Darkness fell, not just upon the capital but across the entire realm as whispers of the Empress's mysterious powers traveled like wildfire. The moon hung low, veiled in a crimson hue—a celestial omen. Back at the palace, tension simmered like lava beneath a fragile crust. Althea, now bearing the dual title of Heiress and Dragon-Bonded Sovereign, faced her greatest trial yet.
After the events at the banquet, her connection to the ancient dragon, Faelor, was no longer a secret. Nobles murmured in corners, commoners prayed or feared in equal measure, and foreign powers turned their eyes toward the Empire, licking their lips at a perceived crack in its foundations.
But Althea? She stood stronger than ever. And yet… more alone than she had ever been.
The imperial war council chamber was filled with shadows and old men. The throne sat empty, the Emperor too weak to preside. Althea stood at the end of the council table, dressed in battle armor of black obsidian scales and silver filigree—a gift from Faelor himself.
General Vaern stepped forward, steel in his voice. "Your Grace, the southern borders are aflame. The Kingdom of Caldor has declared open war. They say the Empire is ruled by a beast."
"They speak truth," Althea answered, her voice calm, cold, and dangerously elegant. "But not the kind they fear. I am the beast that will end their foolishness."
Murmurs filled the room. Then silence.
"I will lead the army myself."
One of the ministers, Lord Craiven, stammered. "That's—unheard of! A crown princess risking her life?"
"Not a princess," she whispered. "The Heiress of Flame. And I do not risk. I conquer."
Preparations began at once. Her armorers worked without pause. Scouts reported enemy movements. And Althea, night after night, slipped away from the palace to commune with Faelor in the hidden vale beneath the twin moons.
"I fear they will never see me as more than a monster," she said one night, leaning against the dragon's obsidian-scaled shoulder.
Faelor's great eye blinked slowly. Monsters do not fear. Only rulers do.
She smiled faintly. "Then perhaps I am both."
Then perhaps you are ready.
The next day, as dawn painted the skies in burning gold, Althea rode to war. Behind her trailed the Midnight Guard, cloaked in shadows and blood, sworn only to the Empress. Before her lay battlefields soaked in old hatred.
The first clash came at Elvaran Ridge. Smoke rolled over hills. Flaming arrows blotted the sky. Althea led the charge with sword drawn, her blade pulsing with draconic fire. Each enemy that fell to her echoed a prophecy yet to unfold.
At her side, the mysterious assassin Kael reappeared, blades singing like wind through reeds. He fought not for coin, nor cause, but for her.
"You fight like a man with purpose," she said after the battle.
"I do," he answered, blood dripping from his blade. "You."
Her heart, hardened and sealed since the betrayal of her cousin Rhianna, wavered. Just for a moment.
But war allows no time for hearts.
Weeks passed. Victories stacked. The army of Caldor retreated, but whispers of a greater threat stirred.
A dark envoy arrived at the Imperial encampment under a banner not seen in centuries—the sigil of the Hollow King. A once-forgotten empire of shadow and bone.
The envoy, a pale woman with silver eyes and a voice like frost, delivered a simple message:
> "The Heiress has awakened the fire. The Hollow shall rise to greet her in ash."
Althea crushed the scroll in her hand, fire licking her fingertips.
"I will burn them all if I must," she whispered.
Faelor stirred in the distance. Fire answers fire. But be wary. The greater the flame, the deeper the shadow.
That night, her dreams were haunted by visions. A kingdom of ash. A throne of bone. A mirror showing her not as Empress—but as destroyer.
In the hidden fortress of Tareth's Fall, Althea gathered her loyalists. Kael, General Vaern, Archmage Liora, and the enigmatic Whisper Twins. A council not of tradition—but of fate.
"We stand on the brink of more than war," Althea said. "The Hollow King does not seek conquest. He seeks my fall. And if I fall, so does the world."
Liora, her silver hair glowing, added, "The Hollow King draws power from forgotten blood. We need allies from ancient times."
Althea nodded. "Then we awaken the Celestials."
Silence fell.
"You would break the seals?" Vaern asked.
"If that's what it takes."
The journey to the Celestial Temple was fraught with death. Beasts of shadow attacked. Runes long-dead glowed in defiance. But with each trial, Althea grew stronger. Not just as warrior or queen—but as legend.
She unlocked the Celestial Seals through blood and wisdom. Her fire was tested not against flesh, but truth. Visions of her past failures, her mother's tears, her father's death, her betrayal by Rhianna.
And finally, she stood before the sealed gate.
A voice echoed: To awaken gods, you must sacrifice the mortal.
She took a breath. "Then I am no longer mortal."
Flames erupted. The gate shattered. And the stars themselves seemed to bow.
In the days that followed, a new force marched with her army—warriors of light born from the Celestial Flames. And the people began to chant a new name:
> "Althea Starborn. Empress of Flame. Slayer of Shadows."
But the Hollow King had seen enough. He no longer sent messages. He sent death.