Morning — or what passed for morning in Elarion — crept across the city in a shimmer of pale light. The eternal moon still hung above the spires, veiled in drifting clouds, but a strange radiance filtered through the mist, as though the heavens themselves were uncertain of their allegiance.
Within the Palace of the Veil, preparation was underway for the Concord of Faith — a gathering of nobles and clergy meant to calm the growing unrest. Rumors had begun to spiral through the city: whispers that the Eternal Queen's power was waning, that her love for a mortal had cursed the land.
Seraphyne stood before a mirror as attendants fastened her ceremonial armor — moonsteel worked so fine it looked liquid, etched with runes that pulsed faintly with light. It was less a defense than a disguise. The queen who would stand before her court today could not afford tenderness.
"The mask," she said quietly.
An attendant brought forth the silver circlet, a delicate lattice that covered the eyes and forehead — a thing of divine beauty, cold and immaculate. When she placed it over her face, Seraphyne felt the shift inside her: the stilling of her breath, the quieting of her heart, the ancient calm returning like ice over a river.
The queen had returned.
The woman was gone.
The great hall was filled to the arches with the voices of her people. Nobles draped in starlight silk, priests robed in twilight hues, all bowed as she entered. The sound of her steps echoed like falling snow — soft, perfect, inescapable.
She ascended the dais and sat upon her throne, wings of white light unfurling behind her like memory. The mask hid her sorrow; her voice, when she spoke, carried the resonance of a goddess.
"My beloved Elarion," she said. "You have felt the trembling of our skies, the dimming of our stars. Know this — it is not the end. The heavens test our faith, as they always have. The moon does not falter. Nor do I."
A murmur of relief swept through the crowd, though not all faces were convinced.
In the far corner of the hall, Valen Thorne watched her with a gaze that bordered on worship and hatred both.
After the gathering dispersed, Valen approached the throne. He bowed, but not low enough.
"Majesty," he said. "Your words were… comforting. Yet words alone will not heal the cracks in the Veil."
Seraphyne regarded him coolly. "Then what would you have me do, Inquisitor?"
"Purge the source of corruption. The mortal who walks your gardens — she is the axis of this decay. Give her to the sacred fire, and the balance will return."
The queen's voice remained serene. "You presume much."
Valen's eyes flickered with restrained fervor. "I serve your eternity, Majesty. Even when you forget to protect it."
Seraphyne leaned forward slightly. "And I serve the world that forgets how to live."
The silence that followed was sharp as crystal. Valen bowed again — this time lower, but his words carried warning. "Eternity is mercy only while it is worshiped. When it is defied, it becomes judgment."
He turned and departed. The echo of his steps lingered long after he was gone.
Later that night, when the halls were silent and the moon hung low, Seraphyne removed her mask. The light that had once poured from her eyes dimmed to a weary glow. Beneath the armor, her skin shimmered with faint cracks of starlight — signs of the Wane spreading through her immortal form.
She went to the balcony. Below, the city glimmered faintly in unrest. In the garden far beneath her, a single lantern burned — Lyssara's light.
Seraphyne descended quietly, the illusion of divinity slipping from her shoulders like silk. Lyssara was there, waiting, her cloak drawn tight against the cold.
"You looked like a goddess today," Lyssara said softly.
"But I think I love you more when you look human."
Seraphyne smiled faintly. "You love what should not exist."
"Then let me love the impossible," Lyssara whispered.
The queen touched her cheek, her hand trembling. "And what if it kills you?"
Lyssara's answer was simple. "Then let me die for something real."
Above them, the moon trembled. Somewhere beyond the palace, Valen's soldiers began to gather under banners of silver and flame. And in the silence between their heartbeats, the first note of rebellion was struck.