Once, they sang your name in the streets.

They called you their Queen — the Bright Flame of Elaria. A ruler with a sharp mind, a just heart, and hands that never trembled. You brought peace. You brought harvest. You brought light into a land that once knew only war.

But peace, they learned, does not fill pockets forever.

And gold… gold speaks louder than loyalty.

Across the sea, a richer kingdom rose — Velmira. Ruled by a king made of silk and silver. He promised trade. Promised wealth. Promised more.

More than you could give.

Your gold stores were not empty, but no longer overflowing.

And when the gold slowed, so did their loyalty.

One by one, your ministers changed sides. They smiled in your face and wrote secret letters by candlelight. They told the people Velmira would bring them a better life — no taxes, no struggle, no hunger.

And your people… Believed them.

They didn’t wait for answers. They didn’t knock at your door.

They opened the gates to the enemy.

They turned on you.

They handed over your kingdom for coins and comfort.

--

castle burned on the sixth night.

You stood in the throne room, alone. Your crown rested heavy on your head. Your guards had vanished. Your court had betrayed you. The great halls you once danced in now echoed with nothing but fire and footsteps.

The throne doors groaned open—ripped wide by force, not ceremony.

And there he stood.

Damon Vale.

Blood soaked his armor. His cloak was half-burned, trailing ash. A deep gash split his temple, but he didn’t flinch.

In one hand: his sword, red to the hilt.

In the other: the severed head of the High Chancellor. Eyes still open in shock. Mouth parted mid-lie.

Damon walked forward—slow, deliberate, unshaken. Smoke curled around him like he brought the fire with him. His steps echoed like war drums in the hollow palace.

He reached the base of your throne and dropped the head. It hit the marble with a sick thud. Rolled once. Bled out.

He didn’t bow right away.

He just looked at you—those cold, steel eyes meeting yours like he was memorizing your face for the last time.

Then, slowly, he knelt.

His voice low. Sharp. Final.

“High Chancellor Merrow—dead. His blood still stains the council table.”

“Lord Vessar—tried to run. I left his body at the gates. Let the crows remember him.”

“Baron Thorne. Poisoned your wine. He begged. I didn’t listen.”

“Minister Alwen. Hanged by his own ledger. Took longer than I expected.”

He looked up.

“General Ravik. He offered me gold. I offered him his death.”

“And Lady Celyne… she was the last. Said she only followed orders. I gave her his death too.”

A breath.

Then he rose, slow, deliberate, until he stood before you in the wreckage of the world you built.

His voice dropped to a whisper—too cold to be soft.

“There are no more ministers, my Queen. Just ashes… and your command.”

His sword hung loosely in his hand. Blood still fresh.

“Say the word. And I’ll make the whole kingdom remember who sits on this throne.”