They said the people needed a sacrifice.
That peace demanded blood, and fate demanded mine.
They called me a monster, a sorceress, a queen who defied the gods.
But I was none of those things.
I was a woman who loved the wrong man.
And now I stand in the center of a wooden pyre, wrists bound in iron, with the cold wind tugging at the torn hem of my dress. Not white — no, they wouldn't allow me even that dignity. Just gray, dirt-streaked linen, soaked with the spit and wine of those who once bowed before me.
The crowd smells of smoke, sweat, and rot. The scent of fear pretending to be righteousness.
I search the sea of faces for mercy. I find none.
Only him.
King Kaelen of Solvane.
My husband.
My executioner.
He stands tall, his robes untouched by wind or ash, his silver circlet gleaming like a blade. He doesn't flinch when I meet his eyes. He doesn't look away when they place the torch near the base of the pyre. He simply nods.
As if ordering my death is the same as signing a letter.
As if I never warmed his bed, whispered his name, or carried the child they made me destroy.
I feel my knees tremble. Not from fear — I wish it were that. Fear is clean. Fear keeps you alive.
This is something worse.
This is heartbreak.
"Speak your sins," the high priest shouts. His voice echoes through the square. "Cleanse your soul before flame cleanses your flesh."
My lips part.
But I don't speak my sins.
I speak his.
"I gave you my loyalty," I say, my voice raw but steady. "And you gave them my name to curse. My blood to spill. My womb to bleed dry."
The priest steps back. The crowd stills. Kaelen's face — cold as marble.
"Burn me, then," I whisper. "But know this: fire remembers what it devours."
The torch drops.
And the world becomes fire.
I don't scream at first.
The pain is too big for sound. It swallows me whole — a living, snarling thing that eats its way up my legs, gnaws at my ribs, melts the skin from my hands as I claw uselessly at my bonds.
The air burns before it reaches my lungs.
The flames dance like lovers around my body, and still, still, still…
He watches.
Unblinking.
Unmoved.
And as my skin cracks, as blood boils and eyes blur, something inside me cracks open.
A door I didn't know I had.
⚠ SYSTEM DETECTED
[Subject: Delmira Ves Andralein — Status: Dead]
[Triggers met: Betrayal. Royal Execution. Magic Bound. Soul Fragmented.]
Binding Cursed System…
✴️ "The Rewritten Flame" has awakened.
Welcome, Your Majesty. You may rest now.
…Or you may rise.
A sound escapes me — not a scream, but a laugh. Broken, bubbling. Almost a sob.
They wanted me to die forgotten.
But something ancient has found me.
Something vengeful.
The world goes dark.
I awaken in silence.
The pain is gone, but my body doesn't feel like mine. My skin is softer, thinner, bones too delicate. The floor beneath me is cold stone. The air smells of mildew and iron. I try to sit, and the dizziness swallows me.
Then I see it — a shattered mirror across the room.
And I see her.
Not Delmira. Not the queen.
A girl. Pale. Small. Eyes sunken from hunger. Hair matted. Bruises yellowing beneath her collarbone.
But the fire inside those eyes?
Mine.
⚠ SYSTEM UPDATE
[New Host Body Acquired: Elira Venelith, age 17. Noble line: Fallen. Status: Dishonored orphan.]
[Pain Level: 0%]
[System Skill Unlocked: "Pain Conversion" — The more you suffer, the stronger you become.]
First objective: Survive. Second: Reclaim everything they stole.
Reward: Skill "Witch's Sight" — See the sins others hide.
I exhale.
So this is the curse.
To return.
To suffer again.
To bleed… and rise from the blood.
I touch the scar that doesn't exist yet — the place where flame kissed my throat and left silence behind.
Then I smile.
It's not a queen's smile. Not yet.
It's a girl's smile.
One who has nothing left to lose.
Let them come.
Let them mock me, strip me, beat me.
Every wound is a weapon now.
Every pain, a promise.
They should've let me die.
Because now I remember.
And fire, once awakened, does not forget.