They say magic breaks gently.
They lied.
In the shattered sky, three stars fall in reverse.
In the ruins of Velhar, the fire in my veins quiets for now.
But I feel her.
Closer.
Watching.
Lady Ruin.
Once, we were sisters not by blood, but by birthright. Flame and Decay. Beauty and Death. Together, we could've ruled kingdoms.
But she wanted everything.
So I buried her.
Now… she's digging her way out.
I stare into the old mirror, one of the few objects to survive the Veilquake.
Behind me, Cael leans against the wall, arms crossed, a storm behind his eyes.
"Do you remember her?" he asks.
"You will."
I don't answer.
Because I do.
But memory is a blade. And some truths should stay sheathed.
Lady Ruin was once named Aveline.
She looked like me same eyes, same voice, same fury behind a smile.
She was the only being who ever made me feel small.
She kissed empires and they rotted.
"You should've killed her," Cael says.
"I did," I whisper.
"Clearly not well enough."
Back in the capital, Aveline's form solidifies.
A dress like mourning made beautiful. A voice made of rot and lullabies.
She steps into Seren's court like it's her stage.
"So," she says, eyes blazing.
"My sister's awake. The Pale Flame returns."
She runs one hand down her own throat, smiling.
"And soon, I'll wear her skin again."
Because that's her plan.
To become me.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
Aveline doesn't want to kill me. She wants to consume me.
She wants the Pale Flame in her hands, wearing her name.
And I?
I'm going to let her try.
Because the moment she touches me
I'll end her.