They called her Empress, but she had no throne.
They called her holy, but she served no god.
Seraphina stood at the gates of the Sacred Province—alone, veiled in silver, her cloak dragging the dust behind her like the memory of war. The soldiers who guarded the threshold didn't stop her. They dropped to their knees.
Word had reached them before her steps did: the Oracle's seal was in her possession. And that meant only one thing.
She wasn't just here to pray.
She was here to command.
Three days had passed since the plaza bombing.
The city was unraveling.
Market streets were quiet, but tense. Churches overflowed with desperate murmurs. Council sessions were suspended "indefinitely." And despite Lucien's public pleas for unity, his own guards were divided in loyalty.
Aurora could feel it in every glance.
Some saw her as a symbol. Others, as a curse.
"I think it's time we vanished again," Mireille said, her voice low as she sealed a backdoor letter.
Aurora shook her head. "If we vanish, Seraphina wins. She'll rewrite the narrative."
"She already is. Her priests are traveling the cities, declaring the bombing divine retribution. They're blaming us for provoking heaven."
"We didn't drop the flame."
Mireille sighed. "No. But they don't care who lit the match. They only care who was holding it."
Aurora looked out the narrow window of their safe house, her thoughts heavy. "Lucien hasn't sent word since the last council briefing."
"Maybe he's finally afraid of losing everything," Mireille muttered.
"No." Aurora touched the note on her desk—unsigned, but familiar. A single line:
"The storm's eye sees you. Hold your ground."
She folded it carefully and tucked it into her cloak.
"He's still fighting."
Far from the palace, in the Hall of Sacred Fire, Seraphina knelt in front of the Oracle Circle.
Nine high priests sat in silence, their faces masked in gold, incense curling upward like pale snakes.
Seraphina placed the Imperial Oracle Seal on the blackstone altar.
"I come not as sister," she began, her voice calm but thunderous. "Not as widow. Not even as Duchess."
She stood.
"I come as flame."
The priests didn't speak. Not yet.
She continued, walking the circle slowly.
"For too long, this Empire has bent toward false mercy. We welcomed rebellion. We entertained dissent. We allowed women to forget their place, and men to cower beneath their wives. The Crown has failed. The Court has failed."
She stopped in the center of the circle.
"But the divine has not."
One priest finally spoke. "You seek the Anointment of Flame?"
"I do."
"And what will you do with its power?"
"Cleanse the Empire," Seraphina whispered. "Purge the rot. Begin again."
The incense stopped curling.
A wind blew through the sacred chamber that had never known wind.
The priests exchanged glances.
Then one by one, they nodded.
The central priest stepped forward and touched her forehead with oil.
"Then rise," he said. "Empress of Fire."
Lucien hadn't slept.
He sat at the council table, empty save for a map and an untouched glass of wine.
Corin stood near the door, tense.
"She's done it," Corin said at last. "Seraphina has the priests. The Oracle Circle just issued a declaration calling for spiritual warfare. They've named her the Chosen Flame."
Lucien's jaw tightened.
"And Aurora?"
"Hiding," Corin replied. "Smart. The streets are dangerous. There were two attempts to ambush her yesterday. Elias's printing shop was burned this morning."
Lucien stood. "Then we're out of time."
Corin's brow furrowed. "What are you thinking?"
Lucien turned, and for the first time in weeks, his face held steel.
"If they want an Empress of Fire…"
He walked to the cabinet in the corner and pulled out a black case. Inside it sat a parchment wrapped in red ribbon and sealed in obsidian wax.
He handed it to Corin.
"…then we'll give them a Queen of Ash."
Aurora arrived at the ruins of Elias's print shop just after nightfall.
The ink still smelled sharp in the wind. Pages fluttered in the ash, some half-burnt, some soaked in rain. On the wall, someone had painted a crude phrase in red:
"The Dove Feeds the Fire."
She stared at it in silence.
"I told you they'd turn," Elias said behind her, voice raw. His arm was bandaged from where he'd tried to save one of the presses. "They don't want to understand. They want someone to hate."
Aurora touched the word Dove with trembling fingers.
"I should leave," she murmured. "Not because I'm afraid. But because maybe my presence is poison now."
Elias shook his head. "You don't get to stop. They'll use your silence too. You speak, they say you're dangerous. You're silent, they say you've abandoned them. You can't win."
"Then what's the point?"
He looked her in the eye. "That you try anyway."
Before she could respond, a rider galloped toward them through the smoke.
It was one of Lucien's trusted envoys. His eyes wild.
He handed her a sealed letter and said one word:
"Run."
The letter was brief.
Seraphina moves on the capital. She's ordered a purge of sympathizers. You and your followers are listed. They come tonight. Disappear. Live.—L
Aurora folded the paper and turned to Elias.
"Gather everyone. Every girl, every boy, every mother who once carried a Free Daughter pamphlet. Get them out of the city."
"Where will we go?"
"North. The ruins. They can't reach us there—not without angering the old gods."
Elias hesitated. "And you?"
"I'm staying."
He stared at her. "You'll die."
"Then I'll die standing."
That night, Seraphina entered the capital not in armor, but robes of silver and flame. She rode a black stallion. Behind her, priests sang. Her guards bore staffs, not swords.
But her presence screamed of conquest.
She halted at the foot of the palace steps and raised her hands.
"In the name of fire, I cleanse this court."
The first building to burn was the southern tower—Aurora's old school quarters.
Inside, the guards found no one.
Just parchment.
Covered in ink.
Lucien met her at the foot of the throne room, flanked by Corin and two loyal guards.
"Declare it," Seraphina said. "A new reign. You stand beside the Empress of Fire now."
Lucien didn't move.
"I already declared something," he said.
He pulled out a decree stamped in black wax and read aloud:
"By Imperial Right, and with full recognition of Council and Crown—I, Lucien Arcturus Valen, declare the succession of civic sovereignty."
"Effective this day, the voice of the people shall not only echo in court—But reign in it."
"The Empire belongs to them now."
—Signed: The Crown, The Council, and the Dove.
Seraphina's face cracked.
"You gave her the seat of power?" she hissed.
"No," Lucien said. "I gave her the Empire."
And outside, as the fires lit the sky…
The people began to chant.
"Ash to ash.Crown to dust.The dove fliesBecause we must."