The smoke had barely cleared, but silence now reigned where chaos once lived.
Ariana sat atop the shattered stone steps of the eastern courtyard, staring out over the battlefield littered with broken swords, dying embers, and twitching bodies of knights once possessed. The sky above was streaked with strange color—rose and gold—like the heavens themselves had bled for what had taken place.
She wasn't alone.
Damian stood at her side, his cloak tattered, his armor scorched. His eyes hadn't left her since the battle ended. And still—still—he kept a slight distance. As if uncertain whether the woman beside him was the same one he had once vowed to protect.
"Say it," she rasped, voice hoarse from the fire.
"You changed."
Ariana gave a soft laugh. "I died."
He knelt slowly beside her. "Then whoever rose from that death... she saved us all."
But Ariana didn't smile. Her hands trembled, and when she turned her palms over, they were raw and glowing faintly beneath the skin—like something ancient now pulsed inside her veins.
"I didn't just burn Selene's darkness," she whispered. "I called something. Something old."
Damian's jaw clenched. "You spoke in a tongue I've never heard before. It wasn't Virelian. It wasn't even Eldareth."
"No," she agreed. "It was... before names. I don't know how I knew it. It just answered."
A shadow moved behind them. Kairo.
He looked worn, dirt on his cheeks, a cut across his temple—but alive. His eyes locked on Ariana, and they softened with something like fear... and awe.
"I felt it," he said. "Whatever you summoned. Even the sky listened."
Ariana nodded. "Because it wasn't just me."
She stood shakily, firelight catching the torn hem of her dress. "There's something inside me. Something that's been waiting."
Kairo glanced at Damian. "She's not just a queen anymore."
"No," Damian said, rising too. "She's becoming what Virelia's legends feared. Or prayed for."
A deep boom echoed in the distance.
The three turned toward the west tower—where the ancient vault of the royal ancestors had long been sealed.
A guard sprinted toward them, pale and breathless. "My Queen," he panted, "the vault doors... they've opened. On their own."
Ariana's breath hitched. "No one's entered that vault in generations."
"They said only one with the true fire could awaken it," Kairo murmured. "No one believed it existed."
Damian was already moving, sword drawn. "We go. Now."
Ariana didn't need to be told twice. Her legs still ached, but the fire steadied her as she walked. Kairo moved at her left. Damian at her right. They were no longer rivals. Not in this moment.
They descended the inner staircases of the western tower, lit only by trembling torches. The doors at the bottom were already parted, ancient runes glowing softly across the stone.
Inside, cold mist coiled along the ground, and a single staircase spiraled into darkness.
Ariana hesitated.
Then the mist parted—and a voice, feminine and powerful, echoed up the stairs like a distant song:
"The flame has returned. The curse is unbroken. The Queen must choose—light, or ruin."
Damian turned to her. "Are you ready for this?"
"No," Ariana said. "But I'm going anyway."
She stepped into the vault—into the secrets of a forgotten fire, into the truth behind the blood she carried.
Whatever waited at the bottom of those stairs... it had been waiting for her.