At dawn, the sound of drums rolled over the valley like thunder. The Order of the Faithful approached in perfect formation — a river of armor and banners, moving toward the ruins where the Eternal Queen once ruled the skies.
From the broken temple walls, Lyssara watched them come. Her hands trembled, though her heart did not. Behind her, Seraphyne stood in the threshold, her wings unfurled, their light pale and uneven, as though even eternity was weary.
"They mean to destroy everything," Lyssara whispered.
"Then we will show them what cannot be destroyed," the queen said.
Valen rode at the head of the host. His eyes locked on the temple, on the faint shimmer of light around it. When he saw her — the queen, no longer distant, no longer divine — something in him wavered. Not doubt, not mercy… but recognition.
"You were never meant to stand among us," he called. "You were meant to reign above."
Seraphyne's voice carried across the wind, calm and beautiful.
"I was meant to love the world, Valen. But you mistook love for possession."
He drew his sword — the Blade of Covenant, forged in celestial fire, a weapon that once drank starlight itself.
"Then I will free you from what you've become."
The first clash was not metal, but will.
Valen's prayers became weapons — light and flame twisting through the air like serpents. Seraphyne raised her hand; her power flared not as wrath, but as mourning. Each strike that met her was absorbed, softened, undone.
Where fire sought to destroy, she turned it to petals.
Where judgment sought to burn, she turned it to light.
"You could have ruled forever," Valen shouted. "You threw eternity away for a single mortal breath!"
"A breath is worth more than forever," she answered.
The ground trembled beneath them. The soldiers watched, some falling to their knees as if the truth in her voice cracked their armor more deeply than any blade.
Lyssara stood at the edge of the battlefield, unable to look away. Every pulse of energy felt like the world's heartbeat — dying, then reborn. When Valen drove his blade toward the queen, Lyssara ran forward, shouting her name.
The strike met its mark.
The sound it made was not steel piercing flesh, but stars shattering.
Light burst outward, engulfing them all.
When the radiance faded, Valen staggered back — his sword cracked, his eyes wide. Seraphyne still stood, the blade buried in her chest.
But she was smiling.
"You see, Valen," she said softly, "even eternity can bleed. And when it does, it becomes… human."
Her light began to spread — not as destruction, but as dawn. It poured from her wound like sunlight after endless night, touching every soldier, every stone. The banners of the Faithful burned away, leaving only dust and flowers.
Valen fell to his knees, the sword slipping from his grasp.
"What have you done?"
Seraphyne looked at Lyssara, her voice a whisper.
"Given them what they always wanted. A world without gods."
She collapsed. Lyssara caught her, cradling her in her arms. The queen's wings disintegrated into streams of silver light that drifted upward, vanishing into the morning sky.
"No," Lyssara said. "You promised—"
Seraphyne touched her face. Her fingers were cool, radiant.
"I promised to stay," she murmured. "And I will. In every dawn that follows."
Her eyes closed. The last of her light rose and dissolved into the air — not gone, but everywhere.
And with that, the Eternal Queen died.
When the smoke cleared, the world was quiet. The soldiers laid down their weapons. Valen wept. The first true sun in memory rose above the ruins, and its warmth touched Lyssara's tear-streaked face.
The age of faith was over.
The age of love had begun.