Snow fell in gentle sheets over the shattered ruins of Silvermere Keep, softening the jagged remnants of towers and walls that once gleamed with royal pride. Queen Lysara stood atop the last surviving balcony of her ancestral home, the wind tugging at her cloak and dark hair. Beneath her, the once-loyal city now lay in ash and blood, its defenders slaughtered in Malagar's purge.
She should have died with them. That was what the tyrant had intended. But fate, it seemed, was not yet done with her.
Behind her, Captain Thorne the last of her royal guard approached with solemn steps. His armor was dented and bloodstained, but his loyalty remained unbroken. "Your Majesty, the escape tunnel is clear. We ride before dawn."
Lysara nodded but did not look away from the city. "How many escaped with us?"
"Fewer than twenty. Mostly wounded. Some villagers from the outer ring."
"And the crown?"
Thorne hesitated. "Shattered. Just as the prophecy warned."
Lysara closed her eyes, the weight of her lineage pressing down like iron. Her father, her brothers… all gone. She was the last of the line of Elenar, and now, hunted like a common thief.
But even as grief threatened to consume her, a fire kindled deep within. She would not let her people's sacrifice be in vain. She would rebuild, rally the free people of Eldoria, and strike back at the Tyrant who had broken the world.
"We head east," she said firmly. "To the free cities. There are still those who remember the old alliances. If Malagar wants a war, we will give him one."
Thunder rumbled in the distance, like as if the gods themselves had heard her taken oath.
That night, as her ragged band slipped into the mountain pass beyond Silvermere, Lysara cast one final look at her fallen kingdom. Her eyes did not weep. They burned of revenge not tears. Her eyes were full of hatred for those who harmed her family, her kingdom and her people.
She was no longer merely a queen. She was a spark in the dark "The dark queen".
And sparks, when kindled by fury, could set the world to ablaze.