The city of Karron was the easternmost jewel in the Veredon crown.
A place of copper towers and sandstone streets.
Of silent markets and ancient temples.
And for the past three generations, a city that had never knelt.
Not fully.
Not truly.
Even when Veredon's banners hung from its gates, Karron remained still.
And that silence always made Selene suspicious.
Because she knew: still things only looked peaceful until you saw the knife underneath.
She arrived at dawn.
Not with a fleet.
Not with fanfare.
But with three riders and a sealed scroll bearing her personal sigil: a flame surrounded by a ring of thorns.
The symbol of fire that ruled without apology.
Karron's governor, Lady Erena, met her at the outer bridge with a smile that never reached her eyes.
She wore violet silk trimmed with gold, her hair plaited with tiny bells that jingled softly when she moved.
"Your Majesty," she said, bowing low. "We are honored by your presence."
"And yet no fire greets me," Selene said, scanning the unlit braziers along the entryway.
Erena's smile sharpened.
"Karron burns only when needed. We prefer the cold."
They walked the stone path together, followed by silent guards on either side.
The city opened around them like a reluctant bloom.
Markets busy, yes, but too quiet.
Eyes darted from windows.
Doors closed faster than they opened.
And no children played in the courtyards.
Selene saw the signs.
Fear.
But not of her.
Of something else.
Inside the governor's villa, she was offered wine and fruits, both untouched by servants.
Selene didn't sip.
Didn't sit.
She placed the scroll on the table and spoke without pretense.
"You've delayed tax reports for three months."
Erena blinked.
"A clerical error."
"You've denied temple inspections. Blocked my emissaries. And your guards wear emblems that haven't been issued in over a decade."
Erena's fingers twitched.
Selene stepped closer.
"You are not a fool, Lady Erena. You are a woman playing for time. So tell me."
"What have you been hiding?"
The doors opened.
Elric entered.
He bowed briefly, then dropped a bloodied satchel on the floor.
It unrolled to reveal a broken mask.
Porcelain. Red-tinted. Cracked down the center.
Selene's eyes darkened.
The Circle.
Still alive. Still recruiting. Here.
Erena said nothing.
But her silence was answer enough.
Selene turned her back to her.
"How many?" she asked Elric.
"Twenty-two agents. Nine confirmed. The rest disappeared before we arrived."
"And the people?"
"Too afraid. Too loyal. Too bought."
Selene faced the governor again.
"This city belongs to Veredon. To me. And you let it become a nest for the same vipers who trained me to kill your king."
Erena tried to speak.
Selene raised a hand.
"No excuses."
She looked to Elric.
"Strip her title. Confine her in the old vaults beneath the palace. No light. No speech. No lies."
Erena screamed as guards seized her.
Selene didn't flinch.
Didn't blink.
Because Karron may not have burned before.
But she would light the match herself if she had to.
That night, she stood on the governor's balcony, watching the city smolder.
Not with flames.
But with quiet rebellion.
They didn't cheer for her arrival.
Didn't line the streets in loyalty.
They waited.
To see if she would break.
Or if the fire would finally touch them.
She drafted new decrees by candlelight.
All Circle sympathizers were to be identified and purged.
All children above age ten tested for flame sensitivity.
All foreign contracts reviewed and re-approved by Veredon's inner court.
And then, the final line:
"If the city will not burn for the crown, the crown will outlast the city."
By morning, three noble families had fled.
Two merchant towers emptied.
A Circle mark was found carved behind the oldest temple, newly drawn.
Selene stood before it as dawn bled across the sandstone rooftops.
Ingrid arrived beside her, out of breath.
"Word spreads fast," she said. "Marrow agents are already asking questions. They say you're purging your own people."
"I'm purging cowards who host enemies in their halls."
"They call it tyranny."
Selene looked at her.
"They can call it whatever they want."
"When they write the history books, I'll still be queen."
A messenger arrived late that afternoon.
Young.
Terrified.
He handed Selene a sealed envelope.
She broke it.
Inside: a single slip of paper.
"This is not your city. It never was."
"The fire you lit here, we will extinguish it from within."
At the bottom: a fingerprint in red wax.
Split in half.
The Circle was still here.
Watching.
Maybe closer than she thought.
Selene ordered all underground entrances sealed.
She doubled the night guard.
But she didn't sleep.
She walked the halls of the governor's palace until the moon touched every window.
She stared at the maps, the old records, the city blueprints.
And then she found it.
A sealed chamber beneath the eastern wing.
Long ignored.
Forgotten.
The old tomb of the founder.
No one had entered in over a hundred years.
Until now.
She descended the stairs with only a blade in hand.
The air turned dry.
Ashen.
There were no bodies.
Just a single sigil etched into the floor, the same crown devouring itself.
The same image she saw beneath Veredon.
But smaller.
Rougher.
Older.
And beside it: a journal.
Wrapped in red cloth.
She opened it.
And her breath stilled.
It was written in her mother's hand.
"I came here once, Selene. Before you were born."
"I stood in the place you now stand. And I felt the weight of the fire shift."
"Karron does not belong to kings. Or queens."
"It belongs to the first spark. And she is waiting to rise again."
"When you see her, do not fight her."
"Do not fear her."
"But never let her think you are weak."
Selene closed the journal.
Carried it to the flames.
And let it burn.
Because whoever this spark was,
Whatever she was,
Selene would not kneel.
Not to history.
Not to prophecy.
Not to the gods of forgotten fires.
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