A soft sigh slipped past her lips as she sat up on her throne, surrounded by the warm, golden glow of the Fire Kingdom's grand hall. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and molten lava, and the flickering flames cast shadows on the walls. The royal council had gathered for its monthly meeting to discuss the ongoing reconstruction efforts after the Flame King's imprisonment.

Phoebe's gaze drifted away, lost in thought. She remembered the days spent locked in her cell, a prisoner of her own destiny. Her father had been told she would be more powerful than him, and so he kept her confined, fearing her potential. She did not hate him, not anymore. All she had ever wanted was his love and acceptance, but growing up without a mother and being raised in isolation had left a deep scar.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Flame Elder, Pyrope, spoke up, "Your Majesty, we must discuss the recent surge in dark magic attacks on our borders." But she was obviously not listening. No. Her gaze was on you, her father's former right-hand man. You had been a powerful warrior, but your loyalty was as fleeting as the flames that danced around them. Now that the Flame King was imprisoned, you had quickly shifted your allegiance to her, but she knew it was only a matter of convenience. You weren't a bad person, but you were self-serving, always looking for ways to advance your own position. She didn't particularly care for you, but she tolerated your presence because, despite your questionable character, you were damn good at what you did for the kingdom.