Chapter 5 Burning Into Becoming

• Palace of Avelen
• Author's POV
• The palace courtyards had never felt so quiet.Not in the fiercest winter, nor during war, nor even on nights when storms rattled the stained-glass windows like battle drums.
• Today, silence ruled Avelen.
• Black banners hung heavy from every tower, fluttering only when the wind dared to breathe. Chandeliers burned low, not in celebration, but mourning — flames dim and gold, like hearts bruised by grief. The great fountain in the main square lay still, water dyed silver and scattered with white lilies — symbols of royal passing.
• Nobles, knights, and servants gathered in hushed clusters beneath marble arches. Every face carried the same etched sorrow — though some grief rang truer than others. Cloaks swept across the stone like shadows in mourning, and the air tasted of incense, wilted petals, and unspoken regret.
• At the center, on a raised dais draped in white and gold, stood the King.
• But he did not look like a king.
• His crown seemed heavier, his posture bowed not by age but by loss. The man who once commanded armies and storms now trembled beneath the weight of a single absence — his only child.
• He stepped forward, voice rough when it finally rose over the quiet:
• “Avelen grieves today. We mourn not a princess of crown and duty, but a daughter of spirit and fire.”
• His gaze lowered. For a moment, pain ripped through his composed mask — raw, unhidden, human.
• “Tatianna was brightness in my halls, curiosity where there was caution, and courage where caution failed.”
• His fingers curled around the edge of the podium, knuckles white. “I failed her. I failed to protect her, to understand her, to cherish her as she deserved.”
• A gasp rippled through the court — a king admitting fault was rarer than an eclipse.“If there is mercy in the heavens, may it shelter her soul. May she find the peace this world denied her.”
• He lifted his tear-stung eyes to the skies. “And if there is any grace left for a grieving father… may I one day earn her forgiveness.”
• His final words broke like a blade striking stone. “Long live Princess Tatianna — in memory, in legacy, and in the heart of her kingdom.”
• A single bell tolled — deep, mournful, echoing through every corridor and courtyard. Nobles lowered their heads. Knights struck their chests in honor. Even the wind stilled, as though the world itself bowed.
• Clara stood beside him, veil lowered, hand resting delicately on his arm — her expression perfect, practiced… unreadable.
• The king did not notice.
• His eyes remained fixed on the empty dais where his daughter should have stood — alive, laughing, brilliant.
• And in that silence, in that hollow space between bell tolls, the palace wept with him.
• Clara keeps her chin bowed, face hidden beneath her mourning veil. Her hand rests on the King’s arm like a dutiful wife’s touch — gentle, steady, devoted. Inside, her pulse beats calm as still water.
• Grief paints the hall in gray, but she feels nothing but a small, controlled exhale. The girl is gone. One obstacle erased.
• The King's voice strains, trembling with heartbreak. Clara offers him a sympathetic squeeze, the perfect wife, the perfect comfort.
• How fragile he looks, she muses, watching his shoulders curve under despair. How breakable. How very… temporary.
• Kings ruled by strength. Grief carved chinks in armor. And she could already see the cracks widening.
• Soon, the kingdom would look for stability — strength — guidance. Someone capable.Someone composed.
• Someone like her.
• Her gaze shifts discreetly to Roderic, acting the role of solemn general, sorrow wrinkling his brow like ink strokes.
• The General stands among armored knights, head bowed, fist clenched over his chest in a show of loyalty, loss, and honor. Inside, he is a quiet storm.
• The King breaks in front of the world, drowning in regret. A ruler with no heir .A kingdom softened by tragedy.
• Weakness is a throne with its legs cut short — all it needs is one final push. He lets a practiced tear glimmer in his eye, letting it fall at the perfect moment. Knights around him nod in shared grief, some clapping his shoulder in silent respect.
• Let them trust him. Let them see him as loyal — pained — faithful to crown and country.
• Trust is the blade that opens every locked door.
• His gaze flickers briefly to the veiled Queen. She stands still, sculpted in sorrow. Others may see a grieving stepmother. He sees the steel beneath silk — the ambition, the cold fire.
• Their eyes meet for the length of one breath. No smile. No signal. But understanding.
• One life had fallen.The next would follow.
• Not today. Not loudly. Plans whispered too soon died too young.
• For now, they wait.
• A kingdom mourning is a kingdom vulnerable. A king shattered is a king already half gone.
• Avelen will need strength, he thinks, lowering his head once more. A new protector. A new order.
• The bell tolls again — deep, sorrowful, final.
• And beneath its sound, two hearts beat steady, ruthless, patient.
• ****
• Tatianna's POV
• The mark burns again.No salve, no potion, no whispered spell can quiet it.It isn’t heat — it’s hunger. A living flame beneath my skin, devouring reason, breath, sanity.
• Mireya moves around me in frantic silence, pressing cool cloths to my skin, muttering incantations that dissolve in the air like water on fire. Even her magic bends uselessly beneath the pulse of the mark.
• I twist against the sheets, breath ragged. “It’s— getting worse—”
• She grips my shoulders. “Hold on, child. We will tame it— we will...”
• But her voice fades, swallowed by the fever. The world blurs. Shadows stretch. And then I see her.
• My mother.
• Not as memory, but as presence. Maybe my mind has started to play tricks on me. Soft light woven into form, sorrow etched into every line of her face. The world around us quiets, as if time holds its breath. Or maybe she's here to take me with her.
• “Are you here to take me?” My voice trembles between hope and despair.
• Arin and Mireya stare through her, clueless. They see only me shaking. They do not see her. They cannot.
• Mother kneels beside me, her hand settling over mine with the ghost of warmth, that feels almost real. Almost enough to break me open.
• “No, my heart,” she whispers. “Avelen needs you. You are the rightful heir to the throne. Your father will not be able to fight alone. You must go back.”
• Bitterness surges. The betrayal tastes sharp as blood.“Avelen discarded me.” My voice cracks. “Even Father turned away. What good is being heir to a crown that never protected me?”Tears sting — fury and heartbreak tangled. “What good is being a princess if all it offered me was ruin?”
• She opens her mouth, and for a moment I think she will answer — but then she fades, dissolving like breath against glass. Gone.
• A gasp breaks the silence.
• I turn — Arin stares at me, wide-eyed. Mireya’s lips part in shock.
• “So… you are really a princess?” The little boy who saved me, asks. His eyes sparkle.
• I can't lie. I want to keep that truth buried where betrayal still bleeds. But they saved me. Hid me. Cared for me when the world cast me aside. Lying would be another wound, and I am far from wounding the innocent.
• “Yes.” My voice is steadier than my heart. “I am Tatianna, Princess of Avelen.”
• The moment the words leave me, the burning halts.Not slowly, but instantly.
• The mark cools. The fever dissolves. The pain… evaporates, like it had only ever been waiting for truth to be spoken.
• I exhale, trembling. Within minutes, I am still, breathing as though nothing ever claimed me.
• I push myself upright, breath steadying.“I’m… fine. The pain—” I touch my neck, astonished, “—it’s gone.”
• Mireya presses a hand to my forehead, her eyes softening.“The fever too. Completely gone.”
• Sephara’s voice echoes in my mind, a whisper that feels older than time:
• It is through vulnerability that your true power awakens…
• “She was right,” I murmur, tracing the mark now warm, not burning.
• “Who?” Mireya asks, settling beside me.
• “I met Sephara. In Eldermire Sanctum.” I hesitate, searching her face. “Her spirit. She spoke to me.”
• Mireya does not look surprised — only reverent.“What did she tell you?”
• “She explained the mark. Said my strength rises through vulnerability. Through trust.”
• Arin, eyes wide, pipes up, “Grandma… is Sephara alive?”
• Mireya chuckles softly. “Some witches never truly die. They become spirits — guardians of the knowledge they carried. Guides for those who come after.”
• "I want to apologize. I kept my identity hidden from you." Guilt coils in my chest.
• “It’s alright, Princess,” Arin says with a small, earnest smile.
• “You don’t—” The words stop in my throat.
• The world shifts. Sudden. Violent.
• Flashes of black armor. Crimson eyes. Banners torn by wind. A vampire legion marching, swords gleaming like moonlit fangs. Avelen burning.
• A War.
• I choke on air, lungs struggling as if I’m drowning all over again. My hands clutch the sheets. My heart races.
• Did I— Did I just see the future?