The palace walls trembled as the blast shattered the eastern gate.
Ariana emerged into the open courtyard, wind tearing at her cloak, hair whipping about her face like fire set loose. Screams rose in the distance—some of fear, others of war. Steel clashed. Arrows lit with violet flame hissed through the sky like falling stars.
Atop a black stallion, Selene rode in.
Her armor was obsidian laced with silver, her crown jagged as if forged from broken promises. Behind her came a procession of corrupted knights—men once loyal to the crown, now bearing the mark of the Eldareth cult carved into their faces like trophies. Their eyes glowed red.
Damian stepped beside Ariana, sword drawn. "She brought the damned with her."
"No," Ariana said, her voice steady. "She became one."
Selene halted her horse, dismounting with the grace of a serpent. "Sweet Ariana," she purred across the battlefield. "Still playing queen with your stolen flame?"
Ariana stepped forward. "You came for the throne. I came to bury your name."
Selene's smile faltered. "Do you know what you carry, girl? That mark in your blood? It was never meant for you. The Flamemother will burn through your bones, and when she does—I will wear your ashes."
The corrupted knights raised their swords.
Ariana raised her hands.
The fire that burst from her was no longer the crimson of her first awakenings—it was a deep violet, laced with gold, rippling through the air like liquid wrath. It danced along her arms, encircling her body like a crown of fury. The corrupted knights hesitated. Some fell to their knees, clutching their heads.
"She commands them," Damian whispered in awe.
"No," Ariana murmured. "She defies them."
With a cry that split the air, she unleashed her power.
Flame met void as Selene countered with her own dark magic, sending a wave of corrupted ash surging toward Ariana. The two forces collided in a roar of light and shadow. The ground cracked beneath their feet, stone curling like scorched paper.
Selene charged.
Ariana met her in midair, their blades clashing. Sparks exploded. Power rippled outward in waves, flattening walls and sending soldiers sprawling.
"I was meant to rule!" Selene shrieked, slashing.
Ariana blocked. "You were meant to fall."
A punch of flame sent Selene crashing into a column. She stood, coughing, blood trailing from her lips—but still smiling.
"You're not strong enough," she spat. "You don't even know what you're becoming."
"I do," Ariana said, stepping forward. "I'm choosing to become it."
Her flame surged again, this time from within. Not fury. Not vengeance. Purpose.
Selene charged once more—but this time, Ariana didn't move.
Instead, she whispered an ancient word she hadn't known she remembered—one etched into her soul by something older than time.
The world paused.
The fire leapt from her chest, a sphere of blinding power, and struck Selene mid-run. Her scream shattered windows, echoed into the mountains, and then—silence.
When the smoke cleared, Selene lay on her knees, armor cracked, eyes wide. The corrupted mark on her wrist faded into ash.
The battlefield stilled.
The corrupted knights lowered their weapons, confused. Lost.
Ariana collapsed to one knee, breath heaving. Damian caught her just before she fell completely.
"You burned her darkness away…" he whispered.
"I burned mine, too," she said. "The parts that chained me."
Damian touched her face. "There's still light in you."
"And fire," she replied with a tired smile. "Don't forget the fire."
As dawn broke over Virelia, the enemy had retreated, their leader broken, their power dimmed.
But the war for Ariana's soul had only just begun.