The Circle was complete.
But the world didn't cheer.
It shivered.
The sky cracked open like old glass. Not with thunder, but with silence so deep it made even Kesh stop grinning. They stood at the edge of a long-forgotten city, the stones beneath their feet humming with old magic.
"It's called Ardain," Niro said. "It was once the throne of all flame."
"It doesn't look like a throne," Myn whispered. "It looks like a grave."
Tall towers leaned like tired bones. Statues had no faces. The wind carried voices—but they weren't singing.
They were remembering.
Elira tightened her grip on the lantern. Its light dimmed here, as if the place tried to smother it.
At the center of Ardain was the throne.
Black stone. Cracked down the middle.
At its feet lay a crown.
Not gold.
Not silver.
Just iron.
Heavy and rusted and sad.
"That's it?" Varn asked. "We fix the world with a chair and a hat?"
"No," said a voice.
They turned.
A figure stepped out from the shadow of a pillar.
She wore robes of white smoke. Her eyes were moons. Her breath tasted like snow.
"I am the Keeper of Before," she said.
Solin gasped. "The last Queen of the Circle…"
The woman nodded. "Long ago, we wore this crown with pride. Until the Circle broke. Until the One Who Ends burned it. And now you come to wear it again."
Elira stepped forward. "I don't want a crown. I want peace."
The woman smiled gently. "Then you're the only one who deserves it."
The crown rose into the air.
It spun slowly. It pulsed with memories.
So many memories.
Of fire.
Of war.
Of loss.
The woman's voice dropped low.
"But to carry it, you must give something."
Elira didn't flinch. "What?"
"Your fire. Your part of the Circle. Forever."
Elira's chest ached.
The flames she lit. The bond she held. All of it.
She looked at her friends.
Varn bowed his head.
Myn bit her lip.
Solin's eyes welled up.
Kesh shook his head but said nothing.
Isen whispered, "You don't have to."
Niro only watched.
Elira turned back.
"I'll do it."
The crown fell toward her.
And the world shattered.
A howl rose.
The sky tore open.
The One Who Ends stood again—but different. Bigger. Wilder. He had tried to change—but part of him still wanted the fire. Still wanted the Circle for himself.
He roared, and the city shook.
The Queen raised her arms. "He must not touch the crown!"
Elira lifted the lantern.
But it flickered.
Her light was leaving.
She turned to her friends. "You have to protect it. I'll hold the Circle together."
"But you'll—" Kesh started.
"I know," she said.
The fire burst.
Shadows clashed with stars.
Frost clanged against ash.
Songs fought screams.
And in the middle of it all, Elira stood still.
The crown hovered above her head.
Her hands burned.
But she didn't let go.
She wouldn't.
Not ever.
And then—
Silence
Light.
One note.
Then
Nothing.