Veredon still thrived.
The grain moved.
The forges burned.
The soldiers drilled at dawn and drank at dusk.
To the outside world, nothing had changed.
The taxes were collected.
The borders were guarded.
The Flame Queen ruled.
But inside the capital,
A silence grew.
Not the silence of fear.
The silence of grief.
Selene still sat the throne.
Still wrote the decrees.
Still whispered orders to the Ember Veil.
But she was no longer the woman the people feared or loved.
She had become something else.
Something colder.
Cleaner.
Unbreakable.
And, therefore, unreachable.
Cassian began taking long rides outside the city.
He left before dawn.
Returned after nightfall.
He didn't speak of where he went.
Didn't ask questions when he came back.
Only watched the flame-lit windows of the palace and wondered…
"Does she still dream?"
Ingrid worked tirelessly.
She reviewed documents by candlelight.
Rewrote messages to soften their tone.
Met with nobles in secret to reassure them:
"She is still your queen."
But each time she said it, her voice cracked just a little more.
Because it felt like a lie.
In the outer provinces, the myth began to split.
Some told stories of Selene ascending into fire, becoming divine.
Others whispered she had died in the Trial of Embers, and that a vessel now ruled in her name.
The Temple of the First Flame issued an edict:
"There is no queen, only flame."
Veredon's streets were soon painted with chalk symbols of hope.
Not crowns.
Not torches.
But the letter S drawn backward.
A sign of mourning for the queen who still breathed.
One night, a child was brought before the palace gates.
Barefoot.
No family.
She carried a burned book: The Rise of Selene.
The guards tried to turn her away.
But she wouldn't leave.
She held the book out, arms trembling, and whispered:
"Give it back to her. She forgot who she is."
The guards didn't know what to do.
So they brought the girl to Elric.
He stood in silence for a long time, holding the book.
Then went to Ingrid.
"She's eight."
"She knows more than some kings."
"Should we tell her the truth?"
Ingrid's eyes watered.
"She already knows."
Selene never received the book.
Or if she did, she never acknowledged it.
But the next morning, a single flower bloomed in the palace garden.
A red-petaled flame lily.
Selene's favorite.
It hadn't grown there in years.
And no one could explain how it arrived.
Inside the Ember Veil, tensions rose.
Two agents defected.
One vanished.
The remaining spies no longer referred to Selene by name.
They began using codename: Ashlight.
A word meaning:
"Fire seen, but no longer felt."
Cassian returned from his next ride with a broken expression.
He walked into the Flame Hall, dropped to one knee before the throne, and said:
"If you are still Selene, say nothing."
She said nothing.
He looked up.
And her eyes, still hers, still golden, held no flicker of recognition.
He left without bowing.
And that was the last time he entered the throne room.
Ingrid drafted a final letter.
She addressed it not to The Flame.
Not to the Queen.
Not even to "Your Majesty."
She wrote:
"To the girl who once stood in the storm with shaking hands and still chose to rise."
"To the woman who wore her scars like medals and her grief like armor."
"You don't have to rule every fire."
"We loved you before the throne."
"We miss you before your body is gone."
She folded the parchment.
Sealed it with wax.
And buried it in the base of the throne, beneath the stone.
No one saw.
No one needed to.
Weeks passed.
A festival came and went.
The Flame Queen did not attend.
The people lit lanterns anyway.
Not in celebration.
In mourning.
They wrote messages in soot on palace walls:
"Return to us."
"We remember."
"We forgive what the fire took."
"Come back, Selene."
Inside the palace, the silence spread.
Rooms unused.
Mirrors covered.
Only the torches still spoke.
Only the flames still danced.
And above it all, Selene sat.
Perfect.
Unmoving.
Like fire frozen in glass.
But one night,
One ember flickered.
In the deepest vault, an old rune began to glow.
Not from spellwork.
From memory.
A voice echoed through the stone.
Faint.
Weak.
But hers.
Selene's.
"I'm still here."
"I'm still here."
"I'm still…"
Then silence.
The mirror in the sealed chamber cracked.
Just a hairline fracture.
But enough.
Because beneath all the rule and flame and power.
Something had stirred.
Something remembered.
And maybe, just maybe,
The queen hadn't burned away completely.
-----------------------------------------
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