A Broken Heart

The once-grand plaza of Lotringen’s middle ring lay in ruin. The echoes of the city’s former life were smothered beneath the weight of ash and silence, interrupted only by the faint crackling of dying embers. King Armand’s dark flames, summoned in rage and desperation, had consumed everything in their path. Buildings reduced to rubble, the air thick with smoke, and the faint glow of Plaga’s vines creeping ever closer marked the end of something fragile and human.

In the center of it all, Princess Yvette knelt, her breath shallow and uneven. She clutched her chest, feeling the warmth of her heartbeat—a sensation that should have brought relief but instead filled her with dread. She was alive, and yet she felt hollow, the weight of her father’s sacrifice pressing down on her like the remnants of a shattered crown.