Silence settled in the ruins of the Black Spire. Not the heavy, suffocating silence of dark magic, but the stillness that came after a storm, after a battle that had changed everything.
The defenders stood in the chamber, the scent of charred air still lingering. Phoenix's flames had consumed Jonathan—Tempus, the god of greed, the force behind their suffering—but the victory didn't feel as triumphant as they had imagined.
Eren was the first to turn away. His hands clenched at his sides as he walked toward the shattered remains of the stone altar. The weight in his chest was unbearable.
For so long, he had thought of Phoenix as someone just out of reach, someone he could stand beside but never truly hold.
Even though he knew it was hard to accept.
Cyrus and Phoenix had been bound long before this life, bound by fate, by war, by sacrifice. Even with Phoenix's cold exterior, even when she had seemed distant, there had always been something—someone—pulling at her soul.
