GRIPPED BY OBSESSION

Vaeloras was alive with celebration, but beneath the revelry simmered something more dangerous than swords or spells—secrets.

Selene walked the marbled halls of the palace, her heels clicking against floors etched with runes of protection. Guards bowed as she passed, but their loyalty was still fresh—unproven. The city had embraced their rule, yes, but not everyone bowed with sincerity. Power always came with shadows, and tonight, those shadows whispered louder than ever.

The Royal Court, freshly reassembled, awaited her arrival.

Inside the grand chamber, twelve high-backed obsidian chairs formed a circle around the center dais. Each chair bore a sigil—representing the new supernatural Houses of Vaeloras. These were the realm's most powerful beings, chosen for their bloodline, magic, or allegiance.

Some of them were allies.

Others were watching—measuring—waiting.

Selene entered, flanked by Kieran, whose presence alone silenced the chamber. His golden eyes flicked over the seated members, catching every twitch, every hesitation. His sword remained at his hip, but his power pressed heavy on the room like a thunderstorm on the edge of breaking.

The last to enter was Lady Vireth, Head of House Ashenveil—a vampiric seer with beauty as sharp as her bite. She was ancient, enigmatic, and dangerous. She took her seat last, deliberately, eyes locking with Selene in an unblinking stare.

"My Queen," Vireth purred, "the people sing your name. Yet the dust of rebellion still clings to their boots."

Selene met her tone with steel. "Then we teach them to walk a new path—or make way for those who will."

A few of the council murmured at her boldness. It was clear—Selene was not just a figurehead. She was a ruler shaped by betrayal, fire, and the burden of choice.

"Let's speak plainly," Kieran said, stepping forward. "There are three Houses under surveillance. House Vortan, House Drelith, and House Ravkor. All were loyal to the old regime. They've gone silent since our rise."

Vireth folded her hands. "And what does the Crown plan to do? Watch? Or strike?"

"Neither," Selene replied. "We invite them."

Gasps echoed through the court.

"Invite the traitors into our walls?" barked Lord Thorne, a storm mage and fierce loyalist. "That's suicide."

"No," Selene said, voice calm. "It's bait."

Kieran nodded. "We offer them a seat at the peace table. If they come willingly, we bind them to our terms. If they refuse or plot in shadows—then we expose them."

Lady Vireth's lips curled. "Clever. But dangerous."

"Obsession always is," Selene whispered.

Just then, a raven one marked with black-fire glyphs screeched through the open windows and dropped a scroll on the dais.

Kieran caught it mid-air and broke the seal.

His face darkened.

"What is it?" Selene asked.

He passed the scroll to her.

In blood-red ink, it read:

> You wear a stolen crown.

And soon, we'll return it to the grave it came from.

The Marked One will rise.

—The Hollow Flame.

A chill fell over the court.

Vireth stood slowly. "The Hollow Flame was extinguished years ago."

Kieran's jaw tightened. "Then someone's reigniting it."

Selene looked out the window toward the city, its lights flickering like stars. Her hands gripped the scroll.

There were whispers in the dark. Old enemies were stirring. And something deeper—older was watching from beyond the veil of the known realms.

She turned to the court.

"Ready the Nightwatch. Double the wards around the city. And send a raven to the Ravkor Mountains. If the Hollow Flame still burns…"

She met Kieran's gaze.

"…we will become the storm that snuffs it out."

---