We made camp beyond the ruins.
A temporary home, circled by broken statues and watchful silence.
Seraphina approached me that night. She wasn't in frost armor. Just simple robes. No pretense.
"You were right," she said. "We had to let it die."
"But it hurts."
She nodded. "Every crown hurts when it's taken off."
She handed me her circlet—solid silver, etched with her house sigil.
"Then let it stay off," I said.
She smiled. "No. I want you to wear it. Not as king. As a reminder."
"A reminder of what?"
"That even the coldest hearts can burn again."