The city of Ephra burned with light.
Neon shimmered off marble towers, glass domes reflected the moon like frozen tears, and somewhere beneath it all, the whispers of the empire moved like shadows through blood.
From the highest balcony of the Obsidian Spire, Helios stood — the Dark Empress herself. The wind curled through her long black hair, teasing the edge of her midnight cloak. The night adored her, and she, in turn, ruled it.
Below, her city pulsed — a living heart of smoke, iron, and sin. Men and women in the streets spoke her name with reverence and fear, a prayer and a warning all in one breath. She had built this empire with her hands — the same hands that once trembled, the same heart that had long since learned not to ache.
"They see strength," she murmured, her voice carried by the wind. "But never the cost of it."
Behind her, the grand hall gleamed with chandeliers, guards stationed like statues of iron. Not one dared approach her — not when she wore that distant look in her eyes, that quiet stillness that promised ruin if broken.
The Empress who conquered the underworld, who brought order to chaos, stood utterly alone.
For a moment, she let the façade drop. Her shoulders softened, her eyes closed. The crown felt heavier than it should. Power always did.
A faint reflection shimmered on the glass before her — not her own, but the ghost of the girl she once was.
The one who believed in love.
The one who believed in peace.
The one who had died the day she ascended.
She exhaled slowly, and the ghost vanished with her breath.
A soft knock echoed behind her.
"Enter," she said, tone clipped, mask restored.
A soldier stepped in — pale, rigid, bowing low.
"Your Highness, the Council awaits your presence."
Helios turned, eyes sharp as cut obsidian.
"Then let them wait a little longer."
The guard swallowed hard, nodded, and retreated.
Once alone again, Helios leaned on the balcony rail, staring at the endless stretch of her empire — her creation and her prison both.
Somewhere far below, thunder rolled.
It wasn't a storm — it was the sound of her people's chaos.
She smiled faintly, though there was no joy in it.
"My kingdom of ashes… and I, its eternal flame."
The night wind wrapped around her like a lover, cold and knowing.
For the first time in days, Helios let herself whisper, almost to the stars above,
"Tell me… if I burn bright enough, will anyone ever see the woman behind the fire?"
And then, as if the world itself feared her softness, lightning tore through the clouds — illuminating her figure in a blaze of silver light.
The Empress of Ash and Flame turned away, and the darkness followed her inside.