There are some flames that do not burn.
They whisper.
They mourn.
They cradle what the others destroyed.
And they weep for what was never buried.
Selene didn't leave her chambers for two days.
Not because she was broken.
Not because she feared what she saw in the mirror.
But because she couldn't explain what she now carried.
It wasn't a memory.
Not fully.
It was a weight.
A grief so ancient it didn't belong to her.
But wanted her.
Ingrid was the first to knock.
"Your Majesty, there are questions."
"No questions today," Selene said from behind the door.
"They're growing louder," Ingrid warned.
"The Sixth?"
"The nobles. The people. The Flame Veil."
Selene exhaled.
"I need more time."
"You don't have it."
Cassian came next.
He didn't knock.
He just sat outside her door, leaning against the stone wall.
And after an hour, he finally spoke:
"You don't have to carry all of them."
"They may be the flames."
"But you're the one who keeps waking them."
Inside, Selene stared at the silver hair she'd retrieved from the Fifth.
It hadn't dulled.
If anything, it pulsed faintly now, like it was breathing.
She wrapped it in cloth.
Tucked it into her coat.
And finally opened the door.
The palace halls had changed.
They were colder.
Quieter.
As if holding breath.
But the mirrors.
The mirrors had begun leaking.
Not water. Not fire.
Smoke.
Thin wisps that vanished when looked at directly.
But always shaped like hands reaching upward.
Ingrid had posted guards to cover them.
Selene did not approve.
"Let them show what needs to be seen," she said.
In the war room, Elric brought reports.
"Seven temples. Seven signs. All activated."
"By whom?"
"No one we've seen."
"And the Sixth?"
Elric hesitated.
"Nothing. No sightings. No symbols. No voice."
Selene frowned.
"Silence again?"
"Too quiet. Not even dreams."
Cassian unfolded a scroll without a word.
It had arrived burned at the edges, carried by a wind that was too warm for spring.
"She is closest to you."
"Because she was made when you broke."
Beneath it: no name.
Just the same mirror sigil.
Selene sat down hard.
"The Sixth isn't hiding."
"She's waiting."
Ingrid's expression shifted.
"For what?"
Selene looked toward the nearest mirror.
"For me to fail again."
That night, Selene descended to the Trial Chamber.
She brought no guards.
No blade.
No questions.
Only a piece of paper.
On it: seven symbols.
Six burned in red.
One blank.
She pressed her palm to the emberstone.
And whispered:
"Who weeps when I burn?"
The emberstone dimmed.
Then pulsed.
And beneath her hand, words appeared, written in soot across the parchment:
"The one who remembers what you forget."
"The one who breaks so you can rebuild."
"The one who weeps because you won't."
The ground shifted beneath her.
Not violently.
Like a grave settling after a burial.
And then…
A vision.
Selene stood in an endless library.
Not made of stone.
But ash.
Each book disintegrated when touched.
Each shelf curved inward, like ribs around a heart.
And in the center, a throne made of mirrors.
Cracked.
Empty.
But still reflecting.
She stepped toward it.
And as she did, she heard it.
Not footsteps.
Not whispers.
Sobbing.
A girl.
Small.
Thin.
Wrapped in black silk, hiding behind the throne.
Selene knelt.
The girl looked up.
Her face was Selene's.
But younger.
Weaker.
Eyes wide.
Cheeks stained.
Lips sealed.
Selene didn't speak.
She opened her hand.
Offered it.
The girl took it.
And when their fingers touched.
The vision shattered.
She woke on the cold stone, curled against the emberstone like a child.
No one had seen her fall.
But now everyone could feel it.
The palace pulsed again.
The flame veins glowed red and silver.
The color of fire.
And grief.
In the mirror chamber, one pane cleared.
A new face appeared.
Still.
Masked.
Unmoving.
Not speaking.
But watching.
The Sixth.
Selene walked in later that evening and stared at her own reflection.
Except it wasn't her anymore.
The mask remained.
Her face mirrored in pieces.
And her voice came not from the mirror.
But from within her own chest.
"I am the moment you broke."
"I am the flame that curled inward."
"I am the power you never forgave yourself for."
Selene whispered:
"Then you're mine."
The mask tilted.
"No. You gave me away when you tried to forget."
Cassian found her later, alone, staring into nothing.
He didn't speak.
He didn't offer warmth.
He simply waited.
Until she said:
"There's a part of me that never healed."
"She came back with a mask."
"And she's not angry."
"She's mourning."
He held her hand.
Not to guide her.
Not to lift her.
Just to remind her:
She was still here.
And so was he.
The Sixth Flame didn't rage.
Didn't threaten.
Didn't move.
She just existed.
In the reflection.
In the silence.
In every mistake Selene wished she had never made.
And in the quiet after, she heard her whisper one more line:
"When you admit what burned you…"
"Then we will be whole."
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