Lilly did not sleep.
The night stretched endlessly, thick with silence and thought, wrapping around her like a suffocating cloak. Every time she closed her eyes, Elin's words returned, sharp, deliberate, impossible to ignore. They did not fade with time; they sharpened.
A trial by combat.
The idea felt foreign in her bones.
She sat curled against the cold stone wall, knees drawn to her chest, fingers absentmindedly gripping the thin fabric of her dress. The chill of the cell seeped into her skin, but she barely noticed it anymore. Her mind was far too loud.
Back in her world—her real world—violence had never been part of survival.
There had been no blades, no blood, no need to prove strength.
Only quiet.
Only endurance.
She thought of the small cottage, where the wind whispered through cracked wooden shutters and the scent of herbs lingered in the air. Her father's labored breathing would fill the nights, uneven and fragile, and Lilly would sit beside him, grinding roots into paste or boiling bitter concoctions she barely understood.
She had not been strong there.
But she had been needed.
Her duty had been simple: become a witch.
And when that dream slipped through her fingers, when the magic never came, when the whispers of power remained just that, whispers, she did not fight it.
She adapted.
She survived.
Quietly.
But here?
Here, quietness felt like a death sentence.
Lilly exhaled slowly, pressing her forehead against her knees. "Trial by combat…" she murmured under her breath, as if saying it aloud might make it less absurd.
What did she even know about combat?
Nothing.
No training. No experience. Not even the faintest understanding of how to hold a weapon properly. Her hands were meant for tending wounds, not inflicting them.
And yet…
A flicker of something stirred within her. Initially, she thought it was confidence or maybe courage, but no. It was something more demanding and harsher. It was stubbornness.
"I won't die like this," she whispered, the words barely audible, yet they settled heavily in the air. Saying them made something inside her solidify, like wet clay finally taking shape.
If this world demanded aggression, then she would have to learn it.
Even if it broke her.
Even if it changed her into someone she no longer recognized.
The hours crawled by, marked only by the slow fading of darkness into a dull gray. At some point, exhaustion must have claimed her, if only briefly, because the next thing she noticed was warmth brushing against her face.
The sun.
Lilly stirred, her eyes opening slowly as thin beams of sunlight filtered through the barred window above. The light stretched across the stone floor, illuminating drifting dust particles that moved lazily through the air. For a minute, she watched them, drawn to the softness of something so out of place in such a harsh environment.
It was almost enough to make the cell feel unreal.
That illusion did not last.
As she shifted, pain ran through her stiff limbs, grounding her instantly. The weight in her chest returned, heavy and unrelenting, reminding her of where she was and what awaited her.
She inhaled deeply, steadying herself, and offered a silent prayer, not to any one God, but to anything that might be listening. To the forces that had brought her here, to the nature she had once trusted, to whatever power governed this world.
If they could give her the strength to kill, then they could give her the strength to fight.
Because staying here was not an option.
Death, in comparison, felt almost merciful. Whether it returned her to her world or erased her no longer mattered. Either outcome was better than remaining trapped in this place, waiting for a fate she did not choose.
The sound of approaching footsteps broke the silence.
They were heavy and deliberate, echoing through the corridor before stopping at her door. The iron lock shifted, followed by the harsh scrape of metal as the door was pulled open.
Four guards entered.
Their presence filled the small space immediately, their expressions marked by a mixture of curiosity and disbelief. Their gazes lingered on her longer than necessary, as though they were trying to reconcile her appearance with whatever they had been told about her.
Lilly met their eyes without lowering her own.
She did not speak.
There was nothing to say.
One of them stepped forward and seized her wrists, binding them together with practiced efficiency. Another secured heavy chains around her ankles, the cold iron locking into place with a final, unmistakable sound. The weight of it forced her to adjust her balance, though she refused to stumble.
"Move."
The command was short and emotionless.
They did not wait for her to comply. Instead, they pulled her forward, forcing her to follow as the chains clinked against the stone floor with each step. When they led her outside, the sudden brightness of the sun struck her eyes, forcing her to blink against the intensity.
The warmth felt unfamiliar after the cold of the cell.
And with it came a memory.
Another day. Another crowd.
Another time, when she had been dragged into the open and placed before watching eyes.
Adam. Her village. Back then, the weight of judgment had pressed down on her from every direction. Now she was facing the same fate.
The realization settled in quietly.
Just like back at her, she was paraded for everyone to see. Similarly, here, they were also displaying her, giving an unspoken warning to others.
They dragged her through the streets, and as they did, people began to gather. Conversations paused. Eyes turned. Whispers spread in low, hushed tones. Some looked at her with curiosity, others with disdain, and a few with something she could not quite name.
She felt every gaze.
Instinct urged her to lower her head, to make herself smaller, to disappear into the background as she always had.
But she did not.
Instead, she straightened.
Despite the weight of the chains, she lifted her chin and fixed her gaze forward. Her shoulders straightened, not in open defiance, but in a quiet acceptance of what lay ahead. There was no strength in denial anymore, no safety in shrinking herself. Whatever awaited her, she would meet it standing.
The guards continued dragging her through the streets, their pace unrelenting. Time stretched in a strange, distorted way, each step blending into the next until it felt as though they had been walking for hours. The rhythm of metal against stone echoed with every movement, the chains at her ankles dictating the length of her stride and forcing her into an unnatural, uneven gait.
The city was awake now.
People lined the streets, drawn in by the spectacle. Their voices rose and fell in waves, whispers at first, later becoming louder, sharper, and more deliberate. Some did not bother lowering their voices at all.
The taunts came mostly from men.
Their words were crude, dismissive, laced with amusement rather than anger, as though her situation existed purely for their entertainment. A few laughed openly, shaking their heads as they looked at her, clearly unconvinced that someone like her could have done anything worthy of such attention.
"Is this the one?"
"She looks like she'd faint before holding a blade."
"They must be desperate if this is what they're putting forward."
Their laughter followed her, lingering in the air long after they spoke.
The women, however, were different.
They did not laugh.
Their gazes lingered longer, quieter, filled with something far more complex. Some looked at her with disbelief, as if trying to understand how she had ended up here. Others watched with curiosity, their eyes tracing the chains, the guards, the way Lilly carried herself despite everything.
And then there were a few whose expressions softened into something almost like awe.
Not admiration, not quite—but recognition.
As if they understood, in some unspoken way, that standing like this—head high, eyes forward—required more strength than any weapon ever could.
Lilly did not react to any of them. She neither flinched at the taunts nor sought comfort in the silent support. She kept her gaze steady, fixed on the path ahead, even as the noise pressed in around her.
It was safer that way.
If she let herself feel it—any of it—she might falter.
And she could not afford to falter.
Her attention shifted only once.
As they turned into a wider street, her eyes caught a familiar figure among the crowd.
Elin.
She stood slightly apart from the others, walking beside an older woman whose presence carried a quiet authority. The woman's posture was straight, composed, her expression unreadable as she observed the scene before her.
But Lilly's focus remained on Elin. Just for a second, their eyes met.
There was no distance between them in that instant—no crowd, no guards, no chains. Just recognition.
And then, just as quickly, Elin looked away.
The movement was subtle, almost instinctive, but it did not go unnoticed.
Lilly felt something shift within her, though she could not quite name it. It was not anger, nor betrayal, nor even disappointment. It was something quieter, heavier—a silent understanding that whatever connection had existed between them had already begun to fracture.
She did not try to hold Elin's gaze.
She did not call out.
There was no point.
The guards pushed her forward again, breaking the moment completely, and the city began to change as they moved deeper within it.
The buildings grew larger, more structured, their designs shifting from simple function to deliberate display. Stone replaced wood, and the streets widened, cleaner, more controlled. The noise of the crowd softened, replaced by a more restrained silence as they approached the heart of power.
And then she saw it.
The palace.
It rose before her, tall and imposing, its structure dominating everything around it. High walls stretched outward like a barrier between worlds, their surfaces carved with intricate designs that spoke of history, conquest, and authority. Towers climbed toward the sky, their shadows falling long across the ground below.
It was not just a building.
It was a statement.
A declaration of control.
The guards did not slow as they approached. If anything, their grip tightened, their movements more rigid as they led her toward the entrance. Large doors stood open, revealing a darkened interior that seemed to swallow the sunlight whole.
Without ceremony, they pushed her inside.
The shift was immediate.
The warmth of the sun vanished, replaced by the cool, controlled air of stone and shadow. Her footsteps echoed differently here, sharper, louder, as though the walls themselves were listening.
They guided her through long corridors lined with guards who stood motionless, their presence silent but unmistakable. The further they walked, the quieter it became, until even the sound of her chains felt intrusive.
Finally, they stopped.
Large doors stood before them, taller than any she had seen before, their surfaces engraved with detailed patterns that twisted and coiled in symmetrical precision. Two guards positioned at either side pushed them open without a word.
The doors parted slowly.
Lilly was forced forward.
And then she saw it.
A courtroom.
Vast and imposing, designed not for justice, but for judgment.
The ceiling arched high above, supported by towering pillars that framed the space with overwhelming grandeur. Rows of people filled the sides, their presence ordered and deliberate, their attention already fixed on her as she entered.
At the far end of the room stood an elevated platform.
Power had a place here.
And it sat above everyone else.
The guards did not pause as they led her forward, their footsteps echoing across the polished floor. The sound carried through the chamber, announcing her presence before she could fully take it in.
Every eye was on her.
Every whisper had stilled.
The spectacle had reached its final stage.
And Lilly, still bound, still chained was placed at its center.