The sky had turned a color it had no name for—an aching violet laced with veins of flame, pulsing like a heartbeat. As Amina ascended the jagged path leading to the Hollow Throne, each step seemed to peel back another layer of her soul.
The throne wasn't just a place.
It was a choice.
It loomed above the shattered cliffs like a crown forged from broken promises. Lightning danced around it, not of storm, but of raw, living flame. The screams of ancient kings echoed in the wind—kings who had once dared to sit upon it and had burned for their ambition.
Amina paused at the threshold.
Beneath her feet, the stone bore ancient sigils—cracked, smoking, restless. They pulsed with rhythm, and that rhythm whispered her name.
Amina… Amina…
Then—movement.
A figure emerged from the throne's shadow.
Valec.
No longer draped in darkness, but in flame-wrought armor that shimmered with every emotion he had ever buried—rage, sorrow, betrayal, love.
His eyes found hers, softer than she'd expected, wearier than she'd hoped.
"You came," he said, voice echoing between them.
"I always would," she replied, stepping closer.
They were separated by more than distance. A thousand lifetimes. A thousand regrets.
Valec gestured toward the Hollow Throne.
"I never wanted it. Not really. But the world made me a monster. So I gave it what it asked for."
"You're not a monster," she whispered.
"Then what am I?" he asked.
Her voice cracked. "Hurt."
He laughed—a bitter, hollow sound. "And you think love will fix me?"
"No," Amina said. "But understanding might."
For a moment, silence reigned. Then, from behind Valec, a ripple of darkness twisted, growing, forming a shape.
A man.
Not a man.
A presence.
The Original Flame.
Neither god nor demon, but the embodiment of fire's truth: to destroy, or to renew.
It spoke without sound.
"This moment was written before your births. One must sit. One must burn. Choose."
Valec turned, a flicker of fear in his eyes.
"I never wanted this," he whispered again.
Amina stepped forward, wind whipping around her. "Then let me end it."
The Original Flame raised a hand.
The throne ignited.
Valec stepped toward it.
So did Amina.
They met at its base.
Her hand touched his.
Time stilled.
Memories bled between them—his pain, her loss, his exile, her awakening.
Then—
A scream.
Not from either of them.
But from the throne.
It rejected them both.
The sky cracked open as a new force erupted from the seat—a third presence neither of flame nor flesh, a fracture in fate itself.
It formed into a girl.
A child.
Golden-eyed. Braids of ash and stars.
She smiled. "You were never meant to sit alone."
Valec and Amina fell to their knees, trembling beneath the weight of her gaze.
The true heir had awakened.