The path to the Citadel was carved from ruin.
Once a cradle of learning, flamecraft, and unity — now nothing more than scorched stones swallowed by ash. As Elara and her companions approached, even time seemed to hesitate. The sun refused to rise fully. The wind carried whispers from lives long extinguished.
Elara tightened her cloak as they passed the threshold. The ruins pulsed faintly beneath their boots — the remnants of old wards and shattered oaths.
"We're walking through a tomb," Miraen murmured.
"No," Aelira said, eyes glowing faintly. "A memory that never let go."
The main chamber loomed ahead, its roof open to the skies. Burnt banners still clung to fractured pillars, marked with twin sigils — a sun and a spiral flame.
At the center of it all stood a pyre.
Unlit. Waiting.
And above it, suspended in the air, hovered a fragment of flame. Not burning — breathing.
Elara stepped forward.
"This is where Seris gave up everything," she whispered. "Where she made the vow to protect what the Council feared."
Kael approached the pyre. "And where they betrayed her for it."
Suddenly, the fragment flared.
Light poured through the hall, and with it — visions.
A younger Seris, in robes of gold, standing beside Isolde. They spoke of unity. Of binding magic to protect the people. Of carrying the flame not as a weapon, but a truth.
Then the vision shifted — Seris standing alone, as the council turned from her, calling her dangerous, unstable, cursed.
And finally, her whisper: "If they will not let us change it... then I will carry the fire alone."
The vision faded.
Elara knelt beside the pyre, her hand hovering above the ember.
"She split her soul here. That's what this is."
Aelira's eyes widened. "She left behind her hope… in case someone ever came."
And then, the ember drifted into Elara's palm.
No pain. Only warmth. And a voice:
"Not all flames consume. Some illuminate."
Elara rose slowly. "She didn't want to destroy the world. She wanted to free it."
Kael stepped beside her. "So we free her first."