It began with a whisper.
Not spoken.
Not sung.
But carried.
Through the old halls of the palace.
Through the stone-lined arteries beneath the Flame Seat.
Through runes long dead.
A whisper not made of air, but of memory.
"Selene."
A name.
No longer banned.
No longer feared.
But called.
And something in the dark turned toward it.
The fracture in the mirror widened.
Only slightly.
A crack like a tear down the surface of still water.
But it shimmered with light.
Not firelight.
Not torchlight.
A glow of something softer.
Something warmer.
Beneath the palace, in the sealed vault of first flame, the ember stone pulsed once.
Just once.
And it was enough to wake the runes burned into the very bones of Veredon.
Walls whispered.
Torches bent.
And the throne seat… groaned.
As if it knew its queen might soon remember how to rise.
In the palace gardens, the second lily bloomed.
Then a third.
Then ten.
By morning, the flame lilies covered the entire path that once led to Selene's private chambers, untouched for weeks.
No one claimed responsibility.
No one even entered the garden that night.
But the air carried her scent again.
And when the servants passed, they swore they heard footsteps.
Not of guards.
Not of royals.
But barefoot.
Cassian didn't return to the throne room.
But he passed by it now.
Stopped.
Listened.
Sometimes he caught something.
The clink of steel.
The flutter of pages.
A breath shaky, like from someone waking after a dream.
He never looked inside.
Because he feared what he might see.
But more than that.
He feared what he might not.
Ingrid stood in the archives when the parchment curled at the edge.
A draft of one of Selene's earliest decrees.
Signed in her hand. Ink still strong.
But now… the paper bent.
Curled inward.
Folded.
Like fingers closing into a fist.
The librarian crossed the room.
Unfolded it.
Saw words she hadn't written appear in the margin.
"I'm still here."
They called the Ember Veil.
They pulled together every fragment, every surveillance, every hidden magic sensor.
And none of them could explain the movement.
But the signs repeated.
Words scribbled on cold glass.
Old letters rearranged by invisible hands.
A cracked cup fused back together on the queen's desk.
She hadn't touched it in weeks.
But now, it held warm tea.
The exact blend.
Three drops of bloodroot.
Bitter.
Perfect.
The whispers returned.
Not to everyone.
Just a few.
A sick boy who once touched her hand.
An old soldier who'd fought in her name.
A maid who'd burned her arm protecting the queen's banners.
They dreamed.
And in the dream, Selene stood at the edge of a cliff.
Alone.
Wrapped in ash and flame.
But her eyes,
Her real eyes,
Looked back and said:
"Don't forget me."
Elric awoke one night with fire in his lungs.
He rushed to the flame tower, expecting smoke. Chaos.
But nothing burned.
Only the ember stone glowing hot on its pedestal.
And above it,
A silhouette.
Brief. Faint.
But her.
She stood with hands outstretched, as if trying to remember what touch felt like.
He stepped forward.
"Selene?"
Her head turned.
And just as he reached out,
She vanished.
Leaving behind a single word burned into the floor:
"Almost."
Cassian finally returned to her chambers.
He stood before the door.
Waited.
Then knocked once.
No reply.
Twice.
Silence.
He opened it.
And inside,
A flame lily sat in a vase of silver.
Fresh.
Still wet with morning dew.
On the pillow, a single braid of hair.
Hers.
Left like a message.
Or maybe a promise.
Ingrid and Elric convened in secret.
"It's not over," she said.
"It's not her," he replied.
"It is. Part of her. Somewhere."
"Then what's sitting on that throne?"
Ingrid whispered:
"Something that forgot it was only the flame, not the firestarter."
At midnight, a candle lit on its own in the abandoned scriptorium.
Then another.
And another.
Until the whole hall glowed.
And in the center, written on the largest tapestry:
"You crowned the fire."
"But I wore the flame."
"I am Selene."
"And I remember."
The crack in the mirror reached the floor.
Dust scattered.
Heat pulsed.
And beneath the Flame Hall, the throne rumbled.
Only once.
But loud enough to wake the crows nesting on the palace roofs.
They took flight.
All at once.
Black wings across a copper moon.
Selene's hand moved.
The one on the armrest of the throne.
Fingers twitching.
Then curling.
Her head dipped.
Just a breath.
But Ingrid saw it.
From the shadows.
And she smiled.
Because for the first time in what felt like years.
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