They burned the chapel at dawn.
No warning.
No trial.
No mercy.
Just smoke.
Thick. Bitter. Blinding.
It rose like a dark omen above the village, turning the sky into ash and drowning the sunrise in sorrow.
And at the center of the blaze…
hung Tarren.
Tied to the crucifix.
His body scorched.
His lips stitched shut with thorns.
A sign at his feet read:
"TRAITOR TO THE FLAME. SERVANT OF THE BLACK QUEEN."
Mira saw it from the forest line.
She didn't scream.
She didn't run.
She simply stared at the smoke curling in her clenched fists, the tremble in her arms betraying the stillness on her face.
"They were your people," the voice in her head whispered.
"And now they are hers."
When she stepped into the village square, everything stopped.
Children paused mid-play. Women dropped baskets of water. Old men held their breath.
Because Mira was glowing.
The symbols along her arms shimmered with violet fire. Her eyes held flecks of gold. The necklace throbbed like a living thing.
And behind her—shadows followed.
Shadows that didn't belong to her.
Shadows with too many arms. Too many eyes.
And teeth.
"Witch," someone spat.
Mira turned slowly.
A man in priest's robes held a spear.
Behind him stood a dozen more villagers—torches in hand, pitchforks raised.
"You brought the black curse," he hissed. "You fed the tree with our blood!"
"No," she said, voice cold. "I tried to warn you."
"You killed Tarren!"
"I wasn't even here—"
"You're HER!"
The priest charged.
Too fast for the others to stop.
Too blind with rage.
Mira didn't move.
She didn't blink.
She didn't flinch.
And then the shadow behind her moved.
It rose like smoke.
Like a cloak of the dead.
It caught the priest mid-air, fingers of darkness wrapping around his body, squeezing until his bones cracked.
Mira held her breath.
"Let go," she whispered.
The shadow obeyed.
The priest fell.
Alive.
But barely.
She turned to the rest. "Next time… I won't ask it to stop."
They let her pass after that.
No one dared touch her.
Not even look directly at her.
But the whispers spread—faster than fire.
"She walks with the Queen's shadow."
"She's cursed."
"She's the heir of darkness."
Let them talk.
Let them fear.
Because the Queen was coming, and fear was better than ignorance.
Mira needed answers.
And the only place that still held them…
was beneath the ruins.
The village of Thornhollow had once stood proud, a bastion against the Queen's darkness.
But that was a lie.
Mira knew now that Thornhollow had been built atop her power, not in defiance of it.
A sealing ground.
A prison.
And now—a ticking bomb.
The ruins were forbidden.
Buried under the graveyard. Locked by iron gates. Guarded by the last of the Hollow Faith.
Mira found the gatekeeper sleeping beneath a tree.
She didn't wake him.
She simply walked past—his dreams twisted and dark now, filled with echoes of her presence.
The gates opened at her touch.
And the descent began.
The catacombs stank of old death and forgotten truths.
Bones lay scattered across the floor—some gnawed, some burned, some clutching books etched with runes that whispered even in silence.
The air grew colder.
The walls dripped with sap.
And at the end of a long tunnel…
A door.
Carved from obsidian.
Bound in chains made of blackened vines.
The Queen's mark—an eye with three slashes—burned upon its center.
Mira reached for the necklace.
It pulsed—recognizing the symbol.
The door groaned.
And opened.
Inside was not a room.
It was a world.
A cavern so vast it had its own sky—stars made of fireflies, clouds of smoke drifting across a ceiling too high to see.
And at its center…
A tree.
The real one.
Not the imitation in the village.
This one was ancient.
Wide as a castle.
Its roots stretched across the cavern floor like veins.
Its trunk was carved with screams.
Its branches bled light.
And buried at its base…
A book.
Chained. Bound in flesh.
Mira approached slowly.
Each step made her heart beat louder. Her fingers trembled with hunger and fear and memory.
The book pulsed.
Alive.
It whispered.
"Daughter of the throne…"
"Binder of flame…"
"Bearer of the key…"
Mira knelt before it.
Unhooked the necklace.
And placed it upon the book's cover.
The chains snapped.
The book opened itself.
Pages fluttered.
Spells flew past her eyes, unreadable—then suddenly understood.
Visions swarmed her mind:
The Queen, before the darkness.
A healer. A priestess.
Betrayed.
Burned.
Buried alive.
And in that tomb, she called upon death itself.
Blood. Bone. Shadow. Sacrifice.
She killed a thousand children to gain her power.
Then ten thousand more to keep it.
And now…
Now she wanted Mira.
Not just as a vessel.
As a rebirth.
Mira stumbled back.
"No."
"You are her reincarnation," the book whispered.
"But you are not her destiny."
Suddenly, footsteps.
Mira spun.
Torches approached.
Men in armor.
Village guards.
And at their head—the new High Priest.
"Take her!" he roared.
Mira raised her hand. "You don't understand—"
"She's communing with the dark book!" one soldier shouted. "Burn her!"
The guards surged forward.
But this time, Mira didn't need the shadow.
She let the magic do the talking.
She spoke one word—and the earth shook.
She whispered a phrase—and vines erupted from the floor.
She screamed—and the cavern answered.
The tree's roots lashed out, grabbing men, tossing them into the walls.
The book rose into the air, pages flapping wildly.
Fire exploded from its core.
And when the smoke cleared…
Only Mira stood.
Alone.
Alive.
Unburned.
Back in the village, panic spread.
The tree in the square split in half—oozing blood instead of sap.
A baby was born with eyes that glowed violet.
Cattle died without wounds.
The sky turned red.
And the Queen's voice was heard in the well:
"The bloodline has awakened. The key has turned."
The war had begun.
Mira sat by the ruined chapel, her fingers still warm with magic.
She stared at the ashes where Tarren once stood.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
She hadn't cried since she returned.
But now the tears came.
Soft.
Silent.
A few drops of guilt in an ocean of rage.
A voice behind her spoke:
"He believed in you."
She turned.
An old woman—blind in one eye, cloaked in raven feathers.
"You knew him?"
"I knew your mother."
Mira's breath caught.
The woman smiled.
"She was fire. You are smoke. But both burn."
Mira stood.
"I need to finish what she started."
The woman nodded.
"Then follow the wind to the place where the Queen was born. There you'll find her weakness."
"Where?"
The woman's blind eye glowed faintly.
"Where the sun never rises… and the dead walk backward."
Mira left that night.
No bags.
No goodbyes.
Just the book.
The necklace.
And the flame growing inside her.
Behind her, the village locked its doors.
But it was too late.
Because the Queen wasn't just returning.
She was already inside.