Era's mind whirled- the pieces of the puzzle were finally coming together, but in a shape she could have never anticipated.
Kaelith? The God of Chaos and Flame? Was the God from the fable, not Phoros. The revelation shattered what was left of her perception of the tale.
She stood frozen, her breath shallow as she watched the scene unfold before her, helpless:
From the boiling, bubbling water, his figure emerged, a molten mass which slowly took shape as tendrils of sinew, bone and skin warped together. The bronze skin, flaming red hair and eyes like pieces of coal- it was undeniable. Horns arched back from his head like crescents of polished obsidian, and every movement he made sent ripples of heat rolling through the air. His familiar rasp rang out-
" You called, Princess…"
Lysara's jaw tightened, and she took a step forward, the waves lapping at her bare ankles.
"I want my enemies destroyed," she demanded, her voice sharp as broken glass. "I want their ambitions to burn to ash. I want the throne of my father. Give it to me, and I will pay any price."
Kaelith tilted his head, his grin unfurling slowly, like a predator savouring the moment before the kill. His teeth were jagged shards, his smile both mesmerizing and horrifying.
"Any price?" he purred, his voice rolling over her like a wave of molten fire. His form shifted closer, his towering shadow engulfing her entirely, his eyes feasting on her chaotic soul. Then he threw back his head and laughed. An action Era recognised all to well. His body glowed brighter, lines of molten liquid running through him pulsing like arteries. This was his delight, Era realised, his anticipation of the destruction to follow.
"Very well," he said at last, his voice now thunderous. "I will grant your wish. Your enemies shall burn, your throne shall be yours. I will see It no one can ever take it from you again and your name will echo through eternity. But the price, princess, is steep."
His blazing eyes bore into hers, molten and unyielding-" Do you accept?"
Lysara hesitated for a heartbeat, Era wanted to run between them and slap her back to sense, but the moment was fleeting. With her next breath, she signed her fate.
"I accept," she spat, the words slicing through the air like a blade. From that moment, the air changed, it became heavy with sorrow.
"So be it," he said, his voice echoing with finality.
In the next moment, his clawed hand reached out, piercing her chest with a searing light. Lysara let out a cry, her body arching as flames engulfed her, wrapping her in their terrible embrace. The fire didn't consume her—it wove itself into her very being, into her DNA, binding her to its power.
Kaelith's laughter roared again, filling the heavens as he dissipated into a plume of smoke and fire, his voice lingering in the air.
"Enjoy your eternity, my queen."
Lysara dropped to her knees, and wept. Era did know whether they were tears of triumph, or regret.
-------
The next scenes were like torture.
Era already knew how this all ended, but seeing it play out before her, helpless to prevent the past, she felt numb. Part of her wanted to look away, but she didn't. She stood still, and watched the destruction play out before her.
The first was the wedding.
The royal hall glittered with gold and jewels, and the air buzzed with the chatter of nobles. Marlo sat on his throne, looking both uncomfortable and wistful, his gentle gaze flickering to the aisle. Sara of Dale walked towards him, adorned in a gown that gleamed like the first light of dawn, her icy beauty softened by candle-light.
At the altar, Ragar stood watch. The ceremony began, solemn vows were exchanged under the watchful eyes of the kingdom. The atmosphere was light- but under It all, Era smelt the imminent danger, lurking beneath the façade of joy.
Marlo's hand slipped through his wife's, grasping her for the first time and then it happened.
The candle's went out by a powerful just.Darkness. Era's stomach dropped.
And then light-
Sara screamed—a piercing, guttural cry, as her body burst into flame. Her body arched unnaturally, bending and contorting like a mad jester's dance. Across the room, Ragar staggered, his hand clutching his chest as if gripped by an unseen force. His mouth opened in a silent scream as flames erupted from within him, licking at his robes and devouring his flesh. He crumbled to the floor, a figure of smouldering ruin.
Marlo's cry tore through the chaos, his voice raw with horror. His hands patting repeatedly at her figure to quell the flames, but it was now use, her form crumbled to ash before his eyes, leaving only scraps of her charred wedding gown in his grip.
Marlo was not burned, no.
This fire did not spread, it was precise, it was calculated.
The hall erupted into pandemonium. Nobles screamed and shoved one another in a desperate bid to flee.
One other fled the hall, but not in panic- in pursuit.
Cassian sprinted, his heart pounding. He didn't stop to think, didn't question the instinct driving him—he just knew he had to find her. He burst into Lysara's chamber, the heavy door crashing against the stone wall. Lysara stood before a mirror, dressed in the ceremonial gown of her late mother, the queen, brushing her hair with an odd calmness.
Her reflection was grotesque. Her once-beautiful features were twisted with madness, her eyes glowing faintly. Her voice came low and venomous, layered with something not entirely her own.
"You," she spat, her gaze locking onto Cassian. "Have you come running back now your wife is ash"
Cassian's breath caught in his throat. "Wife? What? No, Lysara I would never—"
"Silence!" she shrieked, her voice cracking with a manic edge, the mirror shattered.
She turned on him, her movements erratic, her hands curled . "You chose her over me."
His knees weakened, and he raised his hands, trembling, as he took a hesitant step forward. "I didn't marry her, Lysara," he said, his voice breaking. Tears streaked his face. "I would never marry Sara. I love you."
Her tirade faltered, and for a brief moment, her wild eyes softened, flickering with something human. .
"I fought for you." he said, voice raw, " I would have defied the court, the kingdom, your father—anyone—but you never gave me the chance."
The moment shattered as Lysara recoiled, her expression twisting into fury once more. "Liar!" she screamed. "You could have claimed the throne, but you didn't. If you had, none of this would have happened! None of it!" Her voice cracked, her emotions spilling over as she staggered away from him, her hand gripping the wall for support.
Cassian fell to his knees, his head bowed. "Lysara," he murmured, his voice a broken whisper. "I failed you… but this madness, this cruelty—it isn't you."
Her laugh was sharp, brittle, a sound devoid of mirth. She turned away from him.
"No, Cassian. This is me now. You made your choice, and so did I."
Without another word, she swept from the chamber, her movements eerily smooth, her figure wreathed in an aura of smoke and embers. She walked through the chaos towards her empty throne, leaving Cassian behind, his sobs muffled against the cold stone floor.
The throne room was deathly silent when Lysara entered, her steps echoing against the vast emptiness. The great hall that had once brimmed with life and ceremony now felt like a mausoleum. The polished floors were cracked, the walls smeared with soot, and the banners of the kingdom hung in tatters.
Lysara ascended the dais, her gaze cold and unfeeling.
Her hands reached out, she lifted the crown from its pedestal. It glinted mockingly in the dim light, a cruel symbol of her triumph and her curse.
She placed it on her head and sat upon the throne. The room seemed to darken around her as she slouched in her blood-soaked seat, her figure consumed by shadow.
The Kingdom around her crumbled to ruin.
-----
The memories melted away, leaving Era standing alone in the vast and silent throne room. Shadows danced upon the cracked marble, and a cold wind whispered through the shattered windows, carrying with it the scent of ash and despair.
Before her stood Lysara, or what was left of her—a specter of wrath, cloaked in flame and shadow, her eyes twin furnaces burning with unholy light.
For a moment, Era did not speak. The air was thick with the weight of unspoken truths, and the silence between them stretched, taut as a bowstring. Then her gaze fixed upon Lysara, steady and unyielding, though within her heart churned a storm of revulsion and pity.
"You dare to judge me?" Lysara's voice rose, cold and cutting, yet laced with a wild fury that could not be contained. She took a step forward, and where her feet fell, the stone blackened and cracked, steam hissing from the fissures. Her form flickered, shifting between the elegant queen she had once been and the wretched phantom she had become. "It was not I who sought this madness, but the throne—it demanded its price, and I paid it!"
"You paid it willingly," Era answered, her voice firm though her heart trembled at the sight of the ruin before her.
"You, who had everything, gave it all up for a hollow crown. And now look at you, Lysara. What have you left?"
The words struck a chord, and for a fleeting moment, the fire in Lysara's eyes faltered.
But it was only a moment. With a scream of rage, she raised her hands, and a great wave of flame erupted, consuming the air with its heat and fury. Era flung herself aside, rolling across the floor as the inferno roared past, leaving a charred path in its wake.
"You know nothing!" Lysara shrieked, her voice a thunderclap that shook the walls. "Nothing of my suffering, of what I have lost!"
Era rose to her feet, her dagger gleaming faintly in the firelight. "I know enough," she said, though her voice was strained. "I know that whatever you lost, it was not worth what you've become."
Lysara roared again, and the air itself seemed to ripple with her wrath. From her outstretched hands came bolts of flame, searing and bright, like arrows loosed from a fiery bow. They struck the ground around Era, exploding in bursts of light and heat. She ducked and dodged, haphazardly, but one bolt grazed her arm.
The pain was immediate, a deep searing agony, which instantly melted her skin.
Clutching her injured arm, Era retreated behind a crumbling pillar, gasping for breath. Her flames were more vicious then normal fire, they were hellish. Era couldn't risk a direct hit.
The stone trembled under the onslaught of Lysara's relentless fire, cracks snaking through it as if the very bones of the palace sought to escape the fury within.
"You pity me?" Lysara spat, her voice venomous and sharp. She strode forward, her form wreathed in a mantle of flames. "You, who know nothing of power, of sacrifice? You dare to mock me?"
She wanted to have a conversation now? Really!?
Era's eyes narrowed as she peered around the pillar. Lysara was nearly before her. Shit. In a battle of raw power, Lysara had her beat, but perhaps-
"I pity you because you've let this destroy you," Era called, her voice rising above the roar of the flames. "Not because of a curse, but because you were too blind to see the truth!"
Lysara howled, and the flames around her surged higher, licking at the vaulted ceiling. She thrust her hands forward, and a great torrent of fire surged toward Era, the heat of it simmering the air.
Era threw herself to the ground, rolling as the flames melted through the stone column and passed over her, the hem of her clothes catching alight. She tore it off and rose unsteadily to her feet, her mind racing.
Lysara's power was overwhelming, a storm of fire and fury that could not be matched. But as Era watched her, she noticed the ghost had begun to pant, her posture stooped slightly.
So there was a limit to her ability.
Lysara's attacks were wild, unfocused, driven by rage rather than strategy. Her movements were wasteful. If Era could continue to press her and dodge the attacks, she might just gas her out.
"Your anger controls you," Era taunted, "That's why you're losing yourself. You've let it consume you."
Lysara paused, her fiery eyes narrowing. "You think you can break me with your prattling?" she sneered. But Era saw the hesitation, the flicker of doubt.
Era took a step forward, her dagger held low. "I don't need to break you, Lysara. You're doing that all by yourself."
With a scream of fury, Lysara unleashed a barrage of flaming tendrils, each one lashing out like a whip. Era ducked, weaved and rolled each blow. But even as Lysara's attacks were unprecise, the sheer volume made them impossible to avoid entirely. A flaming tendril nicked Era's leg, then her waist, then her thigh. The mere seconds of contact was enough to burn through her flesh like paper. The agony was excrutiating, her limbs spasming from pain. It made it harder to dodge Lysara's attacks, the slightest movement causing shockwaves to spread through Era's body.
She needed to end this quickly.
"You think this is power?" Era called, circling her opponent. "Look at you—lashing out like a child throwing a tantrum. Is this what you traded your soul for?"
Lysara's roar shook the room, and a jet of flame shot toward Era, narrowly missing her as she rolled to the side. The heat singed her hair.
That's when Era noticed it. Each time Lysara mustered up her energy, her necklace would glow an amber-red hue. Could that be how Kaelith was lending her his power? Hadn't he struck her through her chest in the memory? Era had thought he had bound Lysara's heart, but what if he imbued his power in the necklace instead? She would have to get close to test the theory, and she'd only have one shot.
"You gave up everything," she continued, her tone cutting like a blade. "And for what? A crown? What's the point of a throne, if there's no one to rule over. You are nothing more then a puppet."
Lysara's rage reached its peak.
She charged at Era, her movements wild and uncoordinated. Flames erupted from her hands, scorching the air around her, but her aim was off, her attacks predictable. Era sidestepped one strike, then another, the dagger in her hand glinting as she closed the distance.
And then she saw her opening. With a swift and calculated move, she lunged forward, her dagger slicing through the fiery tendrils that protected Lysara's chest. Her free hand darted upward, grabbing the chain of the pendant that hung around Lysara's neck.
The fire opal burned against her palm, its heat searing her flesh, but she held on. Lysara shrieked, clawing at Era with hands of shadow and flame, but her strength was fading. With a final, desperate tug, Era ripped the chain from Lysara's neck.
The room fell silent. Lysara let out a shuddering gasp, her spectral form crumbling like ash caught in the wind. Her fiery eyes dimmed, replaced by a weary, almost peaceful light. She sank to her knees, and in the next moment she was gone, like dust in the breeze.
Era collapsed to the floor, the pendant clutched in her trembling hand. Her limbs sizzled, her skin chared, and her flesh weeping. But she had done it.
Her hand throbbed, the pendant's fiery energy still biting into her palm. She stared at the fire opal, its malevolent beauty undiminished. It pulsed like a heartbeat. Tiny bursts of flame flickered just beneath its smooth surface, casting eerie, shifting shadows onto her hand. The air around it was warm, almost suffocating, as if the opal itself exhaled heat and hunger.
Era's pulse quickened as whispers slithered into her mind, seductive and insidious.
You've seen what power can do, haven't you? the voice cooed, its tones smooth as silk. Take it. Wear it. No one will stand against you. You could rule. You could make them fear you. Her grip tightened instinctively, but she felt the heat prick at her skin, a warning and a temptation.
Images flared in her mind—herself seated on a throne of gold, armies kneeling before her, a world bent to her will. But with the visions came the sound of Lysara's scream,
" Nice try Kaelith, but you have no sway over me." she murmured.
Era despised the feeling of power. Lysara was a good reminder why.
Without another thought, she shoved the opal into her pouch. The whispers died down.
Era noticed the darkness of the sky and hurried to her feet. She had decided a while ago, the crown was not the object Phoros wanted. It made no sense, the jester's crown held no value, no power. It was a lump of rusting metal and no more. No, she would give the necklace to Phoros. Surely, he, the God of Greed and Ambition would find its powers useful.
Era was certain now this was the true item he wanted retrieving. Or she was doing all the could to convince herself of it, after all her time was up.
Hobbling to the first door, Era gave one glance back to the empty throne room and released a deep laboured breath, then she pushed it open and walked into the treasury.
Phoros's voice curled through the air, rich with dark amusement.
"Ah, Era," he said, his tone a velvet whisper, " just in time. Have you brought me my crown?"