There had never been a coronation like it.
Because there had never been a resurrection like it.
Selene had once been crowned in silence.
Forced onto a throne of duty and deception.
Cloaked in betrayal.
Bound by shadows.
But this time,
There was no crown.
No high priest.
No inherited ceremony.
Only flame.
And choice.
The announcement went out at dawn.
Not with trumpets.
Not with bells.
But with fire.
Braziers lit across every city square.
Torches rekindled in temples long abandoned.
Even the old ruins of the Circle glowed with soft red light.
The Flame Queen had returned.
But not to rule above.
To stand among.
The people flooded Veredon's outer walls by the thousands.
Some wept.
Some shouted.
Most simply stood in reverent silence, candles in hand.
They didn't want spectacle.
They wanted confirmation.
That the woman who rose from ash was still theirs.
And she gave it.
Selene stepped into the public square in plain crimson robes.
No makeup.
No jewelry.
No guards.
Only the ember lily pin at her collar and the old scar across her palm, now faint, but still remembered.
The one she earned at the trial.
The one she chose to keep.
She walked barefoot.
And wherever her feet touched the stone, the flames followed.
Not wild.
Not chaotic.
Obedient.
Like the fire had waited too.
Like it had missed her.
The crowd parted.
Not by force.
By instinct.
The same way water moves around something sacred.
Selene passed children who reached out.
Old women who knelt.
Soldiers who dropped their blades and bowed their heads.
She did not speak.
She didn't need to.
Ingrid and Elric stood on the dais.
Cassian beside them.
When Selene approached, they stepped back.
Even Cassian.
Because this was her moment.
Not just as ruler.
But as self.
She climbed the stairs slowly.
Reached the center.
Faced the fire altar once used to anoint kings and burn traitors.
She raised her hand.
And for the first time in Veredon's history.
The fire bowed.
It bent low.
Down to her knees.
Wreathed her without burning.
Flickered like petals in a storm.
And when she spoke,
It listened.
"You tried to consume me."
"You wore my voice."
"You twisted my name."
"And still,"
"I. Am. Here."
She stepped into the flame.
It parted.
Gently.
As if apologizing.
And the city gasped.
Not because she didn't burn.
But because she smiled.
The bells rang.
But they weren't ordered.
They were rung by people who believed.
People who had waited.
Watched.
Wept.
And now witnessed.
That night, Veredon stayed awake.
The Flame Queen walked the palace halls again.
Touched the columns.
Spoke to the staff by name.
Stood beneath the moonlight and let it paint her in silver.
And for once, she didn't command.
She simply existed.
In the war room, she traced new borders.
Not of conquest.
Of restoration.
The maps shifted.
Her empire no longer burned.
It glowed.
Cassian entered quietly.
She didn't turn.
"You bowed," he said.
"I had to," she replied.
"Why?"
She touched the ink on the parchment.
"Because when fire bows, it isn't weakness."
"It's recognition."
He stepped closer.
"And what do you recognize?"
Selene looked up.
"That I am still fire."
"But now I carry water, too."
He didn't ask what that meant.
Because he knew.
She was no longer ruled by the burn.
She could choose to scorch.
Or choose to warm.
In the Drowned Ember temple, the High Flamekeeper lit a red candle before a mirror that no longer cracked.
She whispered to the reflection:
"The flame bent for her."
"Not because it lost."
"But because it remembered who first lit it."
And in the far north, where old empires still stirred and silent thrones plotted.
A masked figure dipped their quill in black ink.
Paused.
Then wrote:
"The fire is no longer blind."
"She sees."
"We must strike before it looks too deep."
But in Veredon, Selene finally slept.
Not in fear.
Not in silence.
Not under the shadow of another.
She slept.
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