The light that erupted from Emilia was not flame.
It was soulfire—primordial, unyielding. It poured from her like the breath of first creation, golden and uncontainable, consuming the Tower of Echoes in a spiraling vortex of light.
The high priest recoiled, shrieking as spectral chains binding the tower snapped one by one. His form spasmed—shifting between faces, shapes, fragments—none able to withstand the fire's purity.
Elira floated back, eyes wide, her fading form barely holding together.
"That power… it's not just inherited. It's awakened."
Liaen staggered to Emilia's side, shielding his eyes. "This is Phoenix Soulfire. It was thought extinct!"
Emilia rose—hair wind-swept, eyes burning like twin suns.
"I remember now. My mother's voice. My father's blessing. They sealed this inside me… until I was ready."
Asher stepped to her side, bloodied but steady.
"You're ready now."
The tower groaned.
Its bones cracked. The corpses bound in the Hall of Chains burned—not in destruction, but release. Souls long imprisoned sighed as they dissolved into glimmering motes of light, rising through the tower's ruined crown like stars returning to the sky.
The high priest bared his teeth.
"You think you know power, child? I drank the names of kings. I unwrote gods."
He raised a sphere of soul-rot—congealed agony—and hurled it.
Emilia lifted her hands. The flame responded.
The rot disintegrated midair, consumed by cleansing fire.
"No more games," she said.
She ascended—wings of golden flame lifting her high. The others watched as she met the high priest in the air.
They collided.
The impact tore through the sky.
Ash rained down like snow. The tower shook. The Cult's chants warped into screams. Ghostfire blinked out.
Emilia's voice rang out—clear, cutting.
"For my family. For my village. For every soul you've broken—this ends now."
She summoned the fullness of her lineage. Flame coalesced into the shape of a vast phoenix, spiraling around her. It dove—piercing straight into the heart of the high priest.
He screamed.
And the tower split from base to crown.
Below, Asher pulled Liaen and Elira toward the stairs as the structure began to fall. Soul energy lashed through the air—violent, desperate—as if trying to pull them all into the void left behind by the Cult's unraveling spell.
And then—stillness.
A column of golden light burst from the tower's center, shooting into the heavens.
When the dust settled, only one figure hovered above the rubble.
Emilia.
She descended slowly, surrounded by embers.
Asher caught her before she collapsed.
Her voice was barely more than breath. "Did it... work?"
He nodded. "The Cult's grip is broken. The souls are free."
Elira hovered beside them, nearly translucent, smiling. "You did it, Emilia."
Liaen limped forward, bruised and laughing. "Remind me never to doubt your potential again."
Emilia gave a faint smile. "I… I'm tired."
Asher looked up at the stars. "Rest now. You've earned it."
That night, they camped beyond the shattered tower.
For the first time in weeks, the sky was clear. The stars returned.
Emilia sat by the fire, her flames dimmed to a soft glow across her skin. She watched Asher sharpen his blade, slow and silent.
"Do you think they're really gone?" she asked.
He nodded. "This chapter is."
"And the next?"
He met her eyes, then smiled. "We face it together."
Above them, Elira shimmered—faint, peaceful, at last unburdened.
"Not all endings are sad," she whispered. "Some are just the start of something new."