CHAPTER 27: THE BURNING QUEEN

The fire broke loose.

It spilled into the market in a torrent that could not be stopped, black flames licking the sky, twisting into shapes that looked alive. The crowd turned, first with confusion, then with horror, as the glow swallowed the stalls one by one.

And then they saw her.

The queen. The tyrant. The monster their prayers begged the gods to erase. Eris stood at the heart of it, fire writhing over her body like a second skin. Her pale hair shone in the blaze, her eyes burning brighter than the flames themselves.

Someone screamed her name. It ripped through the market, high and broken. Others followed. Mothers dragged children away. Merchants left their goods to the fire. Men tried to form lines, but the heat blistered their skin before they could even lift a blade.

They had prayed for this moment. They had begged for her destruction. But what they saw was not deliverance. It was doom.

"Monster!" a voice cried, before the fire ate him whole.

"Witch!" another shrieked, falling to his knees before collapsing into ash.

"Burn in your own wickedness!" a woman howled, clutching her baby close, her tears evaporating before they could fall.

Every curse they had whispered in the shadows now spilled freely from their lips. But every word was drowned in fire. The flames roared louder than their hatred, louder than their grief, louder than their screams.

Eris did not move. She could not. The fire moved for her, devouring, spreading, clawing higher with every breath. She tried to choke it back, but it had no master anymore. The black dragon-shaped blaze that coiled around her seemed to laugh, its shadow stretching long and cruel across the fleeing crowd.

And they saw her as she was. Not a ruler. Not a woman. Not even human.

She was the curse of Solmire made flesh.

The market crumbled under the weight of her flames. Canvas burned. Wood turned to smoke. Jewels cracked. Fruit sizzled where it lay forgotten on the ground. The air itself screamed with the heat, warping, shuddering, groaning against the force of her.

And through it all, Eris stood in the middle, eyes hollow, face unreadable, while inside, something in her soul tore open wider with every body that fell.

Not far away, the night’s festival of laughter had turned into a flood of screams. And among the crowd, four figures froze as the fire’s glow split the sky.

Caelen’s eyes widened. His jaw clenched. He clutched Rael tighter to his chest as the boy cried at the sudden brightness.

Ophelia’s hand went to her mouth, horror flashing across her face as the roar of flames drowned out the music of the market.

Soren did not move at first. He only stared, his chest heaving, as if his heart recognized something long before his mind caught up.

They all turned toward the blaze.

And they saw her.

Caelen’s first instinct was not strategy. It was blood.

He shoved Rael into Ophelia’s arms, his voice raw with command. "Take him. Don’t let go." He tore a shield from a fallen guard’s arm and forced it into her hands, as if it could protect her from what was coming. Then he reached for his sword, his eyes locked on Eris.

"Stay here," he snapped, his tone cracking under the weight of rage. "I’ll end this."

But as he stepped forward, another hand caught his arm.

Soren.

"Don’t." His voice was low, firm. His pale eyes didn’t leave the inferno where Eris stood. "This isn’t her."

Caelen snarled, trying to wrench free. "This is exactly her. Look at what she’s doing!"

"I am looking." Soren’s grip tightened, unshakable as iron. "And I’m telling you, she’s lost control. You charge her now, you’ll die with the rest of them. Help your people. Help them escape. Leave her to me."

For a breath, Caelen’s fury roared louder than reason. His chest heaved, sword trembling in his grip. He wanted to kill her. He wanted to erase the woman who had torn his world apart. But behind Soren’s words, there was something steady, something certain.

And Rael’s frightened sobs behind him tipped the scale.

Caelen cursed, vicious and low, before spinning back toward the fleeing crowd. He pulled Ophelia close, pressed his hand to Rael’s head, and then tore himself away to shield the others, shouting orders, forcing paths open through the panic.

That left Soren alone with her.

The fire around Eris screamed like a living thing, twisting higher, coiling into the shape of a dragon, its black flames snapping at the air with jaws that weren’t flesh but were real enough to devour. The market cracked beneath the heat. Stone warped. Metal bent.

And then the frost answered.

Like it had been since that beginning of time.

Soren spread his palm, his breath turning white as he whispered the words he had not spoken in years, words older than Solmire itself.

"Thrael’kor ivan drusk...

Myrdan vel orath...

Eirvak thul’ren...

KROSVEN VAR."

The ground trembled. From his hand, ice spread like veins, crawling over shattered stalls and cobblestones, snuffing out fire with a hiss that cut through the roar. Each step he took forward froze the ground solid beneath him, the frost chasing and consuming every tendril of Eris’s flame that tried to lash outward.

The air Itself split into two halves, one side blistering heat, the other biting cold. Sparks and snowflakes collided midair, warring for dominance.

And Soren kept walking.

His suspicions hardened into truth with every step. Eris’s eyes were not seeing. Her fire wasn’t chosen, it was chained, pulling at her, ripping from her chest like something born to destroy her as much as it destroyed everything else.

So he reached for the relic tied at his side. A shard of blue crystal, etched with runes, cold enough to bite through leather. He pressed it to his palm until it cut, and whispered the spell carved into him long ago.

"Vor’dhal isen’kra,

Orrith veln druvahn,

Thres’kai nor vakthar,

ANRIEL VOR ASKAL."

The shard flared with light. A wave of frost burst outward, walls of ice shooting up like spears, caging the blaze before it could leap further into the crowd. Snow fell where fire had raged only moments ago, steam hissing violently as the two forces clashed.

Soren’s chest heaved. His veins burned with frost, every word of the spell carving deeper into his bones. But still, he advanced, ice answering each step, until he was close enough to see her face through the storm.

And what he saw tore something in him open.

Her eyes were wild, not cruel. Not sharp with hate. Wild. Terrified. Lost.

Soren pushed forward, the frost dragging out of him in heavy breaths, his vision blurring from the strain. Every step closer to her was a war. Her fire screamed against his ice, breaking and clawing, forcing him back. The dragon-shaped blaze lunged, teeth of flame snapping at him, each strike strong enough to tear stone apart. But he refused to stop.

"Eris!" His voice broke the air, harsh, desperate.

She didn’t hear him. Her body was there, but her eyes weren’t. The fire had swallowed her whole.

Soren raised his arms, forcing another wall of ice up against the firestorm, and pushed with everything he had. His knees buckled. The relic at his palm pulsed blue and cracked down the middle. Frost ripped across the ground in jagged veins. He shoved forward through the chaos, calling her again.

"Eris!"

Still nothing.

Her flames wrapped tighter, lashing like chains, the heat so powerful it peeled at his skin. But he reached anyway. Reached through the fire. Through the agony. His hand found hers.

And the world split open.

For a breath, two, three, his vision wasn’t his own.

Eris, standing alone, fire eating her from the inside out. Her scream tearing her throat raw.

Caelen’s sword, driven clean through her chest, the steel glowing red in the heat.

Her face, wet, streaked with tears, whispering words no one answered.

The grief hit him like a blade. His chest seized, pain stabbing sharp as if it were his heart breaking open, not hers. He gasped, and the vision vanished.

He came to on the ground, his arms around her. Eris, burning, every inch of her still wrapped in black fire. But she was in his arms. And he couldn’t let go.

The frost kept pouring from him, unstoppable. He staggered to his feet, still holding her tight, her weight heavy against him, her heat searing his skin. He dragged in a breath, looked around,

And realized what he had done.

The entire night market was gone beneath the ice.

Not just the stalls. Not just the ground. The frost had spread far, choking every flame, crawling up walls, freezing fountains solid, covering the earth in a sheet of white so thick it swallowed sound. It stretched far past where he had aimed, far past what he had meant to control.

Everything was silent.

And he stood in the center of it, holding the burning queen in his arms, frost cracking under his boots, with the weight of both their powers crushing the air.