The wind that greeted us at the edge of the Dragon Kingdom was different. It was a clean, cool wind, free from the oppressive weight of volcanic ash and the scent of a thousand years of burning ambition. It tasted of freedom.
Our departure from Pyronis was a quiet, almost secret affair. There was no royal procession, no grand farewell.
We left the Aeridor mansion under the cloak of pre-dawn darkness, two ghosts slipping away from a life that was never truly ours.
Yumi was a warm, sleepy weight in my arms, her small face peaceful against my chest. She was the only piece of this chaotic, fiery world that I was taking with me, the only treasure that truly mattered.
Christina stood beside me at the city's edge, where the polished obsidian streets gave way to the rough, untamed expanse of the Ashen Desert. She was no longer the frightened, reluctant bride I had met in a moonlit garden.
The fire of the Dragon Kingdom had not consumed her; it had forged her.
