Days passed.
The Council had heard of the fight — whispers spread like wildfire. Rumors of the girl with flame-colored hair and a weapon that could shatter buildings.
Elira was becoming a symbol. Not just of resistance. Of fear.
They moved safehouses again. The group lay low, Dante pulling strings, Kael mapping old tunnels, and Elira staring into nothing, haunted by the weight of her own power.
A memory returned:
Her mother's hand brushing her cheek.
Her father's last words, "Protect what matters…"
Elira clenched her fists. "I need answers. Real ones."
Kael nodded. "Then we go to the ruins of Virellen."
Dante's eyes narrowed. "The ancient city? That place is cursed."
"Then it's perfect," Elira said. "If secrets hide anywhere, it's there."