The crystal shattered like glass touched by thunder.
Flame and starlight erupted in the chamber, casting long shadows as Aran shielded his eyes. When the brilliance dimmed, Elira fell into his arms, her body warm, her breath shallow—but alive.
Her eyes fluttered open.
And she remembered.
Not just this life, but all the lives they had shared.
A thousand fragments flooded her mind— Aran born in different eras, across realms of sky and stone. Lovers, warriors, enemies, saviors. In every life, she had chosen him.
"Elira?"
Her hand trembled in his. "I know who I am. Who we were."
The man in star-threaded robes stepped forward. "She carries the memory of the Crown now. She is its Keeper."
Aran narrowed his gaze. "What does that mean?"
"It means," Elira said softly, "the Flame was never the final fire. It was only the first. There is another... older, watching."
Aran helped her stand. "Then we face it. Together."
The chamber quaked.
Above them, in the spire's peak, the crown pulsed faster. Through Elira, it had awoken a truth buried beneath flame and prophecy:
There was still one life left unremembered.
And in it, Aran had broken the world.