Shin Yato was gone.
Yet the black flames remained.
They continued to burn the capital — slowly, relentlessly, painfully.
The fire did not rush to kill.
It lingered, consuming everything bit by bit, as if savoring the suffering it caused.
Reinforcements soon arrived.
But the moment they witnessed the scene before them, they froze.
Screams filled the air—raw, broken cries of children, men, women, and elders alike. The sound alone was enough to make seasoned soldiers tremble. The sight was far worse.
They tried to move closer.
They couldn't.
The heat was unbearable, forcing them back no matter how hard they tried. Spells were cast, barriers raised, magic unleashed—but none of it worked. The black flames ignored everything, devouring flesh and stone with equal ease.
All they could do was watch.
Watch as people burned slowly.
Watch as lives faded in agony.
The fire was not merciful.
It was deliberate.
Inside the palace, those who had survived—the king, the queen, the princess, several ministers, knights, maids, and helpers—were alive.
Yet inside, they were already dead.
The screams from outside seeped through the walls, through the windows, through their souls. No one spoke. No one moved. Survival felt heavier than death.
Then—
Elizabeth stirred.
"M… Mom?" she whispered softly, half-awake.
"Dad…?"
The king and queen rushed to her side at once, pulling her into their arms as tears finally broke free.
"You're safe," the queen sobbed.
"You're alive."
As Elizabeth slowly regained consciousness, her eyes fluttered open.
Then she heard it.
The screaming.
The cries of people burning outside the palace walls.
Her body stiffened.
And the night answered her awakening with agony.
Elizabeth screamed as she wiped her tears.
"W-What happened?" she asked, her voice shaking.
Her eyes slowly turned toward her father.
The king's face was cold — frozen in sorrow. He said nothing.
That silence was enough.
Elizabeth covered her ears with her hands, trying desperately to shut out the screams of people burning alive.
"It's all my fault… it's all my fault…"
She murmured the same words again and again, her voice breaking, repeating them like a mad prayer.
One hand pressed tightly against her ear, as if she could block the world away.
The queen rushed forward and pulled her into a tight embrace.
"No… no, my daughter," she cried.
"It is not your fault. It's not your fault. Everything will be alright."
She held Elizabeth firmly, refusing to let her fall apart.
The king sat beside them.
He remained silent.
The guilt on his face was unbearable—heavy enough to crush his very soul. A king who had failed his people. A father who could not protect his child.
The smell of burning flesh filled the air.
Heat waves distorted the night itself.
The night was the same as before—
but this time, it felt endlessly long,
as if it would never end.
After three days, the black flames finally burned out.
Nothing remained.
No bodies.
No bones.
Not even fragments of flesh.
Only ashes.
The wind blew gently through the ruins, scattering the ashes across the empty streets — as if trying to erase the last proof that anyone had ever lived there at all.
Some wounds do not burn away…
they remain forever, carved into the hearts of those who survived.