Suddenly, pain tore through Elira's head.
Not a sharp pain—
a splitting, echoing force, as if her mind had been wrenched open.
She gasped, clutching her temples.
The void around her shattered—
—and she was falling.
---
A vision surged forward, vivid and merciless.
A throne room bathed in gold and flame.
Banners bearing a sigil she knew in her bones but had never been taught to remember.
A queen stood at the dais.
Regal. Unyielding. Crowned in fire and starlight.
Elira's breath hitched.
Because the queen turned.
And she was staring at herself.
Not as she was now—but as she had been.
Power woven into her posture. Authority etched into her eyes.
Beside the queen stood a king.
Tall. Armored. A familiar presence wrapped in command and restraint.
King Edward.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
The vision sharpened—no blur, no doubt now.
Edward turned toward her.
And the truth struck like lightning.
She could finally see his face, the face she have been hating for so long.
He was the prince.
The one from prophecy.
The one bound to her fate.
The one who had stood beside her before the fall.
The mirror's light exploded outward—pure, blinding, ancient.
It wasn't showing her the future.
It was unlocking the past.
Memories flooded in—
A coronation.
A vow spoken beneath dying stars.
A curse cast not in hatred—but in sacrifice.
A kingdom shattered to save its people.
"Elira…" a voice echoed, distant and breaking.
Her knees gave way.
The light consumed everything.
And as the vision collapsed into white—
Elira's body went limp.
She fell.
The last thing she felt was warmth—
not the cold of betrayal,
not the fire of vengeance—
—but the steady, aching pull of a destiny she had once chosen.
Then—
Darkness took her.