## CHAPTER 70: _"The Ashes Between Us"_
The skies of Elira no longer wept—but neither did they smile.
Arien stood on the cliffs of Raemor, the last sacred place untouched by war or curse. Below him, the sea snarled like a caged beast. Above him, the clouds pressed low and heavy, as if the heavens themselves had knelt to witness what was to come.
Lysia approached from behind, her presence as quiet as memory.
> "You said you would never return here," she said.
> "I lied," Arien replied. "But only to myself."
---
**I. The Last Pilgrimage**
They were not alone.
Dozens of survivors from the outer provinces had followed them—some in silence, some in desperate hope. They called Arien *the Flamebearer*, and Lysia *the Cursebreaker*. Myths already blooming in the soil of their grief.
The journey to Raemor had not been kind. Forests once green now whispered with death. Rivers had changed course, as if trying to flee the pain of a land that had bled too long.
And in Lysia's dreams, the voice returned:
> "The heart you carry is not yours alone. It beats for all who've forgotten how."
---
**II. A Storm of Letters**
Three messages arrived in one night.
The first, from the rebuilt Eastern Court, begged for Arien's leadership.
The second, from the Western Nomads, offered tribute and alliance.
The third, unsigned, read only:
> *"The gods are not finished with you."*
Arien burned them all.
> "We've earned our silence," he told Lysia.
> "Then why do you still carry your sword?" she asked.
He looked at the blade. It was rusted now—not from blood, but from waiting.
---
**III. The Child of Ember**
A girl no older than ten tugged at Lysia's cloak. Her eyes shimmered like fire in water.
> "They say you loved someone and it didn't kill you."
> "Who told you that?"
> "Everyone."
> "Then they lied. It killed something in me. But it also brought something back."
The child tilted her head.
> "Then I want that kind of love too."
And for the first time in a long time, Lysia didn't flinch.
---
**IV. The Revival Flame**
In the temple ruins, Arien and Lysia lit the Revival Flame—once reserved for kings, now for survivors. Each name spoken was a vow never to forget. And when they reached the last name—*Arien Thorne*—he hesitated.
> "Speak it," Lysia urged.
> "I don't know who he is anymore."
> "He's the boy who carried a dying kingdom in his veins. And the man who loved the one thing he wasn't meant to touch."
Arien whispered his own name.
And the flame turned blue.
---
**V. The War That Wasn't**
On the seventh day, riders from the South came armed and armored.
But when they saw the people gathered—broken, rebuilding, together—they lowered their weapons.
> "We expected an army," their leader said.
> "We are one," Arien answered. "Just not the kind you trained for."
A silence passed between them.
And then the leader dismounted, removed his blade, and knelt.
> "Then let us fight for what you protect."
---
**VI. The Vow**
At dusk, by the dying light of the Revival Flame, Lysia took Arien's hand.
> "No crowns," she said.
> "No thrones," he added.
> "Only this?" she asked, raising their joined hands.
> "Only always."
They kissed—not as royalty, not as cursed relics—but as two people who had survived their story.
And in that kiss, the curse ended.
Or maybe… it simply changed.
---
**VII. After Flame**
They did not rule Elira. They walked it.
They told stories to orphans.
They planted firelilies in fields scarred by war.
They showed the young how to fight without hatred.
And when someone asked who they were, the answer was simple:
> "We're the ones who loved each other, even when it wasn't allowed."
> "We're the ones who burned, and didn't die."
> "We're the ones who remembered."