The world tilted.
Aria clutched Kael's body against her, but the ash around her pulsed with every heartbeat, glowing like embers too stubborn to die. The chants had not stopped, not truly they echoed, even after the zealots were dragged back, even after Seraphina's whip had silenced the last shriek.
"Crown her. Crown her. Crown her."
It wormed into her blood, into her breath, until she couldn't tell if the voices belonged to the survivors or to the fire itself.
Her chest convulsed. Her head dropped.
And the world dissolved.
She stood on a plain of ash. No trees, no sky only endless gray. Her bare feet burned with every step, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to rest. The air shimmered with heat though no flame burned.
Then it came.
The throne rose from the void, black stone veined with molten cracks, its arms stretching into spires like claws. Upon it, a figure waited. Her figure.
