The sky above the Bleeding Hills churned with angry red clouds. The moon, full and pulsing with unnatural light, cast a macabre glow over the cursed land. Mira stared at the girl who once clung to her side, now seated upon a throne built from death.
Kaelin.
But not Kaelin.
Her eyes were no longer innocent.
Her smile no longer unsure.
Mira's breath caught. "What have you done?"
Kaelin stood slowly, each movement dripping with deliberate menace. The thorned vines around her throne twisted in reaction to her presence, blooming with bone-colored flowers that exhaled a black mist.
"I took what was left for me," Kaelin replied, her voice layered—with her own voice beneath, and another… Venra's—curled inside like a serpent.
"You don't understand what you've accepted," Mira said. Her hands trembled, not from fear—but from something worse. Recognition.
She had seen this before. She had worn it.
Kaelin's fingers danced through the mist, gathering tendrils of dark magic in her palm. "Oh, I understand perfectly, Queen Mira."
That name felt like a knife. Sharp. Final.
"You left me to rot in a cage of prophecy," Kaelin continued. "Everyone feared what I might become. Even you."
"I feared what Venra left behind," Mira replied, stepping forward. "Not you. Never you."
Kaelin's eyes glimmered. "Then why did you bury me in silence? Why train everyone to fight darkness, but never teach me to survive it?"
The accusation stung.
Because it was true.
Mira had tried to protect Kaelin by sheltering her. But in doing so, she had left her vulnerable to the very shadows they feared.
"I wanted you to have a choice," Mira whispered.
"I made one."
Kaelin raised her hand.
From the ground, skeletal arms burst from the soil—dragging themselves upward, forming a grotesque army of the dead. Their hollow sockets glowed with amber fire.
Mira unsheathed her sword. "This isn't you, Kaelin. It's her. Venra."
Kaelin laughed softly. "No. It's both of us. Don't you see? She showed me what the world truly is."
"And what is that?"
"Cruel. Corrupt. Afraid of anything it cannot control. Just like you."
The skeletons stepped forward.
Kaelin's gown began to billow as her magic surged.
Mira held her ground, muscles taut. "If you're so powerful, why are you hiding behind bones and echoes?"
"Because that's all this world respects," Kaelin said.
Then she lifted both hands—and the very hill beneath Mira cracked apart.
Mira leapt aside, barely dodging the jagged burst of blackened rock.
The skeletons charged.
Mira cut through the first wave, her blade humming with enchanted light. The undead crumbled like ash, but more replaced them—tireless, voiceless, infinite.
"Kaelin!" Mira shouted. "This isn't you! Fight her!"
Kaelin's expression faltered—just for a second.
Then her lips curled.
"I'm not fighting her," she whispered. "I am her."
Lightning split the sky.
Mira gritted her teeth as the storm intensified.
She whispered a counterspell under her breath—one she hadn't used since the final battle against Venra. The magic gathered at her fingertips, light bursting outward in a golden shockwave that sent the undead flying.
But Kaelin barely flinched.
"You're holding back," she said, disappointed.
"I don't want to hurt you."
Kaelin walked forward, eyes glowing. "That's your weakness. You still think love can save us."
She struck out with a hand—and Mira was hurled backward, crashing into the thorned vines. Blood spilled from a cut on her forehead.
Kaelin stalked closer.
Mira struggled to her feet, blinking away the dizziness. "I didn't come here to fight you."
"Then you'll die like the rest."
Kaelin raised her arms—and the ground itself began to scream.
From beneath, a giant skeletal beast erupted, stitched together from wolves, bears, even dragons. Its jaw unhinged, revealing fangs made of obsidian.
Mira whispered another spell—and a dome of white fire encased her.
The beast struck the barrier, howling as its claws skidded off the light.
Kaelin watched, unreadable.
"I won't kill you," Mira said from within the flame. "But I will stop you."
"You still don't understand," Kaelin whispered, her voice shaking now. "It's too late for stopping."
And then her eyes dimmed—for just a moment.
And Mira saw her again.
The real Kaelin.
The girl who loved stories. Who cried when the stars fell. Who asked if Mira would always protect her.
And then it was gone.
Replaced by something far more ancient.
Kaelin turned.
"Leave. While I still allow it."
Mira remained frozen. "You think you've won?"
Kaelin smiled. "No. But I'm finally the one writing the story."
Mira left.
She had no choice.
Not because she was afraid—but because if she stayed, Kaelin would push too far. And Mira didn't know if she'd be able to stop herself from using the full extent of her magic.
And if she did… she wasn't sure who'd survive.
Back in Elaros, panic had already begun to spread.
The scouts reported Kaelin's army of undead building walls in the Bleeding Hills. Bone towers rose overnight. The earth trembled with every passing hour.
The people demanded action.
And once again, all eyes turned to Mira.
"War is coming," said Elder Lysen.
"Then we prepare," she replied.
"You've faced her already," he said. "And returned without victory."
Mira met his gaze. "If I'd stayed, there would be no city left to defend."
Lysen fell silent.
Serya pulled Mira aside later. "What happened out there?"
"She's gone," Mira said. "Or becoming something worse."
"Venra?"
"She's more than that now. She believes in what she's doing."
"Then we bring her back."
Mira shook her head. "You didn't see her. I don't know if there's anything left to bring back."
But Serya was resolute. "There's always a thread. Even in darkness."
That night, Mira stood in the royal chamber alone.
She stared at the crown placed on the pedestal—never worn.
It gleamed with silver and jet, forged in the final moments of the battle against Venra.
A symbol of power.
Of sacrifice.
Of fate.
She reached out—and touched it.
The metal was cold. But beneath it… something pulsed.
Not malevolent.
Not pure.
Something… balanced.
She took a deep breath and lifted it.
The mirror in front of her showed her face.
But this time, only hers.
Not Venra's. Not Kaelin's. Not anyone else's.
Just Mira.
And that meant it was time.
To stop running from the title.
To become what the kingdom needed.
What Kaelin feared.
The Queen of Black Magic.
The next day, she addressed the city.
Her voice rang from the towers, amplified by enchantment.
"People of Elaros," she said. "You have seen death. You have survived darkness. And now… you will rise."
They watched in silence.
She held up the black crown.
"This is not a symbol of evil. It is a reminder. That even in shadow, we can choose who we become."
Some whispered. Others bowed their heads.
Mira's eyes burned. "We will face her. We will fight. Not to destroy—but to protect. And I swear, by the blood of every soul we've lost—I will not let the darkness take another innocent life."
There was a long pause.
Then a cheer.
Then another.
And another.
Until the city thundered with hope once more.
But far away, in the Bleeding Hills, Kaelin stood at the edge of her fortress.
Watching.
Waiting.
The bone flowers turned toward the moon.
And from beneath the soil, something began to stir.
Not bones.
Not shadows.
Something older.
The Queen of Black Magic had risen.
But what was coming…
Would make both Mira and Kaelin question whether they were queens—or pawns.