The courtyard was still burning from the shattered arrows when the gates groaned open.
The sound wasn't merely wood splintering against stone—it was the sound of kingdoms colliding.
Through the smoke strode a figure unlike any Aria had ever seen. His armor glowed with veins of molten red, as though the forge itself still burned within the plates. A cloak of black fur trailed behind him, singed at the edges from the embers that fell with every step.
But it was his crown that silenced her breath.
Black iron twisted upward into jagged points, as though forged from fire hardened into stone. And beneath it, his eyes burned—a deep crimson, not human, not kind.
He was beautiful in the way fire was beautiful: terrible, irresistible, and certain to consume.
The sorcerer's smile faltered. His staff lowered slightly, the crystal dimming.
"Ah," he purred, though his voice carried strain. "The Emberlands King."
The Crimson King's gaze swept over the devastation—the broken sword of the Verdant King, the bloodied body of the Frostlands King, and finally… Aria.
When his eyes locked on hers, her heart stopped.
Not because of the danger.
Because of recognition
She had never seen him before. And yet she knew him.
The fire in his stare was the same fire that had haunted her dreams. The same fire that had whispered her name in nights when she swore she heard voices through the wind.
The Crimson King's lips curled into something between a smile and a snarl.
"She is mine," he said again, his voice carrying like a decree across the courtyard.
The sorcerer stiffened. "Yours?"
"She belongs to no shadow. She belongs to me."
Aria tried to move, to speak, but the invisible grip of the sorcerer's magic still held her limbs. She trembled, her feet locked to the ground, her breath shallow in her chest.
The Verdant King staggered forward, still weaponless, emerald fire flickering faintly at his fingertips as if refusing to die completely.
"She belongs to no one!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "Not you, not him, not anyone!"
The Crimson King turned his head slowly toward him.
The look he gave was not rage.
It was pity.
"You misunderstand," the Crimson King said softly, though his words cut like steel. "You may play at guarding her, shielding her, even desiring her. But her flame was forged for me alone. You are a spark, Verdant King. I am the inferno."
The Verdant King's fists clenched, fire sparking brighter. "I'll die before I let you take her."
The Crimson King's grin widened. "Good. Then we understand each other."
The Frostlands King groaned from where he leaned against Aria's shoulder, his breath ragged. "Both of you… are fools." His words slurred with pain, but his icy eyes flicked toward her. "She will destroy you."
Aria's throat tightened. She didn't know if he meant it as warning… or as prophecy.
The sorcerer lifted his staff again, violet light blazing. His voice rippled with fury now, cracking like thunder.
"You bicker over her like carrion beasts. But she is already mine. Her soul bends to me, and soon—her will."
The crystal flared. Aria's body convulsed once more, her scream tearing through the night.
The Crimson King moved.
In a blur of molten steel, he crossed the distance. His hand shot out, grasping the staff just below the crystal. Flames erupted instantly, climbing the shaft, devouring the wood.
The sorcerer hissed, yanking back, but fire clung to him like oil. His cloak ignited, flames dancing up his arms.
Yet the crystal did not break.
It pulsed harder, violet light shoving back against the crimson blaze.
Aria felt the tug inside her chest again—the war of fire and shadow tearing her apart. Her knees buckled, her vision darkening.
Two powers. Both claiming her. Both threatening to rip her soul in half.
"Stop!" she screamed, though the sound came broken. "You'll kill me!"
The Verdant King's head snapped toward her, horror spreading across his face. "Aria—"
The sorcerer's grin twisted even as flames consumed him. "Yes. That is the point."
The Crimson King snarled, his hand tightening. "She is not yours to break!"
Their powers collided, a storm of fire and shadow spiraling into the night sky, painting the palace towers in violet and crimson light.
The Frostlands King dragged in a breath, his voice a frozen whisper. "If they do not stop… the city will fall."
The stone beneath their feet cracked.
The ground shook with violent tremors, pieces of the courtyard breaking loose. The air itself grew heavy, pulling at Aria's lungs. She could taste iron, smoke, frost, and ash all at once.
And then, in the heart of the storm, she saw it—
A third light.
Not green. Not violet. Not crimson.
But gold.
It came from nowhere and everywhere. It poured down like sunlight breaking through the night.
The sorcerer screamed, staggering back, shielding his eyes. The Crimson King froze, his fire dimming as though silenced by awe.
And in that golden brilliance, a voice spoke.
"You were warned."
The sound was not thunder. It was not flame.
It was command. Pure and absolute.
The gates, already broken from the Crimson King's entrance, shattered further. A wave of light swept into the courtyard, scattering embers, freezing shadows.
A figure stepped forward, bathed in gold. His armor shone as if forged from the sun itself. His crown gleamed, every point radiant. His very presence silenced breath, as though to look upon him was to be judged.
The Solar King had arrived.
Aria collapsed to her knees, gasping, as the sorcerer's grip shattered under the golden radiance. Her body was her own again, but she could barely lift her head.
Three kings now stood in her sight.
One wounded, icy and cold at her side.
One furious, jealous, burning with green fire.
One claiming, consuming, red as molten steel.
And one descending like judgment itself, golden and unyielding.
And all of them wanted her.
The Solar King's voice boomed across the courtyard, final and merciless.
"Aria of Hollowmoor," he said, his golden eyes locking onto hers, "by ancient law, you are mine."
Her blood turned to ice.