## CHAPTER 10: _"Ashes Do Not Bow"_
Smoke drifted through the throne room, curling into the cracked rafters like memories refusing to die. The scent of scorched velvet, blood, and magic lingered in the air—a crownless silence where screams once lived.
Lysia stood at the base of the ruined dais, her chest rising and falling like thunder held in breath. Arien leaned against a broken pillar, a bandage soaked with blood pressed to his side.
> "She's gone," Lysia whispered.
> "She's only a name now," Arien replied. "And names lose their power when no one fears them."
But even as they spoke, a chill began to settle across the floor. A pulse. Slow and old. Like something waking.
> "She left something behind," Lysia said, eyes narrowing. "Something older than curses."
The floor beneath the throne shimmered. Runes carved in the ancient tongue lit with pale gold fire. A door formed—a spiral, descending beneath the palace.
> "A vault," Arien muttered.
> "No," she said. "A prison."
---
They descended together.
The stairwell led into the earth, cut from obsidian, lined with flickering crystals that hummed with forgotten language. As they moved deeper, memories clung to the walls—paintings of past queens, old battles, burning forests. At the bottom, they reached a chamber sealed by five locks.
Each lock bore a symbol: Heart. Crown. Flame. Mirror. Blood.
Lysia stepped forward. "These are our story."
Arien touched the first—Heart. It glowed.
He turned to her. "We break them together."
One by one, they did. With memory. With pain. With truth. Until only one remained: Blood.
Lysia reached into her cloak, drew a thin blade, and pressed it to her palm.
> "I open this not as a curse," she said, "but as a choice."
She touched the lock. It flared.
The chamber doors groaned open.
---
Inside was a single figure.
Not dead. Not alive.
Floating in a sphere of glass and mist, was a girl—no older than twenty. Her hair drifted like smoke. Her skin shimmered with runes. She looked like Lysia. Exactly like her.
> "That's not possible," Arien whispered.
A voice rang from the walls: *"Every curse begins with love."*
The girl opened her eyes.
> "I am the first."
Lysia stepped forward, trembling.
> "You're the origin."
> "I am the memory. I was cursed to love a prince who could not love me back. My magic broke the kingdom. My name was erased. But the curse remembered."
Lysia's knees buckled. "Why do I bear your face?"
> "Because you are my rebirth. My second chance. The curse is not punishment. It is inheritance."
> "What do you want from me?"
> "To choose. Break the chain—or become the next link."
Arien stepped beside her.
> "She's not alone."
> "That's what I never had," the first said. "And that is why you might survive."
The glass cracked.
And the origin faded.
---
They emerged from the chamber hours later, changed. Not in body—but in knowing.
They stood in the throne room again, facing the broken walls of what once ruled Elira.
Lysia looked at the empty throne.
> "I don't want it," she said.
> "Then let's build something new."
> "From what?"
> "From us."
And as the sun rose over a broken city, people gathered in the square. Survivors. Rebels. Healers. Children. All drawn by the silence ending.
Lysia stepped forward.
She did not sit on the throne.
She stood before it.
> "This kingdom will not be ruled by crowns," she said. "It will be led by choice. By heart. And by those who remember what pain costs."
Arien stood beside her.
Not as a prince.
But as a promise.
And Elira listened.
Not to a queen.
But to a curse that had finally broken.
Not in death.
But in love.