The thunder came not from the sky, but from beneath the palace.
Elira stood at the edge of the throne room, eyes narrowed at the tremors beneath her boots. The air shifted—thick with ancient energy. Lucien was at her side instantly, sword drawn though no enemy yet stood before them.
"Something's waking," he said.
"No," Elira replied, voice low. "Something never died."
A violet sigil glowed in the marble floor—one that hadn't been there the night before. The same symbol Cael had once branded on his chest.
Lucien touched her arm. "This isn't over, is it?"
She shook her head. "Curses leave graves that don't stay buried."
---
They descended into the deepest level of the castle—into what had once been a sealed crypt built by the first cursed queen of Verdane.
The door opened for her as though it had waited centuries for her return.
Inside was silence—except for a heartbeat.
Not hers.
Not Lucien's.
It came from the center of the chamber.
A pedestal. A mirror. A sealed crown of shadows hovering above it.
The original Crown of Virelle.
She approached cautiously. As she neared, the mirror shimmered—then shifted.
A child's face stared back.
Her own.
"Elira, daughter of flame. You have shed blood. Taken power. Crowned yourself sovereign. Yet you have not completed your arc."
Lucien stepped in front of her. "Who's speaking?"
The voice rippled from the mirror. "I am the echo of all the queens who died cursed. I am what you carry in your blood. The chain you've yet to break."
"I've broken every chain," Elira said.
"Not this one."
---
Suddenly, visions burst through the chamber.
Elira saw her past selves—each one dying at a different stage.
Hung in silver chains.
Poisoned by a lover.
Burned for magic.
All her.
All endings.
She dropped to her knees, gasping.
Lucien gripped her hand. "Stay with me."
The mirror whispered, "Only one life ends the curse."
Elira raised her eyes. "Then I choose this one."
"You misunderstand," the voice said. "The curse ends only when the vessel accepts the final choice: life... or sacrifice."
Lucien's breath caught. "Don't."
"I must," Elira whispered. "It's not just about me. It's about ending it—for every girl after me."
---
But as she stepped toward the mirror, it cracked.
And from the shadows behind it—Cael emerged.
His body was trembling, the curse sigil on his chest glowing fiercely.
"You think dying is the answer?" he growled.
"No," Elira said. "I think choosing not to die is."
She turned back to the mirror and whispered, "I forgive every past self. I release every death."
The mirror shattered.
The crown of shadows crumbled.
And the heartbeat stopped.
The curse had nothing left to feed on.
Cael collapsed. Elira caught him before he hit the ground.
His mark had vanished.
Lucien knelt beside them. "You did it."
"No," she said, looking at them both. "We did."
---
Days later, Verdane bloomed with a peace it hadn't known in generations.
Cael chose exile—voluntarily. "I will find who I am, without memory, curse, or throne," he told her.
She embraced him one last time. "You'll always be my beginning. But not my end."
He smiled, eyes clear. "Thank you… for choosing your life."
---
In the palace garden, Elira stood beneath the fire tree—where once she'd been sentenced to die.
Lucien joined her, fingers brushing hers.
"You're still a flame," he said.
"And you're the one who never let it die."
They kissed under the burning blossoms—no curse, no guilt, no ghosts.
Only love.