The canyon was no longer silent.
As Elira stepped beyond the temple's threshold, the wind shifted—no longer wild, but watchful. The Ember Crown pulsed against her chest, now bound to her by a woven leather strap Kael had fastened in haste. It didn't matter. The crown wasn't just worn. It was alive.
Kael walked beside her, his hand never far from his blade. "They'll track the fire," he said. "It leaves a trail."
Elira glanced at the flame-mark on her wrist. It had spread—thin lines of ember branching up her forearm like veins of molten gold. "Let them follow," she said. "I want to see who dares."
They reached the ridge overlooking the valley. Smoke curled from the east—not from battle, but from something older. A signal. A summoning.
Kael stiffened. "That's Solmira."
Elira's breath caught. The ancient city. The place where the crown was forged. The place where the fire first spoke.
She turned to him. "Then we go."
Kael hesitated. "You don't know what waits there."
"I know enough," she said. "The crown remembers. And now, so do I."
Behind them, the temple doors sealed shut. The symbols faded. The fire had moved on.