Three days.
That's how long it took for the banners to arrive.
White silk with golden stitching—half-moon wrapped in flame. The new sigil. Not hers, not chosen, but declared.
They were raised in villages she'd never seen, carried by wolves she'd never spoken to, waved by cubs who cheered her name without knowing her voice.
And that was the danger.
They weren't cheering Liora.
They were cheering the version written for her.
---
Sienna placed a scroll on the war table, her face unreadable.
"They've renamed the ceremony."
Liora didn't touch it.
"What now?"
Sienna's voice was low. "The Binding of the Flame."
Kael stared at the words. "That's not a coronation. That's a ritual."
Darius crossed his arms. "They're rewriting the story while it's still being lived."
"They think I'll go through with it," Liora said, her voice tighter now. "Stand on their stone and say their words."
