The Vale greeted them in silence.
Gone were the trees. Gone was the sky. Even the air had weight, as if each breath passed through centuries of dust and sorrow. Jagged black rock clawed from the earth, and veins of violet flame pulsed beneath their feet.
"It's like walking inside a wound," Aelira whispered.
Elara nodded. "Or a memory that never healed."
The deeper they rode, the more distorted the world became. Shadows stretched wrong. Whispers echoed from no mouths. And once, Kael saw his reflection blink after he did.
Miraen drew a warding rune in the air. "We're past the edge. No going back now."
They found the ruins by dusk — the last remnants of a flame temple swallowed by time. What walls remained were cracked with obsidian veins, pulsing faintly with light. And in the center stood a stone altar, untouched by ash.
Elara approached it, her breath shallow.
Carved into the altar were two names:
Isolde. Seris.
Sisters. Two halves of the flame. One remembered as a hero. The other, erased.
Aelira touched the stone. "They made Seris the villain to protect the myth of peace."
Elara closed her eyes.
This wasn't about power anymore.
It was about truth.
Suddenly, the ground trembled. Light split the sky above — not lightning, but a tear in reality itself. From it poured a figure cloaked in shadow and stars.
Seris.
But this time, she did not come in dreams.
She stepped through.
Her voice was soft — too soft for the fury she carried.
"Elara. You've walked my path. Seen my truth. Now choose."
Around them, the earth cracked. Ghosts of the past flickered into view — old flamebearers, ancient battles, a young Seris kneeling beside a dying Isolde.
"Join me," Seris said. "Or watch it all fall again."