The throne still stood at the center of Veredon's Flame Hall.
Still carved from blackstone.
Still rimmed in gold.
Still lit from behind by flickering red torches that danced like tongues of loyal servants.
But no one dared call it Selene's anymore.
Not openly.
Not out loud.
Because names had power.
And the throne no longer answered to one.
The courtiers now referred to it as The Flame Seat.
The Ember Veil called it The Core.
Children whispered it was The Chair of Echoes.
But none used her name.
Not even those who remembered her smile.
Not even Cassian.
Especially not Cassian.
Because Selene was still sitting on it.
Every morning.
Every dusk.
She gave orders.
She signed proclamations.
She smiled, nodded, blinked exactly when she should.
But Cassian swore,
Every time he passed her…
The air shifted.
As if the flame behind the throne leaned forward.
And she leaned back.
One night, he approached her with a gift.
An old token.
A small iron raven carved from his childhood sword.
He had given it to her when she returned victorious from the northern war, years ago.
She'd kept it on her writing desk for months.
He placed it on her table now.
"Do you remember?"
Selene tilted her head.
Her fingers hovered above the bird.
Then pulled back.
"Of course," she said.
"But I gave this to you."
Cassian froze.
"You did."
"No. I remember. It was after my coronation."
"You were never crowned with that."
Her smile didn't falter.
But her voice dropped an octave.
"It's hard to remember everything, isn't it?"
Cassian left in silence.
Ingrid found him outside the west wing an hour later.
"She's gone," he whispered.
"She's still breathing."
"But she's gone."
Inside the war chamber, Selene drafted new laws.
But the parchment had no salutation.
No signature.
Only a new seal pressed into the wax.
A symbol no one had seen before.
A crown without a center.
A throne with no figure.
Just flames.
Surrounding nothing.
The new edicts banned names of previous rulers.
Removed lineage from public books.
Burned all portraits, including her own.
Selene's face vanished from currency.
From wall carvings.
From memory.
People still knew her.
But only as The Flame.
Never as Selene.
Ingrid confronted her in the temple corridor.
"You're erasing yourself."
Selene turned, calm.
"I am making room."
"For what?"
"For what comes next."
"And what is that?"
Selene's eyes glowed faintly.
"Purity."
Elric gathered the Veil's inner circle in the deep archives.
Five members.
All silent.
He laid down two parchments.
Both signed by Selene.
Both with different handwriting.
Subtle.
But real.
One bore a heatprint.
One did not.
And yet… both carried the seal.
"It's begun," he said.
"What?" one agent whispered.
"The division."
At the palace gates, protestors began to gather.
Not against Selene.
But for her.
They shouted her name.
"Selene! Selene! Selene!"
Because they feared the Flame that had taken her.
They didn't want the fire.
They wanted the woman who lit it.
Guards dispersed them quietly.
No blades.
No fire.
Only silence.
And when Selene heard of it, she said nothing.
She only burned their names from the ledger.
And lit seven torches outside the gates that night.
Each for a voice that called her name.
Cassian made one final attempt.
He entered her chamber late, alone.
Held the dagger she once gave him.
The one forged from their wedding sword.
He dropped it at her feet.
"You gave me this to remind me we would rule equally."
Selene didn't blink.
"Equality is no longer a useful illusion."
He stepped closer.
"What are you?"
Her voice was soft.
"I am what she could not be."
"And where is Selene?"
"She chose peace."
"And you?"
Her smile cracked.
"I chose completion."
Cassian turned and left.
He did not speak to her again.
Weeks passed.
Cities obeyed.
Laws moved forward.
No rebellion rose.
But in the temples, no candles were lit.
In the inns, no toasts raised her name.
And in the homes of Veredon, people prayed to the Flame.
But whispered Selene's name as they fell asleep.
As if she could still hear.
As if she were still beneath the fire.
Ingrid walked alone to the sacred mirror chamber.
The one sealed since the Trial.
She lit a single torch.
Stared into the glass.
And saw Selene's reflection.
Not the one from the throne.
The one that bled.
The one that doubted.
The one that loved.
She pressed her hand to the mirror.
And whispered:
"Come back."
"Or burn us all with you."
In the Flame Hall, the torches burned white.
And Selene sat on her throne.
Still.
Silent.
A crown of nothing above her head.
A name unspoken on her lips.
Because the throne no longer had a queen.
Only a flame that waited.
------------------------
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