There was no sleep in the Hollowed Night.
Only breath.
And stars that refused to blink.
Alera stood at the edge of the ridge, the whispering winds curling around her cloak like unseen fingers. Below her, the valley still pulsed faintly with the magic left behind after the Bearer of the End vanished. But it was changing slowly twisting, reshaping itself.
Not decaying.
Becoming.
The stars overhead shimmered with unfamiliar constellations. Not the ones she had memorized. These were older. Some weren't even stars. They were eyes.
And they were watching her.
Behind her, the camp slept restlessly. Only Saphine, Lysandria, and Seris remained fully awake guarding the night, listening to the echoes that passed through the soul-veins of the mountain.
But none of them had heard what Alera just did.
A voice.
Not her child's.
Not the Sovereign's.
Not the throne's.
A woman's.
Low. Eternal. Unforgiving.
She had whispered one word.
"Daughter."
It wasn't a name.
It was a claim.
She turned back toward the fire.
Seris was already standing there, head tilted, her eyes lit from within.
"She's waking," Seris whispered, voice layered in two tones.
"Who is she?" Alera asked.
Seris looked skyward.
"The one who gave birth to the thrones."
Alera sat slowly, her bones aching, her blood still thrumming from the battle. The weight of her crown though invisible felt heavier with each breath.
Lysandria joined them, kneeling beside the fire. "You heard her."
Alera nodded.
Saphine frowned. "You mean it. Not a person. A memory. A force."
"No," Lysandria said. "She was once flesh. Before the Sundering. Before Solara. Before even the thrones. The First Flame was not stolen. It was given."
Alera's gaze darkened.
"And now she wants it back."
A map was laid out between them old, frayed, barely held together with spell-thread.
It depicted the world before it was broken.
And at its center surrounded by oceans of fire and winds that whispered names was a single black spire.
The Altar of the Void Queen.
"That altar was sealed after the first betrayal," Lysandria murmured. "No queen since has dared seek it."
"Because to find it," Saphine added, "is to invite her into your soul."
Alera stared at the map.
"What if she's already here?"
Seris answered for them all.
"Then you are no longer just queen."
Later that night, Alera stood before her army such as it remained.
The Dusk Sentinels.
The Unremembered.
The newly sworn Boneguard.
And those whose names had been erased from the world but who followed her anyway.
They were broken. Exhausted. But loyal.
She lifted her voice above the wind:
"I was born to a dying line, sworn to a throne that consumed its queens. I shattered it. I survived its fire. And I wear no crown forged by fear."
They listened.
Still. Silent.
"But I did not destroy the Bone Court to become something worse."
Her eyes glowed.
"I will not be a puppet to gods."
A murmur rose.
Seris stepped forward and knelt.
"I will follow you into the dark."
One by one, the others followed.
Even the sky dimmed its stars.
As if bowing.
But the moment ended quickly.
Because the earth screamed.
A crack erupted through the center of the ridge black smoke rising from its depths. Bones long buried clawed their way to the surface.
Not animated.
Alive.
From the fissure, a figure emerged.
Not of flesh.
Not of shadow.
But woven of memory and starlight.
She wore a dress made from weeping constellations. Her hair was a crown of dying galaxies. Her eyes?
No pupils.
Just mirrors.
The army fell to its knees.
Seris collapsed.
Even Lysandria trembled.
The woman spoke.
"You broke the chain."
"Now you must wear it."
Alera stood her ground.
"Who are you?"
The woman blinked slowly.
And every star in the sky blinked with her.
"I am the flame before Solara."
"The breath before the word."
"The mother of thrones."
"And you…"
She stepped closer.
"Are my last daughter."
The camp held its breath.
Even the wind dared not speak.
Alera's voice shook but held.
"What do you want?"
The woman the Void Queen smiled.
And the stars wept silver.
"I want you to burn the rest."
"There are six thrones left. Each still dreaming. Each still holding the chains of fate."
"You shattered one."
"Now shatter the rest."
Alera looked down at her hands.
The blood of Kael.
The scars from the Bone Throne.
The child who stirred within her.
"Why me?"
"Because you lived."
The Void Queen lifted a single hand.
A blade formed in the air black flame wrapped in glass, pulsing with the echoes of ten thousand queens who died screaming.
"Take it."
Alera hesitated.
Saphine shouted. "Don't!"
Seris whispered. "You already have."
And it was true.
The blade was already in her hand.
Because part of her had always held it.
Since the day she was born beneath a broken moon.
Since the day the throne chose her.
Since the day she refused it.
Alera raised the blade.
And the stars flared with approval.
The Void Queen spoke once more:
"You are not my prisoner."
"You are my vengeance."
And then she vanished.
The camp did not speak.
Not that night.
Not until dawn.
When the blade disappeared into Alera's spine becoming part of her.
Not weapon.
Not curse.
Crown.
In the morning, Lysandria approached her with quiet eyes.
"You've changed."
Alera didn't deny it.
"There are six thrones left."
"And then?"
Alera looked at her reflection in a puddle.
It no longer looked like her.
It looked like all of them.
"Then I burn the