In the throne room of Ilyras, silence ruled—heavy as a sealed tomb.
Lady Seraphine stood before the obsidian dais, fingers clenching her cane with white-knuckled restraint. The Royal Council formed a line of rigid shadows along the marble walls, and on the throne, the Queen sat like a figure carved from frost.
> "They've taken Southwatch?" she said at last. Her voice was soft—but it echoed like steel on stone.
The spymaster bowed low, avoiding her gaze.
> "Yes, Your Majesty. The city did not fall—it opened. The people rose from within and… welcomed her. They lit the gates in her fire."
He left Elira's name unspoken, as though it might burn the room if spoken aloud.
> "How?" the Queen asked, voice narrowing. "We had soldiers. Watchmen. Loyalists."
> "There was betrayal," he replied. "But more than that... the people were ready. All she did was strike the match."
A sharp breath stirred the chamber.
Seraphine stepped forward, her eyes dark and unblinking.
> "We misjudged her. Embermoor was not an accident. This is no scattered revolt—it's a movement. One that spreads city by city."
> "So what now?" snapped Lord Caldris. "Do we burn every town she passes through?"
> "If we must," Seraphine said coldly. "It is better to reduce Ilyras to ash than to let her sit upon its throne."
The Queen stood, and light spilled through the stained-glass windows behind her—streaks of gold and red bathing her crown in blood and fire.
> "No," she said. "We will not burn Southwatch. Not yet."
Seraphine turned her head sharply.
> "Your Majesty—"
> "Let her think she has won. Let the people shout and wave their torches. While they do… we strike at the roots."
She looked to her general.
> "Double our forces at the capital. Issue conscription orders in the eastern provinces. Empty the vaults if you must. And send word to the Order of the Obsidian Flame."
The words dropped like a stone into still water. Councilors froze.
> "The Order?" Seraphine asked, her voice losing its edge for the first time. "They have not been summoned in over two decades."
> "Their oath remains," the Queen said. "They were forged to hunt rogue flame—to quell what should not exist. Let them begin with the girl who calls herself Flameborn."
---
Far beneath the palace, in the depths of the Mirror Keep, a figure stirred in a cell sealed with runes. His wrists bore ancient brands, and his eyes shimmered faintly with dormant power.
He felt it—the surge in the palace, old magic stirred from slumber.
He smiled.
> "So the fire spreads," he whispered. "And the old war breathes again."
---
In the reclaimed war room of Southwatch, maps covered the stone table, littered with markers and fresh ink. The rebels worked in hushed tones, breathless from the pace of their advance.
Auren stood beside Elira as scouts trickled in, dust and ash clinging to their cloaks.
> "Northern garrisons are mobilizing," said one. "Conscription posted on every village gate. And… there are rumors of a new unit. Cloaked. Branded with obsidian."
Elira traced her fingers over the edges of the map.
> "They're not retreating anymore," she murmured. "They're fortifying."
> "We drew blood," Auren said. "Now they're bringing the hounds."
She looked up, her eyes burning low and fierce.
> "Then we sharpen our blades."
---
Author's Note:
The war has begun. Elira's fire has spread beyond rebellion—and now the Crown summons ancient forces to stop her. Will she survive what's to come? Or will the Obsidian Flame be her end?
If you're loving The Crown's Curse – A Flame Meant to Burn the Throne, vote with Power Stones and add the story to your library to support the rebellion! Your support keeps the fire alive.