The air hung thick as Lyra stepped onto the stone platform atop the battered grounds. Below, the wind howled across the fractured spires of the old fortress—the same one that once belonged to the Order of the Two Crowns.
Now, it belonged to her.
The sky split with a roll of thunder as a projection crystal pulsed at her feet, its glow sending her image across the known realms. Cities, strongholds, and even the deepest courts of the Elven Realms would see her face.
Lyra Virellin, once a shadow in exile.
Now the storm has come to claim her place.
She wore no crown. Only the crimson shadow-forged leathers of the Virellan Guard—a dark mantle clasped at her shoulders with the twin sigils of flame and crystal. Her sword hung at her hip. Her melos simmered just beneath her skin, a silent hum against the wind.
And behind her—no court, no lords, no ancient bloodlines. Only three figures stood at her back:
Calen Thorne—silent, stoic, the dragonspawn warrior whose loyalty had been forged in battle.
Savi Elowen—eyes glowing faint with seer's light, standing as her voice of foresight and silent strength.
Fenrik "Flick" Dalmar—arms crossed, smirking faintly, knives glinting at his belt.
The Virellan Guard.
Bound by blood. Loyal by choice.
Lyra's voice rang out—not loud, but sharp, edged like steel drawn from its sheath.
"I am Lyra Virellin. Daughter of Aeryla. The last heir of Syl'Valen from the Virellin Bloodline. The Crimson Dancer."
Her words echoed across the wind, carried on the projection's pulse.
"This realm has known war at the hands of kings and courts who saw only conquest. Who ruled by fear, by lies, by chains. I will not stand as another crown upon that pile of bones and rot."
Her eyes darkened, ember flickers crackling within violet depths.
"I claim no throne built on fear. Only those who choose to stand with the Virellan Guard stand under my protection. Those who seek peace, who seek a realm free from the tyranny of bloodlines and the poison of old oaths—you are mine to shield."
A pause. Wind lashing through her hair.
"But those who raise arms against the free people of this realm… those who bring harm upon its lands, its children, its future—"
Her voice dropped into a lethal hush.
"—will face my wrath. And I will not stop until their shadows are ashes beneath my feet."
The projection shimmered, casting her image across the cities, camps, and halls of power.
"I am not your queen by birthright. I am your queen by choice. I stand for those who have no crown, no court—only the will to fight for a better world."
At her back, Calen's fist thudded against his chest. Savi bowed her head, hands clasped in silent prayer. Flick simply gave a crooked grin, daggers twirling between his fingers.
Lyra's final words echoed like a brand against steel.
"The Virellan Guard marches for peace. And we protect our own."
The projection dimmed, the light fading as the storm broke around the fortress.
Kael Dravaryn stood beside his warhorses, the dark banners of his legion snapping in the mountain wind. The peaks of Drakmyr lay behind him—a whole realm at his back. While a war waited on the horizon.
He'd prepared for this moment for weeks. He was ready to ride against the shattered remnants of the Order of the Two Crowns, ready to scorch their strongholds and silence their blades before they struck.
But then…
The projection crystal ignited before him.
And there she was.
Lyra.
No court behind her. No army at her flanks. Only three loyal souls and a storm in her voice.
He watched every word, every pause—felt the weight of her declaration in his bones.
His commanders shifted nervously, watching their king's face.
But Kael said nothing.
He let the projection finish.
Then the scout approached, breathless. "Sire… the reports were true. The Order… it's gone. She burned them herself. And this… this Guard… they're loyal only to her."
Kael closed his eyes, a slow exhale burning through his chest.
He didn't need to raze them.
She already had.
He glanced to the horizon where her fortress would be, smoke curling faintly against the dusk sky.
"She's not fighting a rebellion," Kael murmured, almost to himself. "She's forging a realm with many kingdoms."
The war he'd prepared for had changed.
And the world would never be the same.
He readjusted in his saddle, gripping the reins as his commanders fell in behind him.
"Where to, my king?" one asked.
Kael stared toward the east, where fire met twilight.
"To the Crimson Queen," he said.
The Virellan Guard had claimed the realm.
And Kael would face her—not as an enemy.
But as the only man alive who knew just how dangerous her storm could be.