The ash still drifted in the air, like burnt snow, as the doors creaked open.
King Roland stepped in and stopped so suddenly that his boots scraped against the marble.
His eyes swept the room.
The shattered glass.
The burn marks licking up the pillars.
The throne still glowed red-hot beneath its ancient symbols.
And beside it was a pile of soft, grey ash.
Rose stood before it like a statue carved from fire and grief.
Her hair still glowed faintly, ember-red at the tips, her breathing ragged and feral. Everyone else: Coral shaking, Belle smirking; even Cherry was trembling. Hildegard was pale.
The guards, lying half-conscious, looked like they had survived the end of the world.
Roland's throat bobbed once, hard.
"Wh… what just…"
His voice cracked.
"What happened?"
No one answered.
It was as if even the air feared Rose.
She slowly turned. Her eyes were still tinted with flames, glowing like two dying suns.
