The throne room was silently haunted by the presence of a ghost.
Not the specter of death, but of legacy.
Seraphine Vale stood tall amidst the ruins, the light of the Crown's old power flickering around her like a living flame. Her armor shimmered with the ethereal glow of memory and might, a fusion of celestial metals and forgotten technology. Her eyes, those cold violet mirrors, surveyed the wreckage, the broken pillars, and the bleeding Queen who stood to challenge her.
Cambria's breath hitched. Her sword trembled slightly in her hand. Not from fear, but from something deeper.
Reverence. And defiance.
"You're supposed to be dead," she said, voice strained but unwavering.
Seraphine's lips curled into a faint smile. "That's the thing about death, child. For some of us, it's merely an intermission."
Behind Cambria, Lucien was pale, shaking. "We entombed you. I saw your body encased in the vault, frozen in stasis with a lock that even I couldn't break."
