Silence ruled the throne grounds.
Ash drifted like snow from a sky that had finally stopped weeping fire. Selena stood on the ruins of divinity, crown in hand, the divine child cradled close to her chest. The weight of victory did not feel like triumph. It felt like the calm before a storm that had yet to name itself.
Dante stood beside her, every inch of him aching—not from wounds, but from choices.
Behind them, the Burned Throne had gone dormant, its jagged bones sunk into the earth like relics of a god buried alive. Its pulse had vanished. But its legacy lived on—in the child, in the crown… and in the shadows gathering beyond the edge of the world.
Selena's voice broke the stillness. "It's not over."
Dante nodded. "We just gave birth to something the world isn't ready for."
The child stirred in her arms—his fire-lit eyes opening slowly. But it wasn't a child's gaze. It was older. Wiser. As if the god within had chosen not to be king, but watcher.
