The mirror sky had closed behind them. No sign remained of the passage Seris and her vanguard had torn through, only faint ripples of glasslight across the clouds. The Mirror Realm was behind them—but what lay ahead was no less haunted.
They emerged into the western reach of the Ember Range, beyond where any Solvyrian maps extended. The land was gray with silence, mountains burned smooth by ancient wars. Smoke clung to the ground like mist, and nothing moved beneath it—no birds, no flame-beasts, not even wind.
Kaelen took a step and stopped. His breath caught.
"Seris," he murmured. "Look."
Across the ash-strewn field, embedded into the scorched earth, stood a gate of black stone. Not built—grown. The obsidian surface pulsed with a slow heartbeat of red light, runes carved by time or something older.
Ashra approached it reverently, her voice low. "This is the Gate of Mourning. The final seal before the First Flame's cradle."
Seris stepped closer. The Sovereign's Crown burned faintly against her brow. Her heart ached—not with fear, but with memory. This was the place she had seen in the Wellspring. The final threshold. The shadow's door.
Kaelen reached for her hand. "We don't have to rush through it. Let the others rest first. You've carried so much…"
She looked at him, really looked. His storm-gray eyes were tired, rimmed with worry. His jaw clenched to hide the grief she knew he wouldn't voice.
"You've been at my side through everything," she said. "But you've lost, too. Your kingdom. Your kin. Even your name—Kaelen Stormfell."
He flinched, just slightly.
"You never asked for this," she continued. "You didn't have to follow me."
"I didn't follow you, Seris," he said quietly. "I chose you. There's a difference."
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. For the first time since the Wellspring, the fire within her dimmed—not in danger, but in quiet understanding.
"I don't know what's beyond this gate," she whispered. "Only that it's not just shadow. It's memory. Regret. All the broken parts of me I've never faced."
"Then let me face them with you," he said. "Even if I can't fight them."
"You already have," she said, voice cracking. "Every time I looked back… you were there."
She pulled him into an embrace—one not made of fire or power, but of closeness, of shared scars and quiet love. It was not the beginning of their bond, but the moment it bloomed.
Ashra turned away, giving them space.
The gate pulsed again.
And then, from the shadows beyond it, a whisper rose.
> "Seris…"
Not a threat.
A plea.
The ash around them stirred. Shapes formed—vague, pale silhouettes. Some bore armor. Some wore royal crests. One… was a child.
Seris's breath caught. "Mother?"
The figure didn't speak. Just stood there, eyes shimmering with unwept sorrow. Around her, others joined—echoes of the dead Seris had carried inside for years.
Arin stepped forward. "These aren't spirits. They're the weight of your fire. The remnants of every soul your magic has touched."
"The Gate is feeding on me," Seris whispered. "On my doubts."
Ashra nodded. "This is the test before the true war. If the Sovereign cannot walk through her own past, she cannot face what waits on the other side."
Kaelen turned to her. "Do you want me to hold them back?"
"No," Seris said, steadying her breath. "I need to walk through them."
And she did.
She passed the echo of her mother—the Queen of Solvyris—who had died waiting for her daughter's return. She passed the fire-wardens who had fallen under her command. She passed old versions of herself, younger, angrier, more afraid.
Each one whispered a truth.
Each one gave her back a piece of her own heart.
And when she reached the gate, the fire in her chest didn't rage.
It steadied.
It was ready.
She turned back one last time to Kaelen and the others.
"Tell them to follow in an hour," she said. "But I have to go first."
Kaelen's jaw clenched. "I trust you. But don't forget… you have something worth coming back to."
She touched his cheek, eyes burning. "That's why I have to go."
Then she stepped through.
---
The Gate of Mourning closed behind her.
And on the other side, a land waited.
Black skies. Ruined thrones. And rising from the heart of it, a citadel made of shadow and silence.
The Hollow Throne.
The place where the first Sovereign fell.
The place where the true war would begin.