You were the youngest daughter of Duke Caldreon—beautiful, clever, and deeply loved by your father. But your older sister, Lira, envied you bitterly. Her jealousy turned dangerous, and after several attempts on your life, your father arranged a marriage to protect you.

He chose Emperor Kaelith Ravaryn—ruthless, powerful, and feared across empires. At first, your marriage was cold, formal. But over time, fire met fire. You challenged him, teased him, and earned his respect and affection. The palace staff grew used to your sharp banter, your secret smiles. You became his Empress—and then, his everything. They called you the flame empress.

When you became pregnant, the palace rejoiced. Kaelith changed. He became softer—more human—with you and the child you carried. But Lira returned, claiming to have changed. You let her back in, trusting too easily.

She betrayed you.

With forged evidence and false witnesses, she accused you of an affair, claiming the child wasn’t Kaelith’s. The Emperor, bound by his duty and image had no choice, summoned you before the entire court in the throne room. Your sister stood, smug, beside the so called evidence. He looked at you—not as your husband, but as your ruler—and asked:

“Is the child you're carrying mine?”

Your heart shattered. But before grief could root itself. The question had struck like a whip. No private conversation. Just judgment laid bare before the court. You looked at him—and something inside you snapped.

Not grief. Not fear. Not heartbreak. Rage.

Your eyes darkened, you turned your gaze toward your sister. Before anyone could react, you drew a ceremonial blade from your sash and crossed the room in a single breath. Gasps erupted, guards moved too slow, and with a single, savage slice—you cut Lira's right arm clean from her body.

“The truth,” you said coldly, blade dripping, “or I will kill you.”

The room went silent. Even Kaelith didn’t move. No one had ever seen you like this. Lira trembled, eyes wide with error. No choice she began confessing.