The Northern Empire, a lost dynasty, where its frozen lands burn with the fever of conquest. Sovereign Cerydra, the Chrysos Heir who wields the Coreflame of “Law,” weaves her schemes, contends with the gods, passes judgment upon the faithless, and lays the foundation of the Flame-Chase into this world.
“… This is far from the end. Amphoreus's journey is set to blaze across the stars!”

Hyperboroea, the Northern Empire. A frigid realm where ambition burns without end. Since the childless sovereign fell, the throne sits vacant while the empire tears itself apart in endless civil strife.

Refugees who lost their homes resort to begging to survive. A wounded girl with unusual blue hair stands out starkly against the pristine snow.
“Only the royal family blessed by Talanton possesses such flame-like blue hair, and only the chosen ones have golden blood flowing through their veins…”
An ambitious aristocrat takes in the beggar girl simply from just a passing glance, and begins spreading rumors of a lost princess.

They lead her onto a magnificent high stage where the aristocrat raises her arm high. From her pricked fingertip drips blood as golden as dawn itself.
The crowd below grows wild with excitement, and that heated anticipation seemingly sets her ablaze as well.

“From this day forward, you are 'Princess Cerydra'.”
The aristocrat leads her into the palace, where she's dressed in ornate, heavy garments.
“Cery… dra?”
A single moment of hesitation earns her a slap so sharp it nearly brings tears to her eyes.
“I am… I am… Cery… dra…
I am Cerydra.
I am her.”
She controls her trembling as distant screams fade away.
—Those were the screams of the previous princess.

She studies royal etiquette daily until the tight corset no longer causes pain, until she can confidently deliver speeches…
“As the princess is still young, I shall serve as regent and oversee the Hyperborean Empire's affairs.” The aristocrat gathers support in her name while seizing royal authority.
“She's merely a pawn we can discard, but she plays her role well enough to keep around.” In the shadows, the new regent exchanges knowing smirks with the chancellor.

Endless days in captivity blur together as the young “princess” reluctantly abandons the distant shimmer of stars to focus on her chessboard.
This is the game for her self-preservation.

“Proud princess. Those eyes of yours, always watching, always hiding… They are like…“
“Like what?”
With barely any effort, she will soon reach the border of the chessboard.
“Like a flame soon to ignite…”

With a bittersweet smile, her teacher places down the final chess piece. After thousands of matches, there's no longer a chess strategy the princess has not mastered.

The imperial maids and guards have no power or status, yet they become the ever-present eyes throughout the shifting court.
She wins them with favors, gathers intelligence, and weaves a complex web of strategies.
Old aristocrats who despise the new king secretly plot rebellion, placing assassins among the royal guards.
She plays the willing conspirator while secretly positioning her “knights” who will do the dirty work.
The empire's citizens revere her fabricated bloodline, so she extends charity to the elderly and supports the vulnerable.
Her rising reputation wins them over, making them into “rooks” who will dominate the board.

“Meet me in my tent at the third quint of Curtain-Fall Hour. Urgent matters to discuss in private, Your loyal chancellor.”
As the sealed note finds its way to her, she knows her essential “bishop” has entered play, with each courtier now conspiring in pursuit of their covert desire for military expansion.

Candlelight dances across the tent, casting shadows of deceit. The chancellor wears a smile as hollow as a faded portrait.
“The northern territories share nothing with the south's gentle warmth.” He points to the map sprawled before them, “Lingering here will be Hyperborea's undoing. I've secured the continent's most formidable mercenaries. The regent requests that you personally lead the campagin…”

She knows they see her as expendable, ready to blame her for any failure that might occur.
But she's waited far too long. Without a daring gamble, how could she ever hope to turn the tables?

Crossing the mountains of Epos, she realizes the opportunity when Loukas rises in rebellion. She crushes their forces while recruiting the Chrysos General Fortunado to her side, winning the army's loyalty.
City after city falls as Hyperborean armies advance like an unstoppable blaze. The blue-haired girl raises her banner, sending thundering hooves toward her chosen targets.
She watches her army build up, knowing her final “pawns” are positioned for checkmate.

On that dark, snowy night, the triumphant princess rides a silver-white steed, leading her forces through the capital gates to proclaim new edicts…
“From this day forward, I shall bring justice to Hyperborea!”

They drag the regent “king” who wears the false crown from his chambers, while his loyalists who refuse to bend find only soldiers' steel awaiting them.
“She… she is not Cerydra!”
From her throne of judgment, she draws her blade across her palm and golden blood trickles down as the crowd mocks him, drowning the “king” in despair.
“This regent 'king' has governed with depravity, plunging the empire into chaos. By the authority of the Law, I hereby sentence you…”

In the bitter northern winds, her blue hair dances wildly, blazing like fire against the pale sky.
“Death by fire!”

Amid the flames, she places the imperial crown upon her head, her only trophy of war. A flicker of cobalt fire awakens atop the crown, never to be quenched again.