Dawn broke with no warmth.
Briar sat alone beside the scorched remains of the ritual circle, the ghost's final words echoing in her mind.
"To break the world, to save it…"
She clenched her fists. "No more."
Corva approached, silent as snowfall. She handed Briar a ceremonial dagger carved from obsidian.
"If you want to reclaim your fate, you must give blood. Magic demands a price."
Without hesitation, Briar dragged the blade across her palm. Her blood hissed as it hit the soil. The runes beneath her feet blazed to life.
Memories surged—chains around her wrists, cities on fire, her voice shouting orders over the screams of the dying.
And Kael. Always Kael. Dying in her arms.
"You were my shield," she whispered. "And I let you fall."
Kael stood behind her now, arms crossed. "You didn't just let me fall. You left me behind."
Briar turned, her hand bleeding, eyes lit with fire. "Then I swear this: I will never run again. I will not break this world. I will remake it."
The earth trembled.
Corva stepped back, eyes wide.
"Your oath has been accepted," she said.
The flame inside Briar flared—stronger, brighter, no longer just soulfire.
It was hers now.