The chamber was silent.
The two paths burned before them: one of endless flame, one of silent dusk.
Ashrel stood tall. His ember-eye flickered, casting strange shadows behind him — shadows that did not move when he did.
Lira stood opposite, her hand near her chest, the flame-scar on her palm glowing softly.
"You can't end it," Ashrel said. His voice was gentle, almost pleading.
"You saw what's coming. Without the flame, we're dust."
"And with it?" Lira asked. "We become what the flame became — endless war. Endless hunger."
The child on the throne of bones and fire said nothing.
They watched.
Listening.
Waiting.
Ansha stepped forward, voice low.
"We trusted the flame to guide us. But it was never meant to rule us."
"Maybe the point of fire… was to teach us how not to need it anymore."
Ashrel turned sharply.
"You'd choose death?"
"No," she replied. "I'd choose release."
Trellen's voice cracked as he spoke.
"We've all lost too much. Families. Cities. Names. If the flame keeps taking, there'll be nothing left to burn."
Lira's eyes met Ashrel's.
"We're not enemies," she said.
"We're mirrors."
Ashrel stared at her for a long moment.
Then… nodded once.
"Then let's both touch it."
"At the same time?"
"If it's truly choice the flame wants—"
"Let it see both sides."
Together, they stepped forward.
The two paths blurred as they moved — fire bleeding into shadow, light mixing with silence.
The child on the throne closed their eyes.
The air pulsed.
And as Lira and Ashrel reached the center… they placed their hands on the final ember.
It exploded.
Not outward — but inward.
A surge of heat and memory and sound and nothingness ripped through them.
They were no longer standing.
They were falling.
They were flying.
They were remembering everything the flame had ever touched:
The first tree struck by lightning. The first hearth built by human hands. The first war sparked by fire. The first love warmed beside it. The first betrayal sealed in ash.
And then… silence.
A voice — not the child's — whispered in both of them.
"Thank you.
For remembering me.
For unmaking me.
For becoming something new."
When they opened their eyes…
They stood in a meadow.
Not a Vault.
Not a ruin.
A field of living flamegrass, swaying gently in wind.
The sun was rising — not from the east, but from within the land itself.
Davin, Ansha, and Trellen emerged beside them, blinking at the light.
Ashrel was crying.
He didn't know why.
Lira looked to the horizon.
There were no more Vaults.
No more gods.
But the flame still burned — not in war, not in worship…
…but in the hearts of those who had learned to let go.