The following is a story set on an isolated planet within the Human Brane universe. It’s a dark, mature, self-contained narrative - and I’m really proud of it. This is but one aspect of a wonderful array of stories and art that I want you to enjoy, or enjoy creating with me. I want to colour this universe with epics, silly adventures, philosophical tales, bombastic romps and everything in-between.

Of Hate and Salvation

Her frustration expanding, Sindëa exhaled and blasphemously opened her eyes. The orange sun glowered into her. She inhaled its power – its boisterous fire, its proud heat, its singularity, and autonomy. All about her shimmered the brilliant host of the Fire Queendom, clad in coloured mail, marching as a silent rainbow. Naught but muted clinks and clanks upon the grey tiles of the great Amphitheatre were heard as six thousand Sisters of Fire cautiously stepped. The third hour of the Procession of Patience began, and Sindëa’s heart boiled with potent desire. Six at a time, the Sisters of the warrior caste trudged with choreographic rigidity onto the stage. Sindëa heard their hushed fire Dances, the sound of crackling air and the whirr of rushing flames only stoked her impatience.

Must I trudge for hours yet? Surrounded by fat royals, while each and every lowborn Sister may burn in glory? Sindëa could restrain her eyes no longer. She beheld Dancing warrior with fire rushing from her hands and swirling over her mighty body. Within Sindëa an overwhelming urge for the glory of combat was ignited. As Sindëa’s tall frame froze, so did the broad, armoured pillar of Ëanor’s mass crash her to the ground.

The violent clang from Sindëa’s ornate armour sent a wave a shock and clamour about her. Sindëa’s long limbs jolted, and she launched herself to her feet. Face scrunched in rage; she raised her eyes to meet Ëanor’s, both gritting their teeth like jousting wolves. Sindëa’s bravado and Ëanor’s pride exploded, lighting their fires, they launched into a furious melee. Their combat became the epicentre of a chaotic brawl as the full heat of the Fire Queendom burned, and the Amphitheatre glowed red.

Ëanor regained her wit, ceasing the river of fire shining from her eyes, she analysed her opponent. Sindëa burst into obnoxious flame, hurtling toward Ëanor as a meteor from the heavens. Ëanor absorbed the blow undaunted and hurled Sindëa down with such a force, and the titles shattered beneath. Ëanor launched downwards, but her first met only the tiles, and she howled in pain. Faster than sight, Sindëa had sprung away and climbed with blue jets beneath their feet. Beholding the inferno of warfare beneath her, the joy of combat consumed Sindëa, and she laughed.

An unseen hand grasped Sindëa’s shoulder, “Sindëa! Hear me! Stop this before more evil is done!”

Sindëa heard the words and knew their source, but she was battle-mad, and her eyes shone with bloodlust. Sindëa took Flaharr’s thin neck with a bitter grip.

“Scholars have no place in the mighty nation of Fire!” Sindëa roared, pressing a saw of plasma into Flaharr’s shoulder. Flaharr winced in pain, yet even as her ligaments melted, she made no attempt to resist, “Pathetic weakling! Fight!”

Then, a crack of lightning preceded a deafening command from above.

“Douse thy flames and relent, my subjects!”

Ëarruthien, the almighty Queen had come, her crimson wardress flickered with the light of the fires below. A piercing burst of heat sprang from her, and her eyes were alight with authority.

“Silence! Lest Obelisk’s hunger be tempted!”

And Ëarruthien brandished her blade Obelisk, and its black edge howled as it cut the wind that came from the golden fields of Gortharr far below. Then there was quiet, as all the Sisters were struck by the power of their Queen’s gaze.

Sindëa turned to challenge Ëarruthien’s stare. Expecting a battle of will, she instead saw Ëarruthien’s purple eyes and felt the potent sorrow of her mother. Yet Sindëa showed not her shame; instead feigned anger and tossed the wounded Flaharr aside. Sindëa jetted away, knowing none could match her speed. Westward she flew, up the thin River Yhaa. Even as she arrived at the barren foot of Doohmoohr, many miles away, she felt the eyes of her mother.

Sindëa ascended the sharp slope, weaving between the plumes of Doohmoohr’s volcanic belching. Intense heat rose and bathed her body, cooling her rage as she sat on the lip. She slammed her fist, and she spat into the mouth of fire.

“Procession of weakness! Procession of fools!”

The indifferent heat from Doohmoohr soothed her less than usual, and she turned, holding her knees to chest. Sindëa espied the vast lands, from such a height, the maroon walls surrounding Accah seemed frail, and the Burnt Keep was but a birdhouse. But then, the black smoke rising from the Amphitheatre turned, and her view was obscured. How should a dull, flimsy bird be freer to fly than I?

Sindëa fell into a memory of comfort.

An innocent babe beheld to the crowded Amphitheatre. Careful hands lifting Sindëa into the air, Ëarruthien showed her people their new princess. Upon the white seats shone a thousand curious faces. The sight overwhelmed little Sindëa; then fear turned to joy as a jubilant cheer rose up. And the Sisters twirled, playfully Dancing with rainbows of flame. Her mother hummed softly to her giggling babe, ‘My rising sun, I know you will make a fierce Queen.’

Sindëa fell back as she was jolted back to reality. A sudden shadow appeared as a reptilian iris upon the sun, and from it issued dark laughter.

“Ëanor? Come as my executioner or my handmaiden?” Sindëa hissed.

The massive frame of Ëanor glided toward Sindëa, and their shoulder armour scraped as she sat beside her. Sindëa’s sky-blue mail and Ëanor’s navy plate dulled to a similar hue as the pulsating orange light washed over them.

“Nay, just an old coward, running from my punishment,” Ëanor said grinning, “Come to taunt your greater cowardice, and snicker at your more heinous punishment.”

“Damn you, aunt bull-head,” Sindëa chuckled.

Ëanor pushed Sindëa into Doohmoohr’s mouth and heaved herself into the air, gesturing in playful mockery.

Sindëa rose, feigning laughter, then kicked fine volcanic dust into Ëanor’s eye and sprang upon her back.

“Ahah! Slippery as ever, little niece!” Ëanor said.

“I’m yet as tall as thee!” Sindëa said and squeezed her Auntie with a headlock.

“Tall, yes” Ëanor struggled, before taking Sindëa with a potent grip, “but lacking girth!”

The depths of Ëanor’s strength surprised Sindëa once again, as she was thrown like a ragdoll, tumbling down Doohmoohr’s slopes.

Sindëa collected herself; her suit darkened with ash. She was offered Ëanor’s hand, but denied it, ever loathing defeat even in play.

“Tsh. It is your demeanour that lacks strength,” Ëanor said.

“Spit thy venom then, speak your piece,”

Ëanor pondered, before releasing,

“It is over. You realise that, surely?”

“Don’t play your mind games. Say your bit and be done,”

“Sindëa, what you did today is punishable by death,”

“Such is obvious! Oh, wise Auntie. You take me for a blind fool? And you! You are not blameless,”

Ëanor shakes her head, “The blame matters not. Are you so ignorant to our people, that you can not see we stand on the knifes edge? Today was proof – the ambition and lust of our Sisters are boiling,”

“How is that my fault!?” Sindëa said as the air sizzled about her. “Why can’t mother just give you the throne. Or anyone! I just wan-”

“Still a selfish little fool… You know the law, and you know why. It-”

“Damn the laws! And damn the throne!”

Ëanor lunged, lifting Sindëa in anger. “You!”

Hot light shined from Ëanor’s eyes as she seethed.

“Unhand me!”

Ëanor relented, yet heaved as she struggled to contain her rage.

“Mother shan’t have me executed. She loves me. Perhaps a few decades dungeon to keep the plebs in order. And the throne goes to someone who covets it,”

“You confuse insight with arrogance!” Ëanor barked, “If you shall not take the throne, there will be no right heir! Blood and flames will rein for another dark age!”

“Good! The strong shall live, and the weak shall perish,” Sindëa huffed, pretending ambivalence.

Ëanor growled as though an evil spell was on her voice, “You must challenge her to Brahar Dol-ach!”

Sindëa shivered, “Kill my own mother?”

“Hah! Of course – you couldn’t kill her. Perhaps your arrog-,”

“Close your vile mouth!” Sindëa barked, “I would not betray her like that. At length, she may accept my disdain for the throne. Get thee gone! Take thy thinly veiled ambition and drown in your own putrid disappointment!”

Smoke rose from Ëanor, “I take my leave, but take the Brahar Dol-ach, if not for you, to save your mother’s life.”

Sindëa stared deeply into the grey eyes of her Auntie, unsure of what she saw.

Ëanor leapt and the air scorched beneath her as she made toward Accah.

The sudden loneliness froze the bravado of the princess, and she fell upon the mountain and her thoughts tortured as she lay restless for long hours.

The night came, but the stars and the moon moved not. Sindëa contorted in her mind from one terrible thought to the next.

At length, she arose and decried: “A desperate hour calls for a desperate choice. I cannot let the price of freedom be my mother’s life. I would have it different, but the hour is late. A strong woman walks the hard path, though it may be seen to be evil or cruel. Brahar Dol-ach it must be! It will break her heart, yet may save her life.”

Sindëa thought to await the most appropriate hour to challenge her mother for the throne. She came at first with great speed over the thickets on the borders of the farmland. Sindëa flew low, lessening her speed and flame as she glided to the outskirts of Gortharr’s crop fields. The darkness only increased her anxiety, unsure if eyes unseen were upon her. But her blue raiment was blackened with volcanic ash, and she slithered from one shadow to the next. At last, the heights of the Burnt Walls were in sight, but she was premature, the council would not meet to decide her fate for hours yet.

Sindëa took a hiding spot behind a short, thick-trunked tree on Gortharr’s only hill. She waited restlessly, and every rustle and sound raced her heart. Even before dawn, as a green glow swept across the flowing wheat on Gortharr’s fields, an unusual heat thickened the air. A sudden clang raced her hearth – though its source was not the Queen’s forces; instead, she noticed a farmer beginning their tasks.

Farming is second only in dullness to study and art. The sight of such labour distracted her from the cataclysms in her mind.

Hours rushed as she spied the rituals of the nameless farmer. The woman fed her beasts with an elegant strategy, standing between many pens and hurling the meal as she frolicked. Then she took a great scythe, and mowed her crops with effortless motions, and rolled her haul into bails twice a woman’s height. Most revelatory to the proud princess was the strength in which she hurled them to her storage. Sindëa supposed such strength was possessed only in the warrior caste, who dedicated their lives to martial prowess. At last, the farmer came to a massive iron engine, its exact function unknown to Sindëa. Again, Sindëa was amazed as the farmer Danced to summon a great wall of fire and set it upon the machine’s underside. A loud whirring and crashing of heavy gears went about, and soon it began to whir as thick steam raced high out of its pipes. Born a warrior to a farmer’s destiny.

The sudden relation to the farmer turned Sindëa’s mind to the fate of such people, wondering if she had doomed them all to suffer needlessly.

“I suffer too,” Sindëa unconsciously muttered, “Incompetence in politics and unwilling, surely the people would suffer under my rule. What point is sovereignty if our destiny is not ours to choose!”

The farmer sprung up, placing Sindëa’s angry yell, and peered at the princess, the full morning bounced of the spots of blue uncovered by Doohmoohr’s dust. Sindëa felt the farmer’s gaze upon her, seeing fear was upon her too. Looking at the sun, Sindëa cursed. The house was late – the council may have already sentenced her.

“For freedom, even a princess must pay a high price!” she declared and rocketed into the air, the grass beneath her ablaze.

Sindëa threw the doors of the council chambers agape and stood with a thin veil of confidence. The boisterous clamour of the High Ladies rose to a crescendo.

“Be seated my faithful subjects,” Ëarruthien’s calm presence bestowed an uneasy order. Sindëa and Ëarruthien stood at the extreme ends of the tall hall of the Queen – though there were no windows, ever-burning lamps covered the maroon walls in white light. Ëarruthien’s eyes locked with her daughter’s and the distance collapsed. Sindëa withheld her emotion with great effort and perceived her mother did the same.

“My daughter, you have led our people to a dark hour,” Ëarruthien said, her voice quiet and pure. The Queen rose from her throne, placing her hand on the bandaged wound of Flaharr, who sat at the forefront of the council’s table. Flaharr turned her eyes to Ëarruthien, but Ëarruthien was locked upon her daughter.

“Thou are the Queen, and if the hour is dark, it is ye who lead us thus,” Sindëa said.

Ëarruthien hung her head.

“Brahar Dol-ach!” Sindëa shouted, her broad voice echoed on the walls as the moment stretched in time. The silence broke as the High ladies gasped in furious disbelief.

“They all think it! They see me unfit to be Queen, but am I? Let the pure fate of battle decide, as the proud woman of old!”

Flaharr rose in accusation, “My Queen! This is surely the machination of your jealous sister!”

Ëanor countered in burning anger, “What authority do you hold over questions of ascendancy?”

Ëarruthien fell back onto the throne as if struck by the blade of Sindëa’s challenge, and shadow was upon her face.

Without their Queen’s authority, the raucous clamour of the council was loosed. Sindëa spied her mother in pain, feeling a crooked dagger of regret. Sindëa reflected her pain outward, “You are a craven Queen, felled by mere words! Ëarruthien! The challenge of Brahar Dol-ach is upon you!”

The Queen rose. “I accept! For I rose to the throne by mortal combat with my mother, and evil was slain by light, and so it shall be once again!”

And Ëanor rose and brought forth the Queen's armour and Obelisk. Ëanor came to her sister and went to speak – but Ëarruthien struck her with her gaze, and Ëanor knelt and hung her head.

Sindëa was swift out the doors and came upon the steps of the Burnt Keep.

It can be no other way.

Sindëa cooked the air, as she rushed up the Spire, the tall onyx-glass tower in the centre of Accah. Even with Sindëa’s speed, it was an effort to ascend, for its height was half that of Doohmoohr. Its pitch roof stretched high enough that onlooking Sisters beneath her would see little of the battle to come, but see enough.

A thick cloud hid the midday sun, and the damp wind was wet and howled over the Spire’s peak.

And Ëarruthien came, not a mother, but a red icon of power. Bleak upon her crimson frame was her terrifying foil, the angel of death – the Obelisk.

Sindëa ignited her anger, her potent desire and passion. She roared as she summoned all her might and fear.

But Ëarruthien did not answer in kind, and he stance softened. Then the Queen began to weep.

“My little flame,” Ëarruthien sobbed, “My greatest love, my angel of purity.”

A confused sorrow welled in Sindëa, but she boiled it to steam. “Your tears will free me not from imprisonment as heir! Only our glorious battle!”

Ëarruthien collapsed under the weight of her woe. Sindëa rushed over and took her mother’s head from the cold floor.

“Mother! What is this?”

“Sindëa, there is so much of my fire in you, I should have known you better,” Ëarruthien’s voice became thin, and Sindëa panicked as she searched for an unseen wound.

Ëarruthien placed her gentle hand on Sindëa’s ashen face, “It can be no other way, my love. I must leave you. Now you are the only hope to prevent our Queendom’s suicide.”

“Leave? Speak sense, mother! You grow cold; you need medicine!”

“My little flame,” Ëarruthien’s fading voice whispered, as Sindëa hurried to carry her. “My burning star, my well of everlasting strength. My tall warrior princess. My rising sun – let not the dark night decide the hour your light shall glow,”

“Please, mother, belay your poems! You are ill, hold on I’ll…”

A sudden rain increased to a torrential downpour. Sindëa shook her mother as horror crept into her heart. “Mother?”

But Ëarruthien’s body was limp, and her warmth was gone. “Mother?”

The air left Sindëa’s chest, as adrenaline and terror pulsated within her. “Mother! I was going to yield! Mother!”

A boom of close-by thunder stunned Sindëa, and she fell back, losing her grasp on Ëarruthien.

“Killing your own mother?” A dark voice crowed. Upon the grey gloom, Ëanor slunk forth.

“What! No! She was just in my arms,” Sindëa pleaded. But Ëanor descended upon Ëarruthien’s motionless body to inspected her.

“You killed her,” Ëanor said.

Sindëa jolted toward her mother but was struck by Ëanor’s fierce words.

“You surpassed my expectation, my niece, or should I say, my Queen!”

“No, I was just-”

“You killed her Sindëa! Now, your destiny is yours to command. The new ruthless and powerful Liege of the Fire Queendom! All hail! Sindëa, murderer of the weak! Greatest flame of the age!”

Sindëa was frozen. Her heart collapsed; her body was a void full of pain. Ëanor took Obelisk and came to Sindëa.

Sindëa looked up, and the cruel smile of Ëanor looked down. Sindëa saw only darkness, then rage as she exploded into a nova; her body was a shooting star of grief hurtling deep into the unknown distance.

Sindëa sprung up from a deep nightmare, and she searched about frantically but saw only a starless night. She lay in a steaming pool and saw in the vast distance the dim torches of Accah’s towers. Unsure if she still dreamt, she struck herself. On the other side of the pain, a dull shimmering rose to a great chorus of chimes. Curious, Sindëa moved to peer over the edge, and a kaleidoscopic array of sparkling colours lit the dark. Sindëa beheld, for the first time in her hundred-year life, the flight the diamond-skinned Yrvenre. Their glass antlers shone as they galloped across the air. Soft lights coloured the eastern slopes with warm, ever-changing radiance. The beauty of the Yrvenre’s splendour faded until the tragedy in her heart outsang it.

A dim quiet fell upon the high peaks of the Hurlonh range. The silence was unbearable, and Sindëa leapt over the western face of the mountain, into the darkness.

That night was as an oscillating prism of time, stretching into infinite anguish. Sindëa kept moving, ever running from the truth inside until she collapsed into an exhausted sleep.

Sindea awoke as the sun’s merciless stare scorned her eyes. Its power – its boisterous fire, its proud heat, its singularity, and autonomy.

Sindëa arose, her skin cold, though a nova of self-hated burned within. Unable to withhold such power, she howled, wildly spewing beams of unimaginable heat, all about melted to lava. Under the soul-shattering sound of Sindëa’s onslaught, a familiar voice cried out, “Sindëa! Dowse thy flame!”

Sindëa beheld Flaharr, but her rage and shame spoke first, and she Danced her fire into a concentrated beam. She stomped her feet, and her jet intensified, but it dissipated to nothing upon her foe. Flaharr posed her hands together and moved with meditative focus. Suddenly a consuming chill came, and the vast valley below was frigid. Sindëa Danced to throw a fireball, but none came. Thrice she Danced to launch fire but to no avail.

Sindëa relented and cried, “I didn’t kill her! I swear it!”

“I know,” Flaharr said, gliding closer silently.

“I sought to yield, but she... I didn’t kill her! I loved her!”

“As did I, my daughter,”

“What? Daughter?”

“Ëarruthien asked that I forgive you,”

“I didn’t do it! I would neve-”

Flaharr sighed, and struggled, “I forgive you Sindëa,”

“Forgiveness! What good is it? Like your books; no defence to the power of fire,”

“Not all strength burns hot, or is birthed from a dominant will,”

“Begone! If you are my Seed, then you know to hide your weak influence from my Soil’s glory!”

“I resent those cruel laws you resented your destiny as Queen,”

Sindëa hung her head and turned away. Flaharr came with a hand of sympathy on her shoulder.

“Heavy was my heart every time I looked upon you. To not have my daughter know her Seed. Cursed, never to teach you, never to love you,”

Sindëa huffed and brushed Flaharr away.

“And my love for you, it turned to frustration, and then to hate,” Flaharr continued, “For you caused Ëarr such distress, she held her pain inside – you are alike in that manner – and I resented you for not taking the throne. It broke her heart,”

Sorrow swelled in Sindëa’s heart, and she looked out from the high peaks of Hurlonh. The night was blue upon the valley below. A black stream flowed, and silver moonlight flickered along its path - teardrops from the heavens. Sindëa envied them.

“I forgive you. Tis no sin to seek freedom. And know this: you are not responsible for your Soil’s death,” Flaharr said.

“Who then?” Sindëa demanded.

“Ëanor. Your aunt has long coveted the throne, and her heart grew black with lust,”

Sindëa burned blue, “I was tricked! So foolish and weak! I will make her beg for death!”

“Her flame is far beyond yours,”

“Then I shall die with honour in the attempt!”

“If you wish. But there is another path, and Ëarruthien may be reborn,”

“What? How?”

Flaharr turned south and bounded in elegant silence. Sindëa bristled, but swallowed her pride and pursued Flaharr.

For many long days and long nights did Sindëa follow Flaharr, the days were longer than Sindëa counted – for Flaharr was silent, and Sindëa’s restless guilt burned her every step. At length, they passed to the southern edge of the Hurlonh range, and continue southward to the great lake Yalloneir, which stretched from the bottom of the mountains unto the horizon. Yalloneir’s water was still, a mirror for the red evening.

“Our destination is the Water Queendom?” Sindëa asked.

“There is no destination,” Flaharr uttered, breaking her long silence.

Flaharr came to the Yalloneir’s edge and stood, a statue of calm. Sindëa came to her side and over the lake.

“Your wound,” Sindëa said, “Surely you are in pain and need rest.”

Flaharr was glad, “Indeed, my pain is great – but I receive it with peace. The old myth is that the sun is the Soil, and the moon is the Seed,”

“Yes, because the Moon is the lesser, and wayward – the Sun is the source, the purity, the womb,”

“Some say the moon is the Soil, who once burned even hotter than the sun. Though she faded, giving all her light to her child, the Earth,”

Sindëa crossed her arms, “Oh? You’re the moon, and my power had its source in you?”

Flaharr inhaled slow and deep, and up her hand. And Yalloneir became a sheet of ice, and snowflakes feel as Sindëa shivered in amaze.

“What unheard Dance is this? Ice Dancing?” Sindëa asked.

“To Dance with fire is to increase heat with rage, to Dance with cold, we control heat with peace,”

Sindëa took a knee, “I would have you teach me,”

“It shall be my honour,” Flaharr took Sindëa’s cheek in her hand, “Now come; first we master breathing.”

And thus did Sindëa accept the teaching of her Seed, a sin in the laws of old. They stayed at Yalloneir for many dawns and journeyed into themselves. Such was a painful and challenging journey for Sindëa, for her grief was hidden deep in her soul. Her battle for peace was hard-fought, but she grew to accept Flaharr as her Seed, and accept the demons in her heart.

One cool morning, after two seasons had passed, Flaharr stirred Sindëa from her dreams.

“Good morning my child, now come, hurry!”

Sindëa stretched, “Hurry? Don’t I say that to thee? Perhaps I dream yet.”

Flaharr smiled and left with excited haste; Sindëa was quick to catch up. They marched until the midday then came upon the right flank of Yalloneir, where a tournament of Air and Water Sisters was taking place, and they came to sit with the onlookers.

“This will be a great test for your Cold Dance,” Flaharr said, “I can organise your entry.”

“I shall watch instead,” Sindëa calmly responded.

Flaharr looked at her with a Seed’s pride.

“It would be unfair for talent as mine to embarrass such amateurs,” Sindëa jokes.

“Ah, there’s the Sindëa I know,”

And they sat and beheld great Dances and walls of water, and great gusts clashed. Unlike a tournament in the Fire Queendom, these were not to the death, and combatants honoured each other with respect. The final bout was the greatest; its climax was a sight of surprising splendour to Sindëa. An Air Sister twisted the air around her with such speed that a its friction burst into a maelstrom of fire. With that, the Air Sister’s opponent yielded and bowed. Sindëa leapt and clapped, and Flaharr beheld her smile and was glad.

“What now?” Sindëa asked.

“Now you are ready,”

“Ready?”

“Yes. Your final lesson. You must go back to Accah and forgive Ëanor. That is the final key. Then you will have the power to resurrect Ëarruthien,”

“You say I’m ready, I’ll trust you,”

“Yes. Now hurry! Our people suffer in your absence!”

Sindëa closed her eyes and breathed in her doubt and exhaled her anger. With quite flame, she rose above the lake and turned west to Hurlonh. Then an almighty boom proceeded her glorious fire, and she broke the sky with her speed.

All the Sisters of Flame looked up in amazement, some in fear, thinking a star was to fall on Accah, others were darkly glad. Ëanor was a tyrant and ruled brutally, and some prayed for death.

And Sindëa came with regal calm upon the high gate of the Burnt Walls. And she was surprised, for her flight had burned her battle dress into a soft purple. And the gates rose, for all who saw her were glad at her sight and bowed with reverence.

At length, she came to the Burnt Keep, and the guards saw Sindëa and opened its doors.

Inside was dull, for the torches burned with dark flame, and thereupon a dark throne sat a Dark Queen, clad in black armour. Ëanor’s fury was instant, and her hulking frame rose, and all cowered under her heat. All but Sindëa.

“There is the murderer of the Queen! Take this one to the gallows. Torture her for her sins and kill her!” Ëanor barked.

The guard looked to each other in confusion, knowing that Sindëa should be the rightful Queen.

“Kill her!” Ëanor cries, the flames of the hall combusting with her scream.

Ëanor felt the eyes of all the Ladies of flame upon her.

“Queen, do you suppose yourself! After you ran away?”

But Sindëa responds with only a stance of quiet authority.

“Then the Brahar Dol-ach shall decide!” Ëanor barks.

“I accept,” Sindëa responds.

The torches of the hall swelled with dark flames of hate. And all the great High Sisters flinched, as it scolded even the strongest Dancers. But Sindëa was calm, and she perceived the hot airflow around her like a rushing torrent around a smooth rock – and her skin was cool.

“Now! You die now, and no one shall ever again question my right!” Ëanor roared and shook the ground as she stormed out, holding Obelisk aloft. Sindëa bowed to the stunned High Ladies and followed the furious onset of her Auntie.

Once outside, Ëanor rocketed into the air, melting and cracking the stone steps of the Keep. Sindëa closed her eyes. For you, mother. She launched with similar speed, but barely a sound as she ascended to the Spire’s roof.

The midday sun was so angry it burnt the sky a hue of orange. Ëanor stood on the tower’s centre, the light of her hate-filled blue flame seemed to be consumed by the void of her plate – a black hole within a quasar.

Sindëa slowly descended, landing close to the Ëanor who heaved with fury.

“An enclosed helmet? Are you afraid?” Sindëa teased.

“Afraid? I fear that this will be like all sparring bouts before. Hah! I fear I might kill you too soon and the fun will be spoiled!” Ëanor says, throwing her black mask away.

“If you yield now, I won’t punish you for all the cruelty you’ve done to my subjects,”

“You. Your silly game doesn’t impress me. Your so much weaker than even your soft skulled mother!”

“Please, I don’t want to hurt you, and I fo-”

In the space of an instant, Ëanor struck her right foot back and thrust her rigid arms up, and with a downward swing summoned a terrible bolt of lightning. It boomed on the space where Sindëa stood, leaving only a smouldering glow.

“Hah! Fool!” Ëanor belched.

“Are you talking to yourself?” Sindëa whispered from behind Ëanor.

Ëanor threw herself around, and in reactive rage – screamed solid fire from her mouth. But Sindëa leapt away, and again, and again. Each time the fire grew hotter, and faster. But Sindëa’s perceived the tells of Ëanor’s techniques – and evade them with increasing ease.

“I’m too fast for you, Aunt. You are too broad and bloated with rage to strike me,”

Grinding her teeth, Ëanor switched to her lightning throwing stance, and another vast bolt cracked. And Sindëa appeared elsewhere, then Ëanor roared, and her muscles rippled as she stomped and threw bolt after bolt.

“Please. Yield my Auntie. Know I understand, and I forgive you!”

“Me! You’re as complicit as me! You killed her more so than I did,”

Guilt struck Sindëa, and she paused, and summoned all her will power and love, “I. I forgive myself. She died from the sadness th-”

Ëanor spotted the lapse in Sindëa’s focus, and from her eyes shone blue plasma, and it struck Sindëa’s chest. Sindëa fell to her knees under the force, and the heat began to melt her armour and cook her flesh.

But her heart was free from pain, and her peace from within outmatched the searing pain of her flesh being fused with her armour’s molten slag. And she raised her head, and her arms and with a calm breath exhaled all the heat energy in a perfect sphere of comforting chill.

And Ëanor was furious and confused, seeing her most powerful beam come to a silent halt a meter from Sindëa. And she stormed forward and put her hands out and shot new beams of yet hotter plasma. And the Spire began to melt even outside of the direct onslaught of her rays. Ëanor roared and summoned all her might and hate, but Sindëa was as a statue of an angel, protected by her cold void.

Ëanor stepped closer once more, but her leg slid into the melted glass, and she roared in pain and lost the focus to continue her blasts. With calm precision, Sindëa moved her hands in a swift circle and froze the black sludge consuming Ëanor’s leg into a bitter solid. And Ëanor was budged and flailed, but her leg was fused into the tower.

Ëanor went to blast again, but Sindëa waved her hands, and all about Ëanor was cold, and she could not manifest her heat.

Shivering and horrified, she gestured again, but her flame was blocked from her.

“What have you done to me!”

“I did what I had to,”

“Make it stop! Give my flame back! I’ll do anything!”

“Do you yield?”

“Yes!”

“Do you swear that you shall make me Queen?”

“Yes. Yes! I Swear it. You are. The Rightful Queen. I yield!”

“Now please, free me from this frozen prison, you won’t leave your Auntie here to die?”

Sindëa walked over and took Ëanor’s hand, stopping her cold Dance.

“Can you loosen the slag with your own flame?” Sindëa asked.

“Of course,” Ëanor’s hatefully spewed, crushing Sindëa’s hand with her deadly grip, then stomped her free foot. “My Queen!”

The greatest strike of light and heat to ever burn the World cleaved the sky in two. Its impact shattered the Spire, turning its top half into a grenade of deadly shards that caused great destruction to much of the city below. Ëanor and Sindëa were gone, and there was silence.

Under the darkness of the dust thrown from the Spire’s demise, the Sisters of Fire stood stunned on the Amphitheatre’s steps. Among them was Flaharr, who arrived in Accah at length to help as she might. Seeing all hang their heads, she summoned her hope and raised her head.

Then Flaharr commanded, “Raise your heads, my Sisters!”

In that very moment, a gap in the dust revealed a figure descending from above. All espied a regal and calm presence come forth. And a great cry of joy and relief went out as a chant began, “Our Queen! Our Queen!”

Sindëa drifted to the stage and stood tall in front of her people. And the sun’s white light shone upon the ash and blood on her, dressing Sindëa in a pristine glow. Her divine image soothed the hearts of all the Sisters of Flame.

She closed her eyes and saw her mother’s proud smile.

And Sindëa wept.