The morning sky above the capital was white and cold, as if the sun itself refused to shine upon the day of coronation.
Violet did not see the sky. She saw only the stone path beneath her bare feet, cracked and slick with frost. Chains clinked with each dragging step. Her body no longer obeyed her. Her breath came as faint wisps. Her hair—what remained of it—hung like ash. Her lips were bloodless. Her voice, long since taken, was only a rasp in her throat.
Two guards hauled her forward. She swayed like a puppet on rusted strings. The rags clinging to her skin smelled of mold and old wounds.
"Move," one snarled, shoving her.
The gates yawned open.
Before her, the grand plaza unfolded—a sea of faces, banners, and trumpets.
She blinked against the light. Every stone of the capital had been polished for the ceremony. Red drapes hung from the towers, marked with the sigil of Velanor—the Black Bloom over a crimson sun.
At the center stood a high dais carved of obsidian. Upon it, two figures.
Calla Haroth, draped in royal black, her burned half masked in gold. And beside her, her daughter—Velanor, Fifth Princess of Isvalar, future Empress, smiling as though the world belonged to her alone.
The people cheered her name, the name that once belonged to a child of light.
Violet's heart gave a single twitch of memory.
The chains dragged her up the stairs. She stumbled once, twice, until a guard struck her across the face. Blood dripped down her chin. She did not react. She couldn't.
Calla turned toward the crowd. Her voice carried like steel on ice.
"People of Isvalar. Today we purge the last remnant of the old rot. The false blood, the bastard who poisoned our empire with her cursed birth."
The crowd roared in agreement. Stones, scraps, and curses rained toward the scaffold.
Violet lifted her head just enough to see them—children laughing, merchants jeering, nobles smiling behind jeweled masks.
Her mind stuttered.
Why are they angry? What did I do?
She searched their faces as if one might tell her. Why? Why are you cheering murder? Why do you smile at pain?
A small stone hit her cheek. The sting barely reached her mind.
Calla raised her hand, and the crowd fell to silence.
> "The throne has chosen its rightful heir," she said, eyes flicking toward Velanor. "A ruler who will bring peace, unity, and power. The blood of betrayal ends today. Let this execution mark the dawn of a new era."
Velanor stepped forward. Her gown shimmered like oil over water—black and red threaded with gold. The crown on her head gleamed like fangs. She looked down upon Violet and smiled.
"You should be honored," she said softly, voice carrying nonetheless. "You'll die witnessing my ascension."
The crowd cheered again.
Then Velanor raised her hand.
> "But peace is not won by words. It demands sacrifice. Today, my people, you shall offer yours—your devotion, your blood, your bodies—for the birth of a true empire."
The words rippled like thunder. For a heartbeat, confusion spread. Then screams followed.
The ground trembled.
From the horizon, black shapes surged—a swarm of wings, claws, and smoke. Demons. Hundreds of them, pouring from the gates like shadows given hunger.
The first struck the guards. The second tore through the crowd. Flesh split. Banners burned. Trumpets shrieked one last time before dissolving into chaos.
The people of Isvalar, who had cheered for a death, were devoured by it.
Blood rained on marble.
Violet's chains rattled as she fell to her knees, staring blankly as demons feasted. The screams blurred into a single roar.
This… this can't be real.
Bodies collapsed like dolls. The scent of iron and fire filled her lungs.
Somewhere above, Velanor stood unmoving, her smile serene amid the carnage.
She turned, her gown untouched by the chaos, and walked toward Violet through the field of corpses. Her boots clicked on wet stone.
A demon lunged toward her. She did not flinch. It froze midair, limbs twisting inward before bursting into black ash.
Velanor's eyes glowed red under the crown.
Calla stood behind her, silent. The mask hid her burned face, but her hand trembled at her side.
Velanor stopped before Violet, tilting her head.
"Look around, little ghost. This is mercy. Their deaths buy my eternity."
Violet's cracked lips parted. No sound came.
Velanor crouched, brushing a strand of blood-matted hair from Violet's face.
"You should thank me. I could have left you to rot in the dark. Instead, I'll give you an ending worthy of song."
She unsheathed a slender blade, black as obsidian. Its edge hummed faintly—a tone that felt like despair itself.
"The Empress of both realms grants you release."
Violet's fingers twitched. Her throat pulsed. Inside, something screamed wordlessly. Rage, grief, and terror folded together until there was nothing left but heat.
Velanor straightened, sword poised.
Then paused. Her lips curved into something cruel.
"But before that…" she whispered, leaning close, "I'll give you your truth."
Her breath brushed Violet's ear.
"Your name is Nysera."
The world stopped.
For a heartbeat, Violet's mind went white. Then black. Then white again.
Nysera. The cursed name whispered in nightmares. The name tied to the birth of the realms.
Her heart convulsed. She tried to speak, to curse her, to promise vengeance. Her tongue—half-severed, ruined—moved soundlessly.
Velanor's eyes gleamed. "Yes. Curse me, sister of the dark. But remember, even curses bend to those with crowns."
The blade rose.
Violet's eyes, hollow yet blazing with something primal, met hers.
Then the sword fell.
Light and sound vanished.
---
Darkness.
Silence.
Then—wind. Cold, familiar, gentle.
A smell. Pine and rain.
Her eyes opened to a ceiling of rough wood, sunlight filtering through cracks.
Her body—small, unscarred. Her hands—tiny, trembling.
Her throat caught a sob.
The blanket over her chest was soft and worn—the one her mama always used.
She sat up too fast, dizzy. Her silver hair fell over her eyes, whole again, shimmering.
The door creaked.
"Violet? You awake already, sweetheart?"
The voice.
She froze.
Maria stepped in, smiling, flour on her apron, eyes bright with morning.
And behind her—Garrett, laughing softly as he carried firewood.
Alive.
Both alive.
Violet's lips quivered. The world spun.
"Mama…"
Maria blinked. "What's wrong, darling?"
Violet launched herself forward, wrapping trembling arms around her mother's waist, burying her face in her chest.
Garrett chuckled. "Bad dream again?"
Violet couldn't speak. Tears flooded her eyes, warm and endless. Her heart pounded with the impossible rhythm of life returning.
Maria stroked her hair, humming softly.
"It's all right, love. You're safe. You're home."
Violet clung tighter, shaking her head as if afraid they'd vanish.
But they didn't. The warmth stayed.
Outside, wind brushed through the trees. The world had turned back.
And in that heartbeat, Violet—no, Nysera—understood the curse that had spared her.
She was alive again.
But everything had begun once more