They traveled first to the edge of the Ember Coast, where the sea still sang Amira's name each dusk. Elias's cottage, though aged and hollow, still stood—weather-worn but untouched by time's cruelty.
Elias himself had long passed, but his journal remained.
Seyna found it buried beneath the hearthstone, where the fire had once burned for Amira's warmth. Page after page bore quiet reflections, messages he had written to the woman he lost across lifetimes:
"If the tide ever brings you home, know that I sang for you every morning. Even when my voice cracked. Even when my heart did too."
Seyna wept.
And beside her, Dari played.
A low, haunting melody.
The journal, like Amira's book, shimmered. Its last page began to unfurl, ink blooming across the paper in a language Seyna didn't know but understood deeply. The veil wasn't just between life and death—it was between what was spoken and what was felt. And it was unraveling.
Each item—each relic of love and loss—held keys.
And so, they journeyed.