Elias woke to the sll of sothing burning.
His instincts jolted him upright, hand already reaching under his pillow for the small dagger he kept nearby—a habit born from battlefield years he'd never quite grown out of. But when he looked around the small room, everything seed intact. No fire. No smoke. Just—
"Rhea?" he called, rubbing his eyes.
A soft, faint glow illuminated the corners of the house. From the other room ca the sound of a low hum, like a lody rembered but never fully sung. And then, unmistakably, the scent again—burning, not of wood or cloth, but sothing raw and ancient. Like scorched starlight.
Elias shuffled out of bed, still half-draped in a quilt he'd tangled in during the night. His feet hit the cool wooden floor. He paused at the door, listening.
The humming stopped.
"...Rhea?"
She sat on the windowsill, knees tucked under her chin. The early morning sun barely crept over the horizon, casting pale gold light through the panes. Her hair, longer now and unruly as ever, shimred faintly like ember threads. But it was her eyes that startled him most—not with fear, but with the sheer stillness in them.
She didn't blink.
Didn't look at him.
"Had a dream," she said quietly.
Elias cleared his throat. "The... fire kind?"
She nodded once. "Again."
He sat beside her on the edge of the window bench, the cushion sighing under his weight. A breeze stirred, carrying the scent of dew and blooming spring. Rhea didn't react to that either.
"I was flying," she murmured, "but my wings... they weren't like feathers. They were made of fla. Living fire. They didn't hurt , but they... hurt everything else."
Elias glanced at her small hands. She was growing fast now—alarmingly fast. A few weeks ago she'd been barely taller than a chair. Now she could reach the kitchen counter. Her limbs were longer, face more defined, voice slightly deeper. He still hadn't recovered from her outgrowing the kiddie spoons.
"And I saw them," she whispered, as if afraid to say more. "The angels. Screaming."
"...Angels?"
She finally turned to look at him, eyes wide. "They were on fire too. Because of . They called traitor. Monster. Queen of Ruin. I was on a throne made of... shadows. Or bones. Or both. I don't know."
Elias tried to stay calm, but his mind raced. Nightmares were common in kids—but nightmares that involved burning celestial beings and thrones of bone? That was a little above the usual "monster under the bed" tier.
He reached out, gently brushing her shoulder. "You're safe here."
"I wasn't in the dream." Her voice cracked slightly. "They all burned. Because I wanted them to."
He hated seeing her like this—so small, so shaken. And yet, within those trembling fingers, there was still that terrifying potential. The sa fire that could incinerate armies slept inside this child.
No—this girl. She was no longer quite a child anymore.
Rhea let out a shaky breath. "What if that's who I really am? The fire. The throne. The monster. What if I just forgot?"
Elias smiled faintly and pulled her into a hug. She didn't resist, even as his oversized sweater sleeve swallowed her face.
"Then," he said softly, "you're the world's clumsiest, pickiest, weirdest forr demon queen. And sohow, still better at cooking rice than ."
She sniffled.
"That's not a high bar."
"Don't ruin my mont," Elias said flatly.
She giggled against his chest, the sound muffled but warm. "Your rice is bad. Like, war cri bad."
"You're literally a forr warlord, I don't need moral judgnt from you."
Rhea shifted and peeked up at him. "If I... rember more things like that dream, will you be scared of ?"
He hesitated, then kissed the top of her head.
"I've seen you fall asleep with jam on your face and a potato in your hand. Nothing will scare now."
"I wasn't sleeping," she muttered, flushing. "That was ditation."
"Sure."
Silence settled between them again, but it was softer this ti.
"Do you think I really killed angels?" she asked.
"I don't know," Elias admitted. "But I know you saved that baby fox from drowning. I know you made Lina laugh when she was crying. And I know you ran back to the house just to get my dumb scarf when I forgot it."
"...It is a dumb scarf."
"You knitted it."
"Point stands."
They both chuckled.
Then Rhea went still again. "They called it the Lightless Throne."
"What?"
"In the dream. That's what they called it. They said it was the end of heaven. And that I sat on it. Alone."
Elias stared at her.
"...That's dramatic. Even for you."
"Shut up."
"No, seriously. 'End of heaven'? Sounds like a bad musical."
"Shut up."
But she smiled, despite herself. Elias ruffled her hair, which only made it worse.
"You're still you," he said simply. "Even if you were once a flaming goddess of doom with poor interpersonal skills."
"I have good interpersonal skills."
"You threatened to turn Lina's bullies into frogs."
"They deserved it."
"I'm not arguing. I'm just saying. Poor. Interpersonal. Skills."
Rhea puffed her cheeks. "You're supposed to comfort ."
"I'm trying. With honesty."
They sat a while longer, watching the sky turn from dawn-pink to brightening blue.
Eventually, Rhea's head drooped against his shoulder. She looked older than she had just days ago—but right now, she looked like a sleepy kid again.
"Will you still be with ," she mumbled, "even if I rember everything? Even if I... beco her again?"
Elias didn't answer right away.
He simply pulled the blanket from earlier and wrapped it around them both. His voice, when it ca, was quiet.
"Even then. Especially then."
She didn't reply. But her fingers crept into his hand, curling into his palm.
And for a long ti, they watched the world wake up, wrapped in warmth, unaware of the eyes watching from the trees—eyes that recognized not just the girl, but the fire in her.
The Queen was awakening.
But she wasn't alone.
Not anymore.
To be continued...
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