The first ash fell at dawn.
Not smoke. Not soot. But fine gray flecks that drifted from a sky still blue.
Elara stood outside the Solmere gates, a piece resting on her palm.
"It's not natural," Miraen said, voice tight. "No fire. No source."
Kael knelt beside her, letting it fall through his fingers. "It's a message."
Behind them, the city stirred in unease. Birds had stopped singing. The river's glow had dimmed. And every candle in the temple had gone out at once.
"She's waking," Elara whispered. "Seris isn't waiting in the shadows anymore. She wants us to know."
They returned to the Flamebearers' Hall, where the Council stood in tense silence.
Vireth looked at them grimly. "The Hollow Flame isn't just returning. She's anchoring herself."
Elara paced, heart hammering. "We need to go north. To where the ash began."
Aelira stepped beside her. "If Seris is rebuilding her power, it won't be in a city. It'll be in the forgotten places. Where history was buried."
"The Obsidian Vale," Miraen said. "It was once a cradle of ancient flame… until it collapsed."
Kael sheathed his blade. "Then that's where we go."
Before they departed, Elara visited the tree that had grown from the old Gate.
Its leaves flickered dimly now — as if it too could feel Seris's approach.
She pressed her hand to the bark. "I don't want to fight her," she whispered. "But I can't let her burn the world to fix it."
A voice brushed her thoughts. Not Seris. Not Aelira.
Something older.
"Then change the story, Elara. Not with fire. But with truth."
That night, they rode north.
And behind them, the first stars of the season blinked out, one by one — swallowed by something waiting in the dark.