teaser of episode 17
Ezra (cold):
“Confess. Repent. Reign—?
No. You don’t even deserve repentance.”
He raised his blade high, preparing the final strike.
The echoes of battle fade, leaving only Ezra, bloodied and breathless, standing above the kneeling Warden.
The ground trembles slightly beneath them—a hush before history breathes again.
Ezra’s blade glows with latent power, trembling as it hovers above the old knight’s neck.
The Warden looks up at him—not in fear, but in peace.
“You’ve won,” he says softly. “Pride now belongs to you.”
Ezra frowns, confused. “You… relinquish it?”
But before the final blow is struck, the world twists.
A ripple of memory breaks through the Asylum’s walls.
A vision floods in—light and shadow dancing like phantoms.
The skies above the Citadel wept violet fire.
The horizon split. The stars bled.
And still—inside the Sanctum—she stood.
The Late Queen.
Her breath shallow. Her lips cracked.
Blood dripping from her fingertips as she carved the last rune of the Seal.
She was dying.
And she smiled like she was being born.
The Warden fell before her—his armor scorched, his pride already in ruins.
Warden (broken):
“Don’t ask this of me.”
“Don’t make me live without you.”
She cupped his face with trembling fingers.
Her touch—fever-warm. Her hands—shaking like autumn leaves.
Late Queen (softly):
“You always feared death. I feared something worse—”
“That you would forget who you are, if I died.”
“So I’ll make sure you remember.”
She drew her sigil across his brow with her own blood.
“You are the Shield. The Guardian. The Flame that doesn’t consume.”
And then, she leaned close—
Forehead to forehead. Breath to breath.
Late Queen (whisper):
“Guard the Sanctum. Guard the memory. Guard what matters.”
“Even if you hear me scream…”
“You do not come.”
She looked at him one last time.
“If you love me—stay.”
Then she turned and walked to the throne—
Alone.
The walls shook. The enemy breached.
And he—
He ran.
“She needs me.”
He shattered her seal.
He cast aside her command.
And when he found her…
She stood alone in the throne room, surrounded.
Her crown had fallen. Her arms limp.
And still—she smiled.
Late Queen (soft, shattering):
“You disobeyed me.”
She raised her hand. The spell was already complete.
“Goodbye, my beloved.”
Light.
Ash.
Nothing.
