The wind was cold.
Not the kind that kissed your skin.
The kind that crawled beneath it—whispers in bone, needles in veins.
Mira didn't flinch.
She walked the narrow path through the Valley of Mourning, led only by starlight and shadow.
Each step stirred the silence.
Each breath fogged the air.
She was being watched.
Not by birds.
Not by beasts.
By something older.
By eyes that had forgotten how to blink.
Days blurred into nights. Time had no meaning here.
This was the border.
The end of all maps.
The place before the Queen was born.
No birds sang.
No flowers bloomed.
Even the trees grew backward—branches buried underground, roots reaching for the sky like claws.
Mira's boots crunched over a cracked skull.
Then another.
Then another.
A field of bones, picked clean, some still wearing crowns of thorn or rusted helmets.
And then she saw it.
The mountain.
It loomed in the distance like a dead god.
Pitch-black.
Smoke curling from its peak.
Its base surrounded by a spiral of corpses, half-buried in the earth.
"Where the sun never rises," the woman had said.
"Where the dead walk backward."
This was the place.
The Queen's cradle.
The world's grave.
By the time Mira reached the base of the mountain, her magic was pulsing like a second heartbeat.
The Book of Flesh, slung over her shoulder, vibrated gently—excited.
The air was thicker here.
Sour.
Like burnt honey and rotting silk.
Her fingers itched to cast a warding spell, but she didn't know who—or what—might hear.
Then, suddenly…
A voice.
"Why have you come?"
She froze.
It was calm.
Cold.
Spoken directly into her ear… though no one was near.
"Show yourself," Mira whispered, turning slowly.
Nothing.
But when she turned again, there was someone.
A man.
Tall. Cloaked in crimson and bone.
His eyes were sewn shut, yet he stood as if he could see her soul.
She raised a hand. "I'm not your enemy—"
"No," he said. "But you are not yet our ally."
"Who are you?"
"We are the Ashen."
His voice was like a drum buried in sand.
"We are what's left of the Fireless Ones. The Queen's first victims. And her last witnesses."
They came from the shadows like smoke.
Pale-skinned figures. Cloaked in feathers, bones, ash.
Men. Women. Children.
Eyes hidden. Some blindfolded. Some gouged out.
All quiet. All watching.
"You were not meant to find this place," the man said.
"But I did."
"You are the bearer of the Queen's mark."
"I didn't ask for it."
"No one ever does," he replied. "But she chose you."
Mira stepped forward. "Then tell me how to end her."
A low murmur passed through the Ashen.
The man's smile was thin.
Not kind.
Not cruel.
Just tired.
"There is only one way," he said.
"And what is it?"
"You must die."
Silence.
The words echoed against the rocks like a curse.
Mira clenched her fists. "That's not an answer."
"It is the only one."
"You want me to sacrifice myself?"
"No," said a woman among them, stepping forward.
Older. Hooded. Her face a maze of scars.
"Not just sacrifice. You must unbind the cycle. The Queen cannot die while you live… because she is you."
Mira's voice cracked. "I'm not her."
The woman reached out, touching Mira's forehead with two fingers.
Suddenly—
Visions.
A baby in a cradle of blood.
A girl playing with fire.
A priestess burning alive.
A soul—fractured, then reborn again and again.
Until…
Mira.
She staggered back.
"No…"
The man nodded.
"She left a piece of herself in every daughter born with her blood. But you, Mira… you are the first with all of her."
They led her into the mountain.
Down winding tunnels.
Past walls that bled.
Past skulls that whispered.
At the heart of the mountain… a room.
Octagonal. Black stone. Carved in ancient tongues.
And at its center, a mirror.
But not a normal one.
This mirror shimmered with darkness, like water that refused to reflect light.
The Book of Flesh flew from her hands.
It hovered above the mirror, pulsing.
Then slowly—opened itself.
The pages flipped, flipped, flipped—then stopped.
Words appeared in blood:
"Only the mirror knows your truth.
Only in death can rebirth be severed.
To kill the Queen… you must kill the self."
"I don't understand," Mira said.
"You must descend into the mirror," the woman said softly.
"It is her realm. Her soul. The prison she built to outlive time."
"And if I don't return?"
"Then she will take your body. Your magic. Your world."
Mira looked down at the black glass.
Her reflection was gone.
Instead… she saw herself as the Queen.
Draped in shadows.
Eyes glowing with ancient hate.
Lips parted in a scream that echoed with power.
"I'm afraid," Mira whispered.
"Good," said the man. "That means you're still human."
Mira stepped into the mirror.
And fell.
The world beneath was chaos.
Skies twisted like ribbons.
Rivers ran with molten glass.
Mountains floated.
Creatures made of whispers and wings circled above.
This was the Queen's soul.
A world shaped by vengeance.
Fury.
Loneliness.
And Mira was no longer just herself.
Her eyes burned.
Her skin glowed.
Symbols crawled along her arms like living fire.
The Queen's power was awake.
Then she heard it.
The scream.
Not hers.
Another girl's.
She followed the sound—through a forest of screaming trees, over a lake that whispered her name.
And there, beneath a shattered moon, she saw her.
The Queen.
Not a woman.
Not a monster.
A girl.
No older than Mira.
Dressed in robes of night.
Sitting beside a grave.
Mira approached slowly.
"Is this… your memory?"
The Queen didn't look up.
"It's my last moment of peace."
Mira knelt beside her.
The girl looked at her, finally.
Eyes red. Lips trembling.
"They took everything," she said. "And I wanted it all back."
"I know."
"No, you don't," the Queen said. "You've never felt the fire inside you burn everyone you love."
Mira lowered her gaze.
"I have," she whispered.
The Queen stood.
And in an instant, the world shattered.
They were back in the sky. On a floating cliff.
Below—rivers of screaming faces.
Above—a sun made of teeth.
The Queen's form twisted. Taller. Older. Darker.
"You came here to kill me?" she asked.
"I came to end this," Mira said.
"I AM YOU!"
"Then I'll end myself, too."
She raised the Book of Flesh.
It lit with silver fire.
The Queen screamed, hurling dark tendrils of shadow.
Mira dodged. Cast a ward. Summoned vines.
Magic clashed—black vs gold.
Death vs rebirth.
"You were born from me!" the Queen shrieked. "You owe me your life!"
"I owe you nothing!" Mira cried. "You turned love into rot. Grief into murder. Power into poison!"
Their hands collided.
A flash of light.
And then—silence.
Mira lay in darkness.
Her heart slowing.
Blood in her mouth.
And the Queen's voice… soft now.
"I only wanted to be remembered."
Mira reached out.
"Tear me from you," she whispered. "Take yourself back."
The Queen wept.
And faded.
Mira awoke beside the mirror.
Alone.
The Ashen surrounded her.
The book—silent. Closed.
The mountain—still.
"Is she gone?" Mira asked.
The man shook his head.
"She sleeps. You didn't destroy her… but you severed the chain."
"What does that mean?"
"You are no longer her prison."
Mira stood slowly.
"So… I'm free?"
"For now."
Outside the mountain, the wind had changed.
It carried the scent of rain. The sound of wings.
And far to the north—a storm was building.
The Queen was gone.
But her army was not.
And her name would rise again.
Unless Mira stopped it.
Unless she became the storm before it could break.