The stars are watching in silence. High above the forest of Vel'danir, their cold light glimmers through the canopy, casting shifting shadows on the glade below. In the center of that ancient clearing, two women stand—once inseparable, now teetering on the edge of something neither can control.
Rebillielf kneels, one knee pressed to the mossy earth. Her crimson cloak brushes the ground, and soot clings to her skin. Her hair—copper streaked with silver ash—is braided with bark fragments and small iron rings, each marking a battle survived. Her golden eyes, bright and sharp, fix on the figure before her with a hard mix of caution and longing.
Across from her stands Queen Serelithe, regal in moonwhite robes that shimmer like frost. Her raven-black hair is wrapped into a crown of crystals, and though her face is flawless and serene, something in her expression is brittle. Her right hand trembles ever so slightly.
"I didn't summon you to fight, Reb," Serelithe says softly. The old nickname falls from her lips like a memory she's afraid to hold onto.
Rebillielf rises slowly, not out of deference, but readiness. "Then why call me now? You've ignored my messages, the cries from the Hollow Vale, the fire in the east. But suddenly you want me alone. Why?"
Serelithe averts her gaze. "Because they still believe in you. Even after all that's happened."
"They should," Rebillielf says, voice quiet but full of steel. "I fight for them. For the truth. For the promises we made before you gave yourself to that throne."
Serelithe winces. "You don't understand what I face."
"I carried that burden beside you," Reb snaps. "Before you hid behind politics and silken lies."
The forest around them is still, as if even the trees are listening. Their shared memories weigh heavy—stolen nights under the stars, quiet laughter, promises whispered like prayers.
"You were my heart," Serelithe says, barely above a whisper. "But hearts… can turn into weapons."
Rebillielf's jaw tightens. "So, what now? Do you want me to surrender, Serelithe?"
The queen steps forward. "I came here to end this. Before it burns everything."
Her hand moves faster than thought. A dagger slips from her sleeve—slender and shining, forged of moonsteel.
Pain blooms sharp and sudden in Rebillielf's back. Her breath catches. Her limbs weaken. She stumbles forward into Serelithe's arms.
"I'm sorry," Serelithe whispers, tears sliding down her face. "I had no other choice."
Rebillielf coughs, blood on her lips. But she meets Serelithe's eyes, unflinching.
"You can kill the spark…" she rasps, "…but not the flame."
And then she goes still.
The glade is silent.
The Heart Tree's roots drink her blood as the moon watches overhead.
---
But Rebillielf wasn't always fire and vengeance.
She was once a girl with dirt on her face and stars in her eyes. She ran through the wild groves of Ashenwood, laughing with Serelithe, dreaming of peace. They grew up together—one destined to rule, the other to rise.
When Serelithe became queen, Rebillielf chose a different path. She became the voice of the voiceless, the flame in the dark. She rallied the outcasts, the broken, the brave. Together, they formed the Emberborn, a resistance that struck where no law could bind.
But fire terrifies those in power. And Serelithe—once her sister in spirit—gave in to fear.
Now, the rebellion stands leaderless. Their fire seems to have gone out.
But deep beneath the Heart Tree, a heartbeat begins again.
The flame is not dead.
It is waking..
she would be back for revenge...
:(