“The era of malediction is nigh; embers of the long-forgotten dynasty welcome its last scion. Nigh is the dusk of cataclysm; the pool of life and death gives birth to the liberator. Child of Gluren the Ion Hyfer, kin of blood and bloom, nigh is the moment. Forsaken heir of thorns and ashes, liberate the relics of madness and despair.”

- Therain the Whisperer

THE THRONE room was in flames.

The hue of crimson fire danced in perfect harmony; the new colors of malediction immerged in the six-columned halls where blue and gold used to flaunt with equal splendor.

Flames of disparity devoured the last pillar of hope.

“Te-urereizi ereiurfasi auy viiefara?” Vashati asked in between hiccups. Her knuckles were white as she cradled a humungous silver wolf. Crimson ink littered her golden cape as her translucent tears cascaded down the sigil of fangs and thorns to the furry beast on her lap.

Translation: What have I done?

Unmoving. A slice of flesh hung in between a set of bloodied canines followed by a warm escape of breath from the enormous beast in Vashati’s arms.

The Queen of thorns and the luna of Winter Frost Valley crumbled as her mate drew the last of his breath. What was once a hall of feast and glory turned into a graveyard of regrets for the supposed indestructible Queen of bloom.

The cackles of the growing crimson embers around her and her mate could not mute the anguished howl of the woman who had lost everything in a blink of an eye.

Vashati always believed that happy ever after began when she married her destined mate – at least it felt that way until darkness came. Meeting Hiryu Blackwood, Alpha of the Winter Frost, she knew that they were born to make history –build new dynasties and burn thousand-year-old empires to ashes. With him by her side, nothing was impossible, or so she thought.

Red.

Nothing but red veiled the once golden chambers of the throne room she grew to love and hate.

“Hiryu!” Chin tilted upward, Vashati Blackwood swallowed her cries with a silent scream. A lone lightning bolt hit the throne as her anguished howls of depravity resonated with the cries of nature. Every nook and cranny of the palace turned into nothing but piles of rubles and ashes.

A pair of trembling hands hugged the furry white beast. Vashati shivered upon the contact.

“Auy ereish vivlrerela, shla auygaradr,” cried Vashati as she rocked her body while encasing her mate’s torso with her trembling embrace. “Auy ereish vivlrarela.”

Translation: I am sorry, my king. I am sorry.

Thorns protruded from the cracks of the ashen marble floors. It crept to the walls like snakes and grew around the wailing Luna like vines – caging her and her mate against the torrent of flames. Three last columns made of dragon bones crumbled upon the weight of the sizzling thorns.

As one limb littered with gigantic thorns burnt, two new ones sprouted from its ashes – a vicious cycle called destiny.

“Krumviviie auyumfaravl auyieie virazi ereishfaga fash anenfafara, faievlauyzirala auyieie,” whispered Vashati. Her glassy eyes scanned the relics of her glory.

Translation: Bloodlines did not make me Queen, destiny did.

For Vashati Blackwood, it was also destiny that made this happen. The wreckage of the future she was carrying was a sight of blood and ashes – nothing more and nothing else. There was simply no tomorrow for the Queen of the Valley anymore – not after this.

Vashati leaned and planted a kiss on the white wolf’s bloodied forehead before she whispered. “Auyy auy faieauyyfaie zifaur anvlraauyyereium viy faievlauyzirala, auyteumum auyzi fakr auyieyyfarefarazi?”

Translation: If I defied the sundial of destiny, will it be different then?

As the ashes of time seeped past her fingers, the Queen of blood and bloom closed her eyes. Her lips never left her mate’s forehead as if she was embedding the last part of her sanity onto the Alpha of the Winter Frost Valley – a look of resignation overlapped with Vashati’s frown.

The crumbling sound within the throne room had long been seized as the debris turned into nothing but a shade of black and gray beneath the forest of thorns. The fire had long been extinguished, yet a burning heart could never be quenched.

Both a queen and a luna placed her mate’s body on the ashen ground with her quivering lips. As she leaned one more time to bid her final farewell, Vashati’s crown hit the ground. Its clanking noise echoed within the cocoon of thorns. Though she staggered as she stretched her numbed legs, Vashati stood with her chin held high.

No crown. No throne. No lover. No future.

Though her amber eyes glimmered from her translucent tears, gone was the pain painted in between her long lashes. Instead, an abyss of misery and regret resurfaced as she stared at the moon that peeked in between the thorny trunks that veiled her from reality.

One last tear. The moment it hit the burnt ground Vashati was standing on, the ashen floor shook. A mist formed from the shaken piles of ashes, covering the white fur of the furred beast lying still before Vashati. The trembling of the ground did not lessen, yet Vashati stood still with her eyes now closed.

The Queen of blood and bloom stretched her arms wide, showing her tattered golden gown and cape. The sigil of the once-proud Winter Frost Valley was now buried by the stench of crimson ink.

The moment she opened her eyes, a pair of amethyst orbs resurfaced, followed by the incantation that would shape the future of Ruam.

Cursing the destinies of time, Vashati willed the thrones around her. It swirled and hissed towards her direction, long past the unmoving body of the great white wolf who once held dominion over the land.

“Auy anqrefavl vilaan faievlauyzirala!” Veins popped around her neck and forehead as blood dripped from her widened eyes. The northern wind howled upon the malediction she brewed.

Translation: I curse you destiny!

It was the point of no return.