Lena didn't speak for a long time.
She sat at the edge of the temple's western balcony, wrapped in a cloak of starlight and silence, trying to reconcile the truth Lucien had given her.
She had loved him.
And she had killed him.
Her memories remained fractured, like glass submerged in black water. But shards had started to surface—images that didn't make sense until they bled into each other. A burning city. A kiss under a sky filled with falling stars. Lucien's eyes, filled with trust… then betrayal.
She pressed her fingers against her chest, where her heartbeat echoed louder than usual.
"I didn't want this," she whispered into the night.
Behind her, Lucien leaned against the stone doorway. He had been watching her silently for an hour, unable to step forward, unable to leave.
"You think I did?" he finally said.
She turned. "Then why are you still here?"
His lips parted, but the words got stuck behind years of pain. When he finally spoke, his voice cracked. "Because I'd rather be burned again than walk away from you."
The next morning, the temple shook.
The sky rippled, not with storm clouds or lightning, but with divine descent.
The Celestial Court had arrived.
Their banner — a serpent coiled around a bleeding sun — unfurled above the horizon like a threat. Gods walked the earth again, not as protectors, but as judges. A dome of gold magic spread across the region, sealing the realm.
No one in.
No one out.
At the center of it all was Elandor — the Executioner of Realms.
Lena saw him before he saw her. A tall figure cloaked in silver, with eyes like frozen voids and skin that shimmered with starlight. His voice could sever flesh. His blade could sever souls.
He was here for one purpose.
To kill her.
Lucien met with the gods before they reached Lena.
He stepped into the middle of the holy tribunal, surrounded on all sides by beings older than mountains and colder than time.
"You can't stop this," Elandor said simply. "The Fire Queen must be extinguished before the cycle completes."
Lucien's wings burst open, light cracking through the marble floor beneath him.
"She is not the Queen anymore."
"She will be," another god said. "She's already unraveling. You feel it. We all do."
"You fear her," Lucien growled. "Not because of what she's done—but because of what she might remember."
A low murmur spread.
The goddess of fate leaned forward. "Would you wager a world on your lover's restraint?"
Lucien hesitated.
And in that pause, they smiled.
Meanwhile, Lena stood alone in the sacred garden — the only place the gods would not enter without invitation.
Ash fell like snow around her.
She touched the petals of a dying white rose, and it ignited in her palm.
It didn't hurt.
The fire welcomed her now. Whispered to her.
Let go.
Burn it all.
But she clenched her fist and extinguished it.
"I am not yours," she told the flame. "Not yet."
But the flame whispered back, laughing: Then why do you dream in fire?
At dusk, Elandor crossed the threshold into the garden. Not with force. But with invitation.
He held no weapon.
He didn't need one.
"You are not who you pretend to be," he said, voice like ice sliding across bone. "And the world cannot afford your awakening."
"I'm not her," Lena said, standing. "Not anymore."
Elandor tilted his head. "You sound so sure. And yet… the flame answers you."
He stepped closer.
"Tell me, Lena. When the cities burn, when your dreams consume you, when the man you love looks at you with fear again—who will you be then?"
"I'll be me," she snapped.
Elandor smiled, and the world dimmed. "That was your last chance."
Lucien arrived too late.
The blast of magic sent him flying back through the temple halls.
When he reached her, Lena stood surrounded by ash. Elandor's cloak was burned. His blade, half-melted. But he smiled, bleeding golden ichor.
"She's ready," he said to Lucien. "The Queen remembers."
Lena collapsed.
Lucien caught her.
And for the first time in centuries, the Executioner left a target alive.
Because now, the world would do the killing for him.
Lena woke that night screaming.
Her skin glowed. Her veins burned. The Ember inside her had stirred.
Lucien held her through the storm of memory and fire. Whispered her name again and again.
But she didn't hear him.
Because in her mind, she saw a throne of bone—
And herself sitting on it.