Night fell silent, no storm rising. The Ashbound held their torches steady, waiting for Marlic's strike—but only silence answered.
Elira sat apart, the crown pulsing faintly. Smoke curled from its edges, not from fire but from memory. She closed her eyes, and the whisper came.
"Flamebearer… grief does not vanish. It hides. He rebuilds in silence. But remember—flame is not only light. It is endurance. Smoke is not only shadow. It is memory. Bind them, and you will endure the storm to come."
Visions flickered: torches burning with both fire and smoke, Ashbound and Emberkin standing together, Marlic's storm breaking against their unity. The crown's memory was not warning—it was guidance.
Elira opened her eyes, breath steady. "He waits. So must we. But when dawn comes again, we will be ready."