"The past does not sleep. It waits—buried in silence, wrapped in flame."—Fragment from the Shattered Chronicle
Once, she was a name spoken with reverence.Then a warning.Then a curse.
They called her tyrant not for her cruelty, but for the mercy they couldn't understand.Peace was never enough for a world built on conquest.
So they painted her as a monster—and buried the truth in temples they burned themselves.
But memory does not die.It coils beneath history, waiting.
Now, the one they cast out walks once more.She has no throne.No crown.Only fire that remembers what was taken.
This is not vengeance.This is not resurrection.This is remembrance.
And remembrance burns deeper than any wound.