Chapter 44
The flames are everywhere.
They twist and roar like a storm made of fire, licking up the stone walls, swallowing the air until it tastes of soot and blood.
The throne looms again—closer this time.
I can almost reach it. Its spires rise from the scorched earth like jagged bones, blackened and cracked, glowing faintly at the seams. A crown lies at the foot of the throne, twisted, broken, melted.
Like it’s been ripped from someone’s burning skull.
And there—just beyond the flames—I see them.
Seven silhouettes.
Seven beings cloaked in shadow, standing in a wide arc before the desecrated throne. They do not move. They do not speak. But their presence cleaves the dream in half. My soul recoils in recognition.
The one that stands broad, still as death, has a presence that makes my stomach twist. Something inside me knows—he is the betrayer.
The flames shift. Screams echo.
The throne is empty; but the ash around it is soaked with blood. My blood.
I try to scream, but my voice doesn’t work. My hands are burnt, bones peeking through peeling skin, and still, I reach toward the throne.
I hear it now, for the first time. It is clear. The voice, hoarse, ancient, made of smoke and dust. It murmurs in a language I do not understand. Until I do.
“Vireth at’zul… e’kara sultan…”
Ash and betrayal…
“Kael’vireth a’sul… shetha’zai en’karan…
Thaloriren ez’rem, vae’shakar il’drun.
Na’kaziel vel’tharan… kael’rion et’shara.
Vireth kai’syl… elthea’nur az’shal.
Aelari su’nai vel’zur… il’saerin et’kal.”
She was created from the ash.
She was destroyed in the ash.
Her soul chained, her name erased.
But she will rise as the sun—
And burn us all.
The shadows step back. The throne ignites in golden flame. And the ash coats my tongue once again.