The sanctuary gates opened at dusk.
Wind howled between the stone archways, scattering ash and the petals of the fire-blossom trees. Aria stood at the edge of the central courtyard, the weight of the crown's magic still humming through her bones, her palms marked faintly with glowing threads of Flameborn energy. Rowan stood behind her, silent but watchful.
And then—they appeared.
Tobias entered first, his stride purposeful, shoulders squared, armor dark with travel and dust. Dorian followed, quiet but alert, his eyes scanning everything, lingering on Aria as if needing to see her—truly see her—before believing she was still there. Marcus trailed them both, winded but alive, his tunic stained with blood—not his, Aria hoped—and his expression unreadable.
They stopped before her.
None of them spoke.
For one long moment, the silence between them stretched across memories, across pain and love and everything that had gone unspoken since the bond.
Aria finally broke it.