The flames did not come from the earth.
They came from her.
Seres stood barefoot on obsidian, her arms outstretched, her body trembling with more than fury—with birth. Not of life, but of Sovereignty. She was no longer the Flame Whisperer. No longer Darius's volatile consort whose fire flickered with devotion. She had become Flame Sovereign.
And she was burning.
The Spiral had tilted.
In her name, temples rose and collapsed, priests chanted until their throats burst, and zealots built altars from ash. The Flame Codex, long sealed beneath the molten crust of the Infernal Vault, had surfaced. It now hovered above her head, glowing with scripture too bright to read.
Darius arrived too late.
He stepped into the ruined citadel of Ulth-Zhaar, where fire had carved sigils into glass and turned myth-ink to steam. He felt her before he saw her. Every cell in his body responded to the heat. To the power. To her rage.
