Silence hung over Pyraeth.
The battlefield, once roaring with fire and fury, now smoldered. Bodies lay still, armor scorched, banners torn. The air was thick with smoke—and something older. Something watching.
Arien stood at the highest tower, staring at the distant ruins of the flying citadel. "It's over," she whispered.
But Maev, beside her, shook her head. "No. This was a battle. Not the war."
The death of King Theron sent shockwaves through the realm.
All across the kingdom, cities rebelled. Lords chose sides. Flamebearers, long hidden, emerged from exile. And in the capital, the Throne of Ash, once feared, now stood empty—its chains cold.
Kael approached Arien as the council gathered in Pyraeth.
"You could take it," he said. "The throne."
She looked away. "That's not why I fight."
"You bear the Crownflame. You ended a tyrant."
"I'm not what comes after," she said. "I'm just the fire that clears the way."
Inside the ruined citadel, Maev found a chamber untouched by flame.
Its walls were lined with mirrors that didn't reflect reality—but memory.
In one, Arien's face flickered… but behind her stood a tall figure in black flame, eyes like moons.
Maev paled. "This… this wasn't Theron's work."
From the shadows stepped a shape cloaked in whispers.
"I wondered when you'd find this place," it said. "The Crown was never your greatest enemy."
"Who are you?" Maev asked.
It smiled—too many teeth.
"I am the first flame. The one before light. The one even gods forgot."
Then it vanished.
Back in Pyraeth, Joss held a funeral for fallen rebels—lighting coins on fire and launching them into the sky.
Kael approached Arien with a map. "Capitals are falling. People are asking for a banner."
She traced her finger along the burned edges. "Then we give them something true. Not a crown. A cause."
Kael grinned. "The girl who hid her flame now lights the path."
Arien didn't smile.
Because in her dreams, the mirrors ha
d begun to whisper.
And something ancient had started to wake.