Long before Alfirk raised her Spire or Errai gathered her echoes, the world was unshaped — a sea of violet mist that hummed with the first light of creation. And from that light came Segin, youngest of the three, the flame that gave the world its motion.
While Alfirk ruled through sight and Errai through sound, Segin ruled through memory itself. Her realm was the root beneath all others — the archive of beginnings, endings, and everything the world dared forget. She did not command armies or seek worship; her power came from remembrance. Every truth hidden by her sisters, every shadow buried beneath centuries of silence, she held within her.
When Alfirk’s silence shattered and Errai’s song spread through the lands, Segin stirred beneath the world’s crust — her eyes opening to the tremors above. For ages, she had watched, patient and unseen, as her sisters tried to sculpt perfection and preserve pain. Their quarrels had twisted the balance of the Violet Kingdom, fracturing what once was whole.
Rising from the roots, her armor shimmered like obsidian laced with stars, her crown of thorns woven from memories too sharp to forget. She did not weep for the broken order. She had expected it. For where there is light and sound, there must also be shadow — and she was that shadow made flesh.
Segin walked the forgotten roads, gathering those left behind by Alfirk’s laws and those haunted by Errai’s voices. To them, she promised truth — not the soft kind that comforts, but the kind that transforms. “The past,” she said, “is not a chain. It is a blade. Wield it.”
When the three sisters finally met beneath the violet auroras once more, the air rippled with the power of all they had created — and all they had denied. Alfirk sought redemption, Errai sought reunion, but Segin sought only balance.
She lifted her hand and tore the veil between their realms, releasing light, sound, and memory into one unbroken current. The world shuddered — then began again.
The Thrones of the Violet Kingdom dissolved into myth, their power diffused through generations. Some say the auroras that paint the night sky are the last remnants of their reign — Alfirk’s light, Errai’s song, and Segin’s shadow dancing forever together.
Yet sometimes, when the night turns deep purple and the stars hum softly, the old whispers return. Three thrones. Three queens. One kingdom that remembers.