That night, they made camp at the edge of Emberreach. The city slept under stars it hadn't seen in decades, and the wind whispered through the broken towers like forgotten ghosts.
Elira sat alone, watching her flame flicker between her fingers.
Kael approached, tossing her a blanket. "You should sleep."
"I can't," she said. "Too much is moving."
He nodded, sitting beside her. "You don't have to carry all of it alone, you know."
"I do," she replied. "This isn't just about vengeance. It's about making sure what happened to my family — to this place — never happens again."
Kael looked at her for a long moment. "Then we'll need more than fire. We'll need allies."
She met his gaze. "You have someone in mind?"
"Yes. Someone who was exiled by the Council. Someone dangerous… but loyal to the flame."
Before Elira could speak, a shadow emerged from the edge of the trees.
Tall. Hooded. Carrying a staff that pulsed with flame and void.
Dante stood, alert.
But the figure simply spoke.
"Elira Ember," the voice said. Feminine, sharp. "You don't know me, but I know your fire. I followed its scent through death."
Kael stepped forward, smirking faintly. "Looks like the storm's already gathering."
And Elira rose to her feet, flame at the ready.
"Then let it come."