The Queen

The golden spires of Elyndor, the capital city of Thea, shimmered beneath the light of the twin suns, casting long, elegant shadows across the marble streets. The air hummed with the soft resonance of energy crystals embedded in the architecture, their glow pulsing like the heartbeat of the planet itself. Thea was a world of beauty and precision, where every curve of every tower, every whisper of the wind through the crystalline gardens, had been crafted with intention. And it was all about to die. Queen Veyra stood on the balcony of the Royal Spire, her fingers resting lightly on the railing, her violet eyes fixed on the horizon. The sky, usually a canvas of soft pinks and blues, was streaked with ominous hues of crimson. The humans called it "The Red Dawn," but Veyra knew the truth—it was the first sign of the end. Behind her, the grand chamber of the Spire stretched in all its opulent glory. Walls of iridescent pearlstone shifted colors with the angle of the light, depicting the history of Thea in delicate engravings. The floor was a mosaic of living crystal, its patterns shifting subtly underfoot, reacting to the presence of those who walked upon it. The throne itself was carved from the heart of a fallen star-metal, its surface etched with the names of every ruler who had sat upon it. Veyra’s gown, woven from threads of liquid starlight, draped around her like a second skin, shifting between silver and deep blue as she moved. Her crown—a circlet of intertwined platinum and soulfire gems—rested lightly upon her brow, its glow a constant reminder of the burden she carried. "Your Majesty." The voice was soft but firm. Veyra turned to see her High Scholar, Taelis, standing at the edge of the balcony, his robes of deep emerald rustling in the wind. His face, lined with age and wisdom, was grim. "The calculations are confirmed. There is no altering the course now." She had known this was coming. For decades, Thea’s scientists had watched as their planet’s orbit decayed, drawn inexorably toward the blue-green world called Earth. They had tried everything—redirecting the planetary engines, altering gravitational fields, even pleading with the ancient cosmic entities that slumbered in the void. But fate was unyielding. "How long?" Veyra asked, her voice steady despite the weight pressing against her ribs. "Three days," Taelis replied. "Perhaps four, if the atmospheric resistance slows the descent." Three days. A lifetime and a blink. Below them, Elyndor thrived in ignorant bliss. The citizens—tall, elegant beings with skin like polished opal and eyes that gleamed with inner light—went about their lives in the shadow of doom. Market stalls in the Sapphire District glittered with enchanted jewelry and floating delicacies. The Grand Aqueducts carried liquid light instead of water, their luminescent streams feeding the city’s gardens. The Sky Choirs sang from the floating temples, their voices harmonizing with the planet’s own resonant frequency. They did not know. Not yet. Veyra had kept the truth hidden, fearing panic, fearing despair. But now, time had run out. "Summon the High Council," she said. "And prepare the Evacuation Protocol." Taelis hesitated. "The ships… there are not enough." "I know." Her fingers tightened on the railing. "But we will save who we can." --- That night, under a sky now stained with fire, Veyra walked the streets of Elyndor one last time. The city was alive with music and laughter, the air sweet with the scent of night-blooming crystal flowers. She passed the Hall of Echoes, where the spirits of past rulers whispered secrets to those who dared listen. She paused at the Bridge of a Thousand Lights, where lovers etched their promises into the glowing railings, their words preserved forever in the city’s memory. And then she reached the Observatory, where the High Council waited in silence. The room was a dome of pure transparency, the stars above visible in perfect clarity. The Council—twelve of Thea’s most brilliant minds—stood around a holographic projection of the two doomed planets, their faces illuminated by the cold glow. "We cannot stop the collision," Veyra said, her voice ringing clear in the stillness. "But we can ensure that Thea does not die in vain." She activated the final command. The planetary archives—every memory, every song, every fragment of their civilization—would be encoded into the core crystals and launched toward Earth. Thea’s legacy would survive, even if its people could not. And as for her… Veyra looked up at the sky, where Earth now loomed like a specter. She would be the last Queen of Thea. And she would fall with her world.