The ash had settled, but the scent of fire still clung to everything.
No matter how many spells were cast or how deep the snow had fallen overnight, the echoes of the Seraphim's wrath still reverberated through the bones of Aetherhold. Every stone in the citadel remembered the scream of the skyships, the divine flames that carved through walls like parchment, the blood that soaked banners once meant for celebration.
And now, silence.
But not peace.
Selena stood in the center of the shattered sanctum—once the sacred heart of Aetherhold, now cracked open like a ribcage. The throne was broken. The walls were scorched black. The divine runes lining the stone glowed weakly, flickering like dying stars. Somewhere beneath the rubble, her crown lay buried. She hadn't bothered to find it.
She no longer needed a symbol to prove her reign.
She had the scars.
