The Ashen Queen Red Reign

The stars turned a blind eye to her, but the Ash had not forgotten.

They called it the Culling Night. It was a chaotic scene, with a sky on fire, booming thunder echoing from the orbital palaces, and the awful smell of burning flesh drifting through the capital. It was the night when the bloodline of Elara Vey had been wiped out in deadly silence—kings and queens had their heads severed from their bodies, blood royal the color of ink, destined to fade into history without leaving a trace.

And in that hellish fortress, a girl fell from grace, not crying for mercy but screaming for the memories that had slipped away.

They said Elara was dead.

But out beyond the glitzy Crown Worlds, in the haunting emptiness of the Unseen Wastes, old things lingered that were far older than anything electronic. The Ash Protocol. Some called it a tale, others a curse, a second chance wrapped in machinery and anguish. They captured her memories and merged them into a molten core, restoring her body over bones that held onto every betrayal she endured.

Now, after seven long years, Elara Vey was alive again.

But she wasn’t anything close to the last hope of House Vey. She wasn’t the shining lady with silver-lined veins who could charm anyone with just a smile. No, she had transformed into something entirely different. She was reborn from ashes and crowned by flames. Her eyes chilled with a new resolve, her limbs were no longer entirely alive, and her breath held an odd vibration that sent shivers through machinery nearby.

She wore her anger like armor, and it looked striking.

When she first inhaled the air above ground, it tasted metallic. The old lift groaned as it climbed the remains of a mining tower, its mechanics screeching like trapped animals. The stars above shone with a strange violet glow through a damaged dome above, but they didn’t bring her any comfort.

She ran her fingers over a shard of a mirror set in her gauntlet. The reflection was familiar but also touched by something else entirely. Her silver eyes, delicate symbols etched below her cheekbones, hair black as the soot from her past. She looked like a spectral version of a queen who had met her end screaming.

“Are you really sure you want to do this?” asked Raen, the one who had brought her back to life. His voice always trembled when she brought up the Capital.

“I’m not here to wish for things,” Elara replied softly. “I’m here to finish this.”

Raen frowned at her words. “And what about him? Don’t you remember what he meant to you?”

Elara hesitated. Oh, did she remember. The memories were etched into her soul.

Kairos Vale—the boy with eyes that looked like galaxies and the hands of a killer. The one who now sat on the throne that was rightfully hers, adorned with the very symbol of the dynasty he had helped destroy.

She had loved him, and that part of her still lived on.

But so did the part that recalled how he had held a blade to her father’s throat.

Elara turned her back to Raen. “He made his choice.”

“What if that choice wasn’t truly his?” Raen’s voice dropped in volume, quieter now. “What if he was forced?”

Elara had no reply. Some wounds were louder in the silence surrounding them.

The Citadel of Halior blazed like a star in the darkness, its imposing structure built from dark materials and dream-like stones, resting at the edge of the atmosphere as if wearing a crown. It was a symbol of power and decay—beauty distorted by the ruins of tyranny.

Rebels murmured about it in coded messages and whispers. They sought a figure to rally behind. A queen thought lost but now found again, forged by her suffering. But Elara wasn’t interested in being a symbol. She was focused on vengeance.

Her entry point into the palace was a forgotten exit, a remnant of old royal pathways that had been wiped from public records. She moved with the quietness of a shadow, her limbs gliding against metal as she bypassed scans and locks with an ease that made Raen’s skin prickle.

Inside, the palace stank of regulations. Drones floated around like bugs, their wings making low humming sounds. Servants walked with their eyes cast down, shiny implants visible through their hair. Cameras blinked but couldn’t spot her.

She was the Ash. She slipped through detection like smoke slipping through fingers.

And then she heard it—his voice. Precise and collected. But somehow, it was still hers.

Kairos.

From the balcony of the throne room, he stood draped in dark robes, a stream of data flickering before him—war details, diplomatic routines, bloodline records. But beneath it all, she noticed the tension in his posture, a twitch in his breath whenever he invoked her House.

“My lords, House Vey is no longer a threat. The bloodline is extinct.”

“Then why,” she stepped out from the shadows, “do you still hesitate when you say my name?”

The room fell silent.

The projections dissolved into nothing.

Kairos turned slowly, with the look of someone scared she might disappear again if he moved too quickly.

“Elara…”

Her name fell from his mouth like a prayer, shattered and painful.

She did not flinch. “Is this how you greet ghosts?”

He remained quiet, just looking at her as if trying to remember how to breathe.

Then he said softly, “I buried you.”

“You helped kill me.”

“No.” His voice was harsh. “You think I wanted that? That I—”

“You chose your throne over me.”

“I chose survival,” he shouted.

“No, Kairos,” she said, moving closer. “You chose betrayal. And now you will face the consequences.”

They clashed under the fierce light of the arboretum, weapons drawn, each attack tearing at the silence between them. He was still her equal. Quick, maybe even quicker. But she had fire in her veins now, and pain had made her ruthless.

“You don’t know what they did to me,” she hissed, parrying with a blade that skimmed too close to her face.

“I tried to save you!” he shouted back. “But you were already marked. I had no choice!”

“There’s always a choice!”

He moved closer, desperation in his eyes. “Then why are you here, Elara? To kill me?”

“No,” she whispered, placing her blade against his throat. “To remind you of who you were before the throne twisted you into something monstrous.”

His breath caught in his throat. For a moment, time stood still.

“I never stopped loving you,” he confessed.

And d*mn it all, that stung because she hadn’t either.

That night, she found herself sleeping in the hidden vaults beneath the palace chambers, clutching her weapon tightly, her thoughts tangled in old wounds. Kairos didn’t call for guards. He didn’t try to hinder her. He didn’t even reach for her as she turned away, even though his eyes pleaded for it.

It was so painful to acknowledge that.

But love wouldn’t fill the void. Not now that her lineage was gone and her people were hunted like animals.

She dreamed of flames.

Of a throne crumbling beneath her feet.

Of a universe crying out for justice—finally receiving it in the shape of a woman too wounded to bend.

The rebellion didn’t arrive with loud cries but with a subtle sign just three days later.

Encrypted words burned through the night: ASH. RISE.

Elara found herself at the helm of a commandeered ship, winds whipping her hair about, her eyes focused on the fleet emerging from the dark corners.

She wouldn’t be an afterthought.

She wouldn’t bow to memories.

She would rise, crowned not in kindness but in vengeance.

Kairos would have to make his choice. Her or the throne.

And this time, there would be no middle ground.

Elara had seen a lot in her time, but what came next was a whole new level of chaos.

The stars weren’t making any noise.

When Elara took her first breath after the fire, it felt like swallowing ashes—bitter, sharp, and all too reminiscent of everything that had slipped through her fingers. She’d already faced a kind of death before; it was lingering under the weight of betrayal, forgotten in the darkness of space, as if nobody thought she could come back. They all figured she was done for, washed away like a fleeting memory.

The Ash Protocol was the last straw, an intricate scheme meant to wipe her out completely. It took everything—her name, her family, and what felt like her very soul. They thought they’d erased her entirely, that they’d scattered her spirit like dust in the wind. But they were sorely mistaken.

Now, Elara stood all alone in a cold, abandoned lab, the metallic tang scratching at her senses like a last echo of her prior life. The silence arou