The golden leaf drifted slowly through the cavern's glowing air, radiating warmth beyond fire. It settled between Aran and Elira, hovering for a breathless moment—then split in two.
One half sank into Aran's chest, merging with the ember already within him. The other half spiraled into Elira's palm, leaving a faint, sun-shaped mark.
Power surged through them both—equal, shared. Not dominance, not burden. Balance.
"The Flamebound has been reforged," the Emberthorn whispered. "And now, Keeper and Oathbearer must rise together."
Aran's eyes shone with golden fire. For the first time, his promise didn't feel like a weight. It felt like purpose.
Elira turned to the stairs. "We have to return. Valebright's silence… it wasn't natural."
They ascended quickly, feeling the land shift beneath them—as if time itself held its breath. When they emerged from the spire, the city was no longer empty.
It was full.
But not of people.
Statues. Thousands of them, frozen mid-motion. Mothers clutching children, guards reaching for swords, merchants calling out wares—every citizen of Valebright turned to stone.
Aran moved to touch one. A pulse of darkness rippled across its surface.
"Petrification," Elira murmured, horror in her voice. "But not by curse. By *will.*"
A sigil glowed in the sky—jagged, blood-red.
Vaerin appeared beside them, breathless, eyes wide. "The Ash Crown… someone else wears it now."
Aran's Flame ignited.
Then let them burn.