The flames that had engulfed Iralith now smoldered quietly, as if the city itself were holding its breath. Ember stood at the center of it all, her companions watching her with a mixture of awe and uncertainty. Even the Scorchbinders—once fanatics sworn to the Ashen Circle—remained kneeling, as though waiting for judgment.
Velra lay among the rubble, defeated but not broken. Her black armor was cracked, the remnants of her flame flickering weakly at her fingertips. Her eyes met Ember's—not with rage, but with a strange, grudging respect.
"You could have killed me," Velra said, coughing. "Why didn't you?"
Ember stepped forward slowly, her voice calm but resolute. "Because that's the choice you were never given. You were born in fire and told you had to burn the world to matter. That was their lie, not yours."
Velra's eyes narrowed. "You think mercy makes you stronger?"
"No," Ember replied. "But choosing it does."
From behind her, Lysra stepped forward, staff in hand. "The Ashen Circle won't stop with Velra. You know that."
"I know," Ember said, turning toward her friends. "But now we've seen what they fear—this. The Flame unbound. A truth no longer shackled to prophecy."
Orin gave a wary glance to the horizon. "Then what's next? If not war, what?"
Ember looked to the remnants of Iralith—the scorched towers, the healing stone, the people who had followed her not out of conquest, but out of hope. She felt the heat inside her pulse, not with destruction, but with possibility.
"We show them something they've forgotten," she said. "That fire can build. That power can be shared, not hoarded."
She raised her hand, and the pale flame returned—steady, unwavering. From the earth below, green shoots pushed through ash. The city responded, as if drawn to her vision.
"We go to the Emberspire," she said. "We bring the Flame back to the world—not as a weapon. As a gift."
Velra, still kneeling, laughed bitterly. "You're a fool."
"Maybe," Ember said. "But this time, I get to choose what kind."
---
The wind shifted. Smoke thinned. And the first light of dawn pierced the clouds over Iralith—soft, golden, and full of promise.