Years passed. The Vale of Ashes, once blackened with smoke and blood, had become a sanctuary. Grass pushed through cracked stone, rivers ran clear again, and villages rose where armies had once clashed.
At the heart of it all stood the Hall of Embers, a place not of thrones but of gathering—a circle where leaders, healers, and wanderers came to speak as equals.
Nyra sat there often, her fire dim now, flickering only when needed. Not a weapon, not a crown—just warmth.
Children would gather at her feet, wide-eyed, asking,
"Lady Nyra, tell us again how you lit the skies."
She would only smile and say,
"I didn't light the skies, little ones. I lit a choice."
Kael became a guardian of storms, teaching warriors that strength was not in thunder but in restraint.
Nox drifted in and out like a shadow, always returning with news, treasures, and trouble—but never straying far from the ember he had chosen to protect.
Even Darius, scarred and broken, found a place among them. He tended the forges, hammering steel not for war, but for creation. His fire, too, had finally found peace.
The old kingdoms dissolved. The royals who survived no longer ruled by bloodline, but by service. The people called this new age The Era of Flame and Dawn—a time when light belonged not to kings, but to all.
And in the quiet nights, when stars blanketed the world, travelers swore they could still see a faint glow in the Vale. A gentle flame that never died.
Some said it was magic. Others said it was hope.
But those who knew whispered the truth:
It was the ember within, alive in every heart that chose to build instead of burn.
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🔥 The End 🔥