  *Entropy. Only Entropy. Control. Localized effect.*

  I took a step forward. I slowly pulled the loose silk glove off my right hand. It hid the finest, healing-ointment-soaked bandages that Victor had applied to my mutilated palms at dawn today. The skin underneath was still burning, but the pain was muted, distant.

  I held my hand out.

  I heard someone gasp in the stands.

  “What do you want to see?” I asked. My voice was calm. Even.

  “Any manifestation of power.”

  I looked around. On the edge of the arena stood a stone pillar. Decorative. Marble. Seven feet tall.

  I reached out my hand.

  And I unleashed the Darkness.

  Not all of it. Just a drop. A thread of Entropy, thin as a needle.

  It darted toward the pillar. Invisible to the ordinary eye. But the mages saw it. I heard them suck in their breaths.

  The thread touched the marble.

  And the pillar began to age.

  Not crumble. Not burn. Age.

  Cracks spiderwebbed across the surface. Thin as gossamer. The marble darkened, covered in moss that hadn't existed a second ago. The stone turned brittle, turning to dust.

  Ten seconds later, nothing remained of the pillar but a small mound of gray dust.

  I pulled my hand back. I closed the channel.

  The Darkness obediently retreated. It coiled into a ball deep inside me.

  The silence in the hall was absolute.

  No one breathed. No one moved.

  Everyone stared at the dust. At what used to be a marble pillar.

  “That's...” Morozov turned pale. His hand trembled on his staff. “That is not Ice. That is not Fire. That is...”

  “Entropy,” Adrian said calmly. He stepped forward, standing beside me. “Localized acceleration of time. The decay of matter on a molecular level. The rarest form of Dark magic. Found in one mage out of a million.”

  “Forbidden,” Eliza hissed. Her face was twisted with horror.

  “No,” Adrian turned to her. His voice was uncompromising. “Entropy isn't on the list of Forbidden Arts. Check the Council's Codex. Article forty-seven, paragraph twelve. Forbidden: Necromancy, Blood Magic, Mind Control, Summoning of the Ancients. Entropy is not mentioned.”

  Morozov stayed silent. He stared at the dust. Then at me.

  “It's... dangerous,” he finally squeezed out.

  “Everything is dangerous,” Adrian replied. “Eliza's fire is dangerous. Morozov's ice is dangerous. Voltaire's lightning is dangerous. It's not a question of power. It's a question of control.”

  “She has no control!” Eliza leaped up, pointing a trembling finger at me. “She's a ticking bomb! She'll kill us all! You saw what she did to the stone! She could do that to a human! To a city! To the world!”

  “She just demonstrated perfect control,” Adrian smirked. “Localized effect. No backlash. No casualties. The pillar is destroyed. The floor is intact. We're alive. That is control.”

  The elder Voronov stood up. Slowly. Leaning heavily on his cane. His face was made of stone.

  “Control is an illusion,” he said softly. “Today, she controls herself. And tomorrow? What happens when she gets angry? When someone offends her? When she wants revenge?”

  He stared at me. His gaze was heavy. Accusing.

  “People like her shouldn't exist. They are a threat to order. A threat to the Seven Clans. A threat to peace.”

  I clenched my fists. My nails drew blood from my palms.

  *Don't answer. Stay quiet. Let Adrian speak.*

  But Adrian stayed silent. He just stared at Voronov. Calmly. Appraisingly.

  Then he turned to Morozov.

  “Head Morozov. You summoned us to verify whether Anna Belskaya wielded magic. We have demonstrated it. She does. A rare, but legal magic. Do you have any grounds for an accusation?”

  Morozov was quiet. For a long time.

  Then he sank back into his throne. He ran a hand over his face.

  “The Council must discuss this. In private.”

  He looked at us.

  “You are free to go. But do not leave the city. The verdict will be delivered within a week.”

  Adrian bowed.

  “As you say, Head Morozov.”

  We turned around and walked toward the exit.

  Behind me, I could hear the whispers. Frightened. Vicious.

  “Monster.”“Anomaly.”“She needs to be destroyed.”

  Adrian squeezed my hand.

  “Don't listen. Keep walking.”

  We stepped out of the hall. The corridor was empty. The guards stepped back, letting us pass.

  Only when we got into the limousine, only when the doors slammed shut, did I allow myself to exhale.

  My hands were shaking. My legs were giving out.

  Adrian wrapped his arms around me. He held me tight against his chest.

  “You did it. Perfectly.”

  I buried my face in his shoulder. I squeezed my eyes shut.

  “They want to kill me.”

  “Yes. But they can't. Because you didn't break the Codex. You showed rare, but legal magic. They're terrified. But fear isn't a crime.”

  He kissed the top of my head.

  “Now, we wait. They're going to argue. Morozov will want to study you. Eliza will want to execute you. Voronov will want to use you. But eventually, they'll settle on a compromise.”

  “What kind?”

  “Quarantine. House arrest. Isolation. They'll lock you in a cage and keep watching. Waiting for you to slip up.”

  He smirked.

  “But we won't give them that satisfaction.”

  ***

  The three days of waiting were worse than the trial itself.

  We were locked up in the Obsidian Palace. Not officially. Nobody posted guards at the gates. Nobody declared us arrested.

  But we knew: they were watching us.

  I saw shadows on the roofs of the neighboring buildings. Observer mages, cloaked in illusions. I felt the scanning spells trying to pierce through the Palace's wards.

  The Council was waiting. Waiting for us to show weakness. For me to use magic. For Adrian to break protocol.

  But we didn't give them a reason.

  I spent the first day in bed. It was the backlash from Victor's healing potions.

  “You're exhausted,” Adrian said when I tried to sit up. “Demonstrating Entropy burned out half your channels. If you try to use magic right now, you'll burn from the inside out.”

  He brought me elixirs. Bitter, burning my throat. I drank them, grimacing.

  “How much time do I need to recover?”

  “A week. Minimum. But we don't have a week.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed. He took my hand.

  “The Council will deliver the verdict within three days. Either execution, exile, or... quarantine.”

  “Quarantine?”

  “House arrest. Isolation. They'll lock you in here and try to figure out how to turn you into a lab rat without facing any consequences.”

  I squeezed his hand.

  “And you?”

  “They won't touch me. I'm a Clan Head. I have immunity. But you... they can take you at any moment.”

  His voice hardened.

  “That's why we're moving. Preparing for the worst.”

  He spent the second day in his study. I could hear him talking to someone through a magical connection. His voice was quiet, but fierce.

  I walked downstairs. The study door was slightly open.

  Adrian stood by the window, holding a black communication crystal in his hand. His face was made of stone.

  “...is the evacuation portal ready?” he was asking. “Good. Activate it only on my signal. If the Council passes a death sentence, we'll have ten minutes before the executioners arrive. Is that enough?”

  Pause.

  “Excellent. Keep the channel open.”

  He lowered the crystal. He turned around and saw me.

  “You're supposed to be in bed.”

  “Are you planning an escape?”

  He didn't answer right away. He just stared at me. Assessing.

  Then he nodded.

  “Yes. If they try to execute you, we're leaving. Through the portal. To the Neutral Lands. The Council has no power there.”

  “That's... that's treason. You'll become an outcast. Lose your title. Your clan.”

  “Yes,” he stepped closer, grabbing my shoulders. “And I don't give a damn. You're more important than a title. More important than a clan. More important than anything.”

  I looked into his eyes. Violet. Resolute.

  “Adrian... you can't throw everything away for me.”

  “I can. And I will. If I have to.”

  He leaned in. He kissed me. Hard. Possessively.

  “You're mine, Anya. And I won't let them have you. Never.”

  The third day was the hardest.

  A message arrived in the morning. Not from the Council. From Victor.

  Adrian read it and let out a vicious, furious laugh.

  “She's lost her mind. She killed the child herself, and now she leaked a fabricated interview to the press. The journalists are already screaming that you're a demoness who ripped the fetus out of her own womb.”

  He hurled the tablet into the fireplace. The glass shattered, the plastic caught fire.

  “It's a provocation. While the Council decides what to do, she's trying to act through the mob. She want to make me lose control. To force me to break protocol. To attack her in front of the cameras.”

  He turned to me.

  “Don't react. Whatever happens, do not react. It's a trap.”

  I nodded. But inside, I was boiling.

  *She killed my baby. And now she demands an apology.*

  The fury was cold. Like ice. It didn't burn. It froze.

  I felt the Darkness writhing within me. Starving. Thirsty.

  *Kill her. Find her. Erase her from reality.*

  I clenched my fists. My nails dug into my palms.

  *No. Not now. Not like this.*

  Adrian stepped up. He wrapped his arms around me from behind.

  “I know how you feel,” he whispered. “I feel the exact same way. But we have to wait. For the right moment. For the right strike.”

  He turned me to face him.

  “Eliza will get what's coming to her. I promise. But not today. Today, we're playing by their rules. And tomorrow... tomorrow we're writing our own.”

  On the evening of the third day, I stood by the window, gazing out at the city.

  The lights of the First Sector flickered below. The white towers of the Council stood tall in the center, like bony fingers clawing at the sky.

  Somewhere in there, inside the Council Hall, seven Heads were deciding my fate.

  Life or death.

  Freedom or a cage.

  I wasn't afraid of death. I was afraid of the cage.

  Adrian walked up behind me. He wrapped me in his embrace.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “About what happens if they pass a death sentence.”

  “We're leaving. Through the portal. I already have everything prepared.”

  “And what if it's quarantine?”

  He paused.

  “Then we wait. We prepare. We train. Until you're strong enough to shatter any dome.”

  I turned to face him.

  “How long will that take?”

  “Months. Maybe years. It depends on how quickly you learn to control the Primordial Spark.”

  He gripped my chin.

  “But we'll make it. Together.”

  I nodded.

  “Together.”

  We stood by the window, holding each other, staring out at the city lights.

  That very night, without waiting for the promised week to pass, the letter arrived. Black. With a red seal.

  The verdict.

  Protocol ‘Quarantine’. House arrest in the Obsidian Palace. Class Four protection dome. Complete isolation until the nature of her powers is determined.

  Adrian read the official parchment and smirked.

  “They're scared. Afraid to kill you, afraid to let you go. So they locked you in a cage.”

  He nodded at the window. Outside the glass, the Council mages were already scrambling. They formed a cross at every intersection surrounding the Palace, weaving blue threads of magic that merged into a complex pattern, forming an impenetrable sphere right above our heads. The sky above the residence began to shimmer.

  “Well,” he said. “We have time. Time to turn you into a weapon that will blow this cage to splinters.”

  He turned to me.

  “The real hell is just beginning.”