[ 🎶 Suggested Track: Dante's Prayer – Loreena McKennitt ]
The Setting: A Flashback to Velmora, forty years ago.
There was a time when Velmora did not fear fire.
It worshipped it.
Before the word witch was ever spat like poison, they were called the Pyre-Blood—keepers of flame, wardens of balance, rulers not by crown, but by birthright written in heat and light.
They did not hide among men.
They walked beside them.
And the realm prospered.
The winters were gentle. The harvests came full. Rivers did not flood unless summoned, nor did drought linger without cause. Where the Pyre-Blood ruled, the world itself bent toward order.
At their head stood a Queen whose name is no longer spoken.
Not because it was forgotten—
But because it was buried.
She was not feared. She was loved.
And that… was her first mistake.
"My Queen," said the elder, bowing low, his voice edged with unease, "a flame that warms may also be smothered. You draw a mortal too near the throne."
