## CHAPTER 60: _"The Throne Without a King"_
The sun rose blood-orange over Elira, bleeding across the sky like a warning. The aftermath of the battle in the Forgotten Core still echoed in the stones, in the air, in the breaths of every living thing. Though Vaelor had fallen and the curse had been rewritten, peace did not descend like a soft curtain.
It came sharp-edged, tense, and uncertain.
In the capital, bells tolled in confusion. The sky bore a new star—one that pulsed not with divine prophecy but with the lifeblood of those who had defied fate.
Arien sat alone atop the Ashen Spire, once the watchtower for Elira's kings. The wind tore at his cloak as if trying to strip him down to bone.
He hadn't slept since they'd returned.
The mark—the seven-pointed curse that once adorned Lysia—now rested on his own chest. It burned sometimes when she touched him. It sang when she slept.
He was the shield now.
And he didn't know how long he could carry it.
---
**In the Royal Court**
The High Council gathered for the first time in weeks. Faces once loyal to Arien's lineage now wavered with fear. Rumors moved quicker than messengers: that Arien was cursed, that Lysia was a weapon, that the gods would return.
Duke Maren rose, silver-bearded and sharp-eyed.
"Elira cannot have a king who burns. We need stability. We need—"
"You need to understand," interrupted Elithra, appearing in a swirl of black flame, "that without him, your bones would be dust."
Gasps. Silence. She stepped aside.
Lysia entered.
No longer radiant with magic, but heavy with presence. Her eyes alone silenced the chamber.
"I am not your queen," she said, voice like low thunder. "But I am your future. And if you fear that… good. That means you still understand power."
---
**Arien and Lysia's Rift**
Later that night, in the moonlit halls of the shattered throne room, Arien and Lysia stood apart.
"You spoke as if we are one," Arien said. "But I feel like I'm disappearing. You gave up your flame. You gave me this burden."
She didn't answer at first.
"I thought I was protecting you," she said finally. "I didn't know it would… hollow you."
He turned away.
"I hear them. The voices from the Veil. They call me the Second Flame. They tell me I'll burn the world trying to protect you."
She reached for him.
"Then we'll find a new way to fight. Together."
---
**An Unexpected Visitor**
Three days later, a rider arrived from the north—draped in storm-silver and bearing the banner of the Forgotten Throne, a kingdom lost during the Curse Wars.
The rider was a woman—tall, cloaked, with eyes that shimmered between silver and green.
"I am Sairen, daughter of no king. The world you saved is unraveling. And only those who were once erased can bind it again."
She brought news:
The Shattered Isles were rising.
The Eastern Flamekeepers had declared Arien an enemy of divine balance.
And the Sea Witches were whispering of a prophecy not yet fulfilled.
"The curse was never broken," she said. "It was merely passed on. And the gods… they are waking."
---
**Elira Prepares for War**
Mobilization began in secret.
Old generals returned. The Flameforged armor was reforged. The Heartblade was drawn from the Stone of Promise.
But Arien did not prepare for battle.
He prepared to leave.
With Lysia, Elithra, and now Sairen, he planned a journey beyond the Veil—a realm only accessible by one who bore the full weight of the Flame Curse.
Because that was where the curse truly began.
And only there could it end.
---
**Chapter Ending**
The night before their departure, Arien stood on the cliffs again, staring at the sea.
Lysia joined him.
"Still afraid?" she asked.
"Always," he replied. "But not of what lies ahead. Only of failing you."
"You didn't fail me," she whispered. "You became the fire I couldn't carry."
And as dawn broke over a world preparing for war, the cursed lovers stepped into the unknown once more—bound by choice, not fate.
Because love was no longer a curse.
It was a weapon.