Spring came early to the Sanctuary of Embers.
The trees bloomed with gold-tipped blossoms, and the river that once froze beneath the Hollow Star's shadow now ran clear and full. For the first time in living memory, the Flame did not flicker in warning—it danced in joy.
Aran walked the training grounds in silence, watching new initiates spar. They were younger, brighter, unburdened by prophecy or darkness. This was the world he and Elira had fought for—a world with no need for heroes.
Inside the hall, Elira sat with the boy—now called Ren. He laughed at her illusion tricks, unaware of the past he once carried. Each day, he remembered more of himself, and none of it belonged to the Hollow Star.
One evening, Aran returned to their shared chambers to find a letter on the table. Elira had gone to the capital to speak with the Circle of Menders about expanding the sanctuary's reach.
Her final line read:
"Keep the fire lit. I'll be home by the next full moon."
Aran smiled, folding the letter and placing it near the hearth.
That night, he stood on the balcony and looked toward the stars. One shimmered brighter than the rest, not in threat—but in peace. A star reclaimed.
And within him, the Flame stirred—not with rage or memory, but with something deeper.
Hope.