In the southern realm of the royal capital, twilight hung like ink, and beneath the low-hanging clouds, the distant "Flame Oath Spire" stood towering. It was an ancient site where the Snow-Flame royal family swore oaths and forged alliances, and where Aveline was about to announce the "New Royal Covenant"—abolishing feudal inheritance entirely, establishing elected governing seats, and restructuring royal authority once more.
This time, she fought not for conquest, but for the future.
Firelight dispelled the dusk. Before the Flame Oath Spire, fire riders arrayed in formation; Silver Oath knights stood silent on either flank. Representatives of the people and court officials gathered before the flame altar. Aveline,clad in a black-and-crimson royal robe, ascended the altar with steady steps, while Lucian stood guard at her left, his sword held like a vigilant forest.
"From this day forth," Aveline declared, her voice clear, "the Snow-Flame Dynasty abolishes all systems of noble enfeoffment. We establish an 'Elected Council of Advisors,' with three governing seats to assist the royal authority. All new laws shall be sealed by the voice of the people and the pen of sacred light!"
The crowd erupted—commoners raised their arms in cheers, while the last remnants of the old nobility, under the watch of Silver Oath secret guards, bowed their heads in silence.
She raised the flame scepter, sweeping it through the air. A streak of crimson-gold oath patterns blazed in the night sky: "I swear by royal blood—if this covenant is broken, my flame-blood shall self-destruct."
Thunder rumbled, and for a moment, the earth itself seemed to acknowledge this radical royal promise.
After the ceremony, though rain loomed, the spire retained its searing warmth. Aveline leaned against the tower wall, watching the distant crowd disperse, and murmured: "I know this flame oath will stir deeper undercurrents."
Lucian stood behind her, draping his battle cloak over her shoulders, and whispered: "I once swore—if your royal blood burns out, I shall turn to ash with you."
She turned, her gaze fiery: "If the flame dies at last, would you still fall into darkness with me?"
Lucian said nothing. He merely bent to kiss her brow, where the flame mark burned against his lips—tempting and painful. His fingertips slid down her neck, pushing the cloak aside. In the night, her skin was as pale as snow, flushed faintly by firelight.
Their bodies pressed together, hot breaths intertwining. She took the initiative, pinning him against the spire's stone pillar, her whisper like a incantation: "In this ancient land of royal oaths, let us write our own covenant anew."
Lucian responded with a low growl, his palms gripping her waist, lifting her to press against him. Their rhythm echoed like war drums in the spire's hollow, a resonance of power, trust, and desire.
The deeper the night fell, the brighter the flame oath burned. Their union within the tower continued, while in the distance, the royal capital's bells tolled the low chime of midnight.