The throne room had become unrecognizable.
The scent of burning stone, molten steel, and scorched blood clung to the air like a curse. Shattered banners hung in tatters from their gilded mounts.
The grand stained-glass windows had long since exploded inward, littering the floor with razor-bright fragments that caught firelight and magic in flickering glints.
And in the center of it all, beneath the ruined sigil of her house, Malvoria stood with Elysia at her side.
A war-wrought queen and her flame-crowned wife.
Their enemies stood before them: Seraphina, a gleaming pillar of celestial fury, and Zera, eyes burning with resentment and longing. Both were poised to kill.
Malvoria could feel Elysia at her side. Her presence was a tether in the chaos, a weight and a light all at once.
But even now, even as they prepared to face the impossible, Elysia's hand trembled around the hilt of her flame-forged sword.
