The Ceremonial Ritual began with Byanka and Aamon entering the Supreme Temple.
The enormous doors closed behind them with a deep, echoing thud, sealing them within the ancient sanctuary. The temple was unusually quiet, its walls illuminated only by the faint glow of enchanted candles and the pale light of the celestial symbols engraved upon the stone floor. Every mark, every carving, and every sigil had been preserved for generations, carrying the weight of traditions older than either of them.
They approached the center of the temple and began the ritual.
Byanka stood before the sacred altar while Aamon remained beside her, carefully following the prescribed incantations. Their voices echoed through the vast chamber as they recited the ancient words, each syllable woven into the magic surrounding them. The air gradually grew heavier as the ritual took effect.
Then Byanka heard something.
"Byanka…"
Her voice faltered.
She looked around the temple, but nothing seemed out of place.
"Byanka… run…"
The voice was mysterious, yet strangely gentle. It sounded as though someone were whispering directly into her mind.
Byanka's breathing became uneven.
"Did you hear that?" she asked.
Aamon paused.
Before he could answer, the voice returned.
"Byanka… run…"
Again.
And again.
The warning repeated itself with increasing urgency, yet its softness made it even more unsettling. Byanka tried to concentrate on the ritual, but the voice continued to invade her thoughts.
"Byanka… run…"
Aamon eventually heard it as well.
His eyes shifted toward the darkened corners of the temple.
"Who's there?"
Neither of them received an answer.
Then a sudden sound came from the temple doors.
Both of them immediately stopped.
Their eyes opened at the same time.
The enormous doors slowly creaked apart.
A figure stood beyond them.
The Lady of Night.
She entered the temple with an eerie calmness, carrying a sphere of darkness within her hand. It appeared almost weightless, yet the space surrounding it seemed distorted, as though the darkness itself were consuming the light.
It was the Orb of Lost Memories, an ancient artifact said to contain the fragments of memories that had been forgotten, stolen, or erased from the world.
Lady Cierra, the current Lady of Night, stared directly at Byanka.
Her expression was difficult to read.
Suspicion lingered in her eyes as she studied the young woman before her.
"You're such a beauty, still carrying the innocence of youth," Cierra said softly. "Yet you seek Supreme Power?"
Byanka remained silent.
Aamon immediately stepped forward.
"Lady Cierra of Night," he said cautiously. "Don't tell me you've forgotten the tradition. Or are you merely testing us?"
Cierra's gaze shifted toward him.
For a moment, the temple fell completely silent.
Every generation, the Lady of Night inherited the responsibility of becoming the guardian of lost memories and fate. It was a sacred duty entrusted to her bloodline, one that demanded absolute obedience to the will of Heaven.
Yet power had a way of changing those who possessed it.
The longer a Lady of Night carried such authority, the easier it became for her to forget the boundaries between duty and personal judgment.
Cierra, however, had never considered herself above Heaven's will.
She simply followed what she was commanded to do.
And this time, she had been commanded to take Byanka's memories.
Cierra raised the Orb of Lost Memories.
Darkness immediately spilled from its surface.
Byanka's eyes widened.
"Wait…"
Before she could move, the darkness reached her.
Her memories began to unravel.
Images of her childhood, her family, her friends, the people she had loved, the places she had once called home, and every moment that had shaped her began disappearing one after another.
"Stop!"
Aamon lunged forward.
But he was too late.
Byanka's body weakened.
Her knees gave way, and she collapsed onto the cold stone floor.
"Byanka!"
Aamon caught her before her head struck the ground.
Her eyes had already closed.
The memories were being taken from her.
Aamon stared at Cierra in disbelief.
He could not simply stand there and watch his friend's memories disappear.
Something inside him snapped.
He turned toward the sacred chamber where the Supreme Weapon of the Firelands was kept.
The Supreme Flaming Sword.
He knew exactly what would happen if he took it.
He also knew that he had no chance of controlling its power.
But he did it anyway.
Aamon seized the sword.
The moment his hand closed around its hilt, an overwhelming force erupted through his body.
Flames burst across the temple.
The sacred symbols beneath his feet began to glow as the sword released an enormous surge of power. Aamon's body trembled as the weapon's energy coursed through him, burning through every limit he had ever known.
He nearly lost control.
Yet Cierra did not attack him.
Instead, she watched him carefully.
"You made a foolish decision," she said.
Aamon struggled to breathe.
"I don't care."
The flames surrounding him grew stronger.
Cierra raised one hand.
"Then learn to control it."
The darkness of the Orb of Lost Memories intertwined with the flames of the Supreme Flaming Sword. Rather than extinguishing one another, the two forces began to stabilize.
Aamon's breathing slowly became steady.
The flames stopped raging uncontrollably.
He tightened his grip.
For the first time, he felt the power obey him.
He had mastered it.
But when Aamon looked toward where Cierra had been standing, she was gone.
There was no trace of her.
Only silence remained.
Aamon lowered the sword and immediately returned to Byanka.
She was still unconscious.
He carefully lifted her and allowed her head to rest against his lap.
For reasons he could not understand, the moment he looked at her, something within him changed.
The anger that had consumed him moments earlier disappeared.
His expression softened.
His hands, still trembling from the power of the Supreme Flaming Sword, gently brushed the hair away from Byanka's face.
Aamon stared at her for a long moment.
Even he did not understand why he suddenly felt this way.
He only knew that he could not leave her behind.
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Six Months Later
For six months, Aamon kept Byanka hidden from the world.
He gave her a new name.
Vyenka.
To everyone else, Byanka had disappeared.
Rumors eventually began spreading throughout the kingdom.
Some claimed that the Ice Queen had fallen ill.
Others whispered that she had abandoned the kingdom entirely.
Eventually, the most frightening rumor became the most widely believed.
The Ice Queen was dead.
No one had seen Byanka for months.
Meanwhile, deep within the palace, Byanka remained unconscious.
Until one day, after six long months, her eyes finally opened.
Aamon was attending to several matters of state when one of his trusted Fire Guards hurried into the room.
The guard approached him and lowered his voice.
"Your Majesty, Miss Vyenka is awake."
Aamon froze.
His expression immediately changed.
Without another word, he dismissed the meeting and hurried toward Byanka's chambers.
When he entered, he found her standing beside the window.
She looked fragile after spending so long unconscious, yet there was something strangely peaceful about her.
Sunlight poured through the window, illuminating her face.
Aamon stopped at the doorway.
For a moment, he simply stared.
Then he spoke softly.
"Vyenka?"
Byanka turned toward him.
Her eyes were filled with confusion.
She looked at him as though he were a complete stranger.
"Who's Vyenka?"