There is no longer a single Elóranth.
Not in thought.
Not in will.
Not in power.
The Queen of Silence has stopped trying to dominate.
She studies instead.
Watches.
At dawn, Elóranth awakens in the throne chamber,
her fingers still humming with spells she never learned.
At dusk, the Queen slumbers in the corners of her mind but not in silence.
She whispers.
Teaches.
Waits.
"You hesitate because you still care," the Queen says.
"Power does not hesitate. It consumes."
"And what happens when there's nothing left to consume?" Elóranth replies.
"Even monsters starve."
Vireon rides to the Crimson Tombs, seeking the Oathbinder.
Only a binding sigil carved in blood and fire
can anchor a soul being pulled two ways.
But time is not on his side.
Because Eristra has stopped hunting bodies.
She now hunts memories.
One by one, the people of the capital begin to forget.
They forget the name of the queen.
They forget the night the sky bled stars.
The day the palace rose from ash.
Even lovers forget each other.
"She's siphoning identity," the Queen hisses.
"Turning memory into currency. Soon, she'll erase even me."
But Elóranth does not break.
She calls forth the Mirror of Veyra, a forbidden artifact.
A mirror that reflects not the present
but the true self.
She steps before it.
What she sees?
Not just her face.
Not just the Queen.
But a third form
a fusion.
A woman cloaked in fire and mercy.
Eyes like stars.
Heart like a blade.
Not a goddess.
Not a girl.
But something terrifyingly new.
"If Eristra wants a soul," Elóranth says,
"Let her try to take this one."
And the mirror shatters.
Far away, Eristra screams.
She has felt it,
The shift.
The evolution.
And she is afraid.