The capital was once called Evergold.
Built on divine soil.
Protected by prayers, by enchantments carved into bone.
But prayers don't work when the god they betray comes home.
I step through the broken outer gates.
No guards. No horns. No crowds.
They fled. Or bowed. Or died.
Because the sky over the capital isn't sky anymore.
It's flame.
Not fire that consumes but fire that remembers.
"She's coming," the high priest breathes from the temple steps.
"The false one. The Pale Flame."
"No," someone whispers behind him, eyes wide.
"Not pale. Not false."
"The First Spark."
I walk through the marble streets barefoot.
Every stone remembers my name.
And every enchantment set to repel me?
Melts.
Inside the throne room, Lady Ruin is waiting.
Aveline sits upon a throne that was never meant for her wrapped in illusions, shadows, stolen splendor.
Her smile is poison.
"Sister," she purrs.
"You came dressed as the past."
"No," I say, stepping forward.
"I came as your end."
Aveline rises, her voice like velvet and blade.
"You left your power behind, Lyraxis. You gave it to mortals. To men like Cael. You scattered it like ash."
I raise my hand.
The throne shatters.
The chandeliers melt into dripping gold.
"I didn't scatter it," I whisper.
"I planted it."
"And now it's blooming."
From the shadows behind Aveline, traitors rise mages, cursed generals, creatures bent in loyalty to Lady Ruin.
But they all hesitate.
Because I'm not just powerful.
I am inevitable.
"You cannot kill me," Aveline hisses.
"No," I agree.
"But I can do something worse."
"I can erase you."
My flame rises not red, not gold.
White.
The color of origin.
The color of ending.
And far above, in the broken heavens, something stirs.
Something older than even me.
Something watching.
Waiting.
For what comes next.