The silence in the royal tomb was deafening.
Elira stood frozen in front of the ancient mirror, her reflection burning with an ethereal glow. Her pulse raced like the wings of a hummingbird. Around her, the forgotten ancestors whispered through the cracks in the stone walls, their voices indistinct but filled with power. The stone altar behind her still shimmered from the activation of her blood—her heiress flame had awakened something buried deep within the family legacy.
Suddenly, the mirror rippled like water, and the reflection staring back at her transformed. It was still her—but older, wiser, crowned in fire, with a serpent coiled around her shoulders like an ornament of destiny.
"Elira," the voice from the mirror intoned, "you are not just the heiress. You are the vessel of the Hidden Flame. What you do next shall either unite the five realms or plunge them into eternal war."
Her knees almost gave way.
"But… I'm just—"
"You are the convergence," the voice interrupted, stern yet motherly. "Born from shadow and fire. Betrayed, broken, but never defeated."
Elira reached toward the mirror. Her fingers brushed its surface—and in that instant, she was no longer in the tomb.
She found herself standing atop a floating platform suspended above a battlefield. The sky roared with thunder; the air stank of blood and magic. All around her, visions of the future flashed like lightning—cities burning, people bowing, her parents chained in crystal prisons, and Maelrik leading armies of void creatures.
"No," she whispered.
"Then change it," the voice whispered.
She woke up gasping in the tomb. The mirror was cracked. The fire in her chest pulsed like a second heart.
Outside, chaos awaited.
General Rhyken had led a coup in her absence. The throne room burned with the embers of betrayal. Loyalists were being hunted. The false council had crowned Lady Sylva as regent. Worse—Maelrik was publicly engaged to her.
Elira didn't cry.
She emerged from the tomb cloaked in a flame not even water could douse. With her was the Serpent Blade, once sealed within the altar, now wrapped around her forearm like a living entity. Every step she took was met with the echo of thunder.
By the time she returned to the capital gates, the city had turned into a fortress of lies. But she was not alone. Behind her rode the Crimson Vow—five thousand elite warriors of her mother's forgotten order, summoned by ancient pact.
She gave them one command:
"No mercy for traitors. Take back our home."
The siege of Velmira began at dawn.
The city trembled beneath her power. Arrows melted midair as Elira walked through flame. Every fallen soldier rose again—not as undead, but as protectors reborn in light. Her grandmother's spirit fought beside her, guiding her hand. And in the throne room, where Lady Sylva waited in stolen glory, Elira faced her with no hesitation.
"You sit on a throne built on lies," Elira said.
Sylva sneered. "You're just a girl. A runaway heiress with a martyr complex."
"No," Elira replied, her voice steady. "I'm the fire that cleanses bloodlines."
The battle was brutal.
Sylva wielded dark contracts with ancient void spirits, but Elira matched every strike with awakened ancestral magic. When Sylva summoned shadows, Elira answered with daylight that split the ceiling open. When Sylva tried to flee, Elira sealed all doors with a whisper.
"You can't win!" Sylva screamed.
"I already have," Elira whispered, and drove the Serpent Blade through her.
The people of Velmira watched in awe as the palace gates opened and their true heiress emerged, wounded but standing. The banners of the old flame were raised once more.
She didn't sit on the throne. Instead, she burned it.
And from the ashes, she declared:
"No more queens who rule from comfort. I will rule from the streets, from the frontlines, among my people. I will never forget what it cost me to return."
Cheers erupted like thunder.
In a quiet courtyard hours later, Maelrik appeared. No armor. No sword. Just a letter in hand.
"I never stopped believing you were alive," he said.
"I never stopped wishing you'd fought harder," Elira replied.
He held out the letter. "I broke the bond with Sylva before the coup. I wanted you to have this—proof."
She took it, opened it, and read the spellseal that severed all ties between him and the dark council.
Her heart warred with her mind.
"Prove it," she whispered.
He stepped forward, eyes raw. "Name the test."
She handed him the Serpent Blade.
"Kneel. And swear fealty not to me—but to Velmira. To justice. To flame. If your soul flinches, it'll consume you."
Maelrik didn't flinch.
The blade hissed and curled around his wrist like a vow.