Elira could taste ash on the wind.
Not from fire. From the magic itself—scorched and splintered, thick in the air like smoke with no flame. It clung to the temple stones, curling through the cracks as if something ancient had burned too fast, too wildly, and left the world gasping in its wake.
She stood at the top of the courtyard steps, swaying where she stood. Her knees trembled. Her vision blurred and split—half in the present, half somewhere deeper, where old memories clawed at her skin from the inside out.
The Queen's legacy wasn't sleeping anymore.
It was screaming.
Below, the fog of battle was thinning, revealing shattered ground and wounded bodies. At the center of it all—Kael knelt, one hand braced against broken stone, sword buried in the dirt beside him. Blood streaked down his temple. His chest rose and fell in stuttering gasps.
He was alive.
But barely.
And across from him, still standing… still untouched…
Eryx.
But he wasn't a man anymore.
He was something carved from shadow and fire. Golden eyes pulsed like burning stars. His veins glowed with blackened light, as though the Undying King's soul had climbed to the surface and now wore him like armor.
He smiled up at her.
"Elira."
Her name, from his mouth, didn't sound like a threat.
It sounded like a promise.
"Come down," he said, his voice soft and cruel. "It's time."
Kael stirred, dragging himself upright with a groan. His strength was failing, but his eyes—gods, his eyes—still burned. He looked up at her, blood dripping into one brow.
"Don't," he whispered.
She saw it all in that one glance. His fear. His love. His plea.
Don't trust him.Don't go.Don't leave me alone.
But the Queen's voice had already slithered into her mind.
You are the chain.You are the seal.And if you break... he rises.
It wasn't just about protecting the realm anymore. The Queen hadn't passed her magic down to give Elira power. She'd passed down the curse. She'd passed the cage.
And now that cage was cracking from the inside.
Eryx stepped toward Kael with casual grace, no weapon raised.
"Do you know how much I envied you?" he murmured, almost fond. "To have her loyalty. Her fire."
He looked up at Elira again, and his smile curved into something sharper.
"She was never meant for the throne they gave her. She was made for mine."
That was when Elira jumped.
Magic surged under her boots, slowing her fall, and she landed hard between them. Her cloak snapped around her like a banner caught in a storm.
She didn't even look at Kael.
"Let him go," she said.
Eryx smiled. "Is that a command, princess?"
"No," she said. "It's a warning."
She raised her hand—and a pulse of violet magic slammed into him, knocking him back half a step. Just a flick. Just a reminder.
Eryx laughed, brushing dust from his coat like it bored him. "Very well."
He stepped aside.
Kael groaned again. "Elira…"
She crouched, one hand already pressed to his chest, sending threads of healing through him.
"Don't talk," she whispered. "Just breathe."
His fingers closed weakly around her wrist. "Don't… do anything reckless."
She smiled, soft and broken. "Too late."
She stood again.
Faced Eryx.
"You want me."
"Yes," he said simply.
"Not as a hostage. Not a pawn."
"No," he said. "As my queen."
The words didn't make her flinch.
"What for?" she asked. "You already have power. You have his magic. Why me?"
Eryx's eyes flickered. "Because this was never about power. This is about completion. You are what was torn apart when the curse began. You are fire to my void. The last key."
"You mean the last chain," she said coldly.
He smiled. "I mean the freedom that comes when we stop calling it a curse… and start wearing it like a crown."
He took her hand.
Elira didn't pull away.
Kael didn't move.
She let Eryx draw her closer. Let him place her hand over his chest.
She felt the hum of magic inside him—alive, dark, familiar. Not foreign, not anymore.
She was seeing past his face now.
And what she saw…
Wasn't Eryx.
It was the King.
The Undying King. Inside him. Speaking through him.
But beneath that—
Beneath the burning gold and bone-white pride—
She felt something else.
A cry.
A boy's voice, lost and terrified.
The real Eryx was still in there.
Still screaming.
Elira's breath hitched.
"Stop," she whispered.
Eryx blinked.
"What?"
She stepped back. Her eyes turned hard.
"I said—stop."
She yanked her hand free and slammed her palm against his chest.
A jolt of violet fire surged from her fingertips. Not a strike—a binding. Ancient and instinctive.
Chains erupted from her magic, wrapping Eryx in coils of glowing energy—across his arms, his torso, his neck. They burned like stars. Symbols flared across his skin.
He screamed.
Not in pain.
In rage.
It ripped through the air like the world itself was crying out.
The mist around them recoiled.
The sky above split open with a crack like thunder.
Kael staggered upright, sword in hand once more.
Elira stood tall between them, magic burning up her spine, her breath shaking in her lungs.
"This ends now," she said.
But Eryx… he laughed through his teeth, breath ragged, eyes wild.
"Oh, Elira," he rasped. "You haven't even begun."
Then—
The ground shook.
Not from magic.
From something real.
Heavy. Measured. Terrible.
Kael turned, frowning.
"That's not him."
Even Eryx stilled.
His smile faded.
His head turned slowly toward the far edge of the courtyard—where the mist thickened and the light disappeared.
And from that shadow—
A figure stepped forward.
Tall.
Armored in tarnished silver and darkened blue.
Eyes glowing a dull, deadly red.
A sword hung at his side, curved like a bone crescent. It shimmered like it had been made from ash and nightmares.
But it wasn't the sword that made Elira freeze.
It was the mark on his face.
The seal of the Royal Vanguard.
Burned into the cheek of a man who had died long ago.
Kael whispered the name like it tasted wrong in his mouth.
"…No. That's impossible."
Elira's throat closed up.
She took one step forward, heart stuttering.
"General… Malric."
Her mother's sword.
Her father's closest friend.
The last man who stood between the Queen and death.
He had died on the palace steps.
Hadn't he?
But now—
He was walking toward her.
Alive.
Or something that used to be.