The silence after Velcrin's departure was heavier than his presence. The air hung still, as if afraid to breathe, and the Weaving Flame pulsed with a subdued glow — less wild now, but still brimming with untamed potential.
Elyra lowered her hands slowly, the threads of light retreating into her skin like mist drawn into stone. Kael stood beside her, chest rising and falling with quiet urgency, blood still seeping from the gash along his ribs. They were alive. Somehow.
But they both knew the truth: that had not been a victory. That had been a warning.
"He let us win," Elyra murmured, her voice frayed with disbelief and fury. "He wanted to see what I could do. He wanted to taste it."
Kael pressed a hand against the pillar to steady himself. "And now he knows."
Their gazes met. The weight of what had just happened settled between them, not as panic — but as certainty. A reckoning was coming.
"We need to get out of here," Kael said, straightening with a wince. "Before he changes his mind."
Elyra helped him up, slipping under his arm as his legs wavered. "The Flame," she said, glancing over her shoulder.
Still burning. Still waiting.
Together, they stepped toward it one last time. As they approached, the fire drew inward, condensing into a single, glowing seed — no larger than a coin. It hovered in the air for a moment before splitting in two.
One half drifted toward Elyra and sank into her chest.
The other settled into Kael.
There was no pain. Only a deep warmth — like the memory of safety.
Then the chamber began to collapse.
Cracks spread along the walls. The floor trembled violently.
"Run!" Kael grabbed Elyra's hand and pulled her toward the entrance, toward the spiral staircase they had descended what felt like a lifetime ago.
Stone rained down from the ceiling as they ran. Dust choked the air. The path behind them splintered and fell into endless dark.
They barely made it to the first platform before the entire bottom of the tower caved in. The Weaving Flame chamber was gone — swallowed by the earth.
They stumbled out of the tower into the lower levels of Astralis. The once-quiet halls were now crawling with energy, reacting to the shift below.
Torches burst to life as they passed. Murals along the stone walls glowed faintly, depicting new scenes — Elyra casting threads of fire, Kael standing beside her with sword drawn.
"What is this?" Kael asked, breathing hard.
"The city remembers," Elyra said, heart pounding. "It sees."
They found rest in an ancient war room tucked behind a false wall. A forgotten place, lined with dusty relics and faded banners — likely untouched for centuries. Kael collapsed onto a bench, gritting his teeth as he tore the blood-soaked tunic from his side.
Elyra knelt beside him, eyes narrowing. "That's deep."
"Been worse."
"Liar."
She touched the wound gently, and golden threads pulsed from her fingertips — an instinctive act now. The magic responded with surprising ease, sealing the torn flesh. Kael hissed, then relaxed as the pain faded.
He looked at her as the glow dimmed. "You saved me again."
"You keep making me," she said, but her voice softened.
Silence fell between them again, not awkward — just... full. Kael's hand brushed hers.
"You shouldn't have kissed me," he said quietly.
Elyra's chest tightened. She rose to her feet. "You're right. I— I shouldn't have."
Kael looked up, eyes unreadable. "Because if you do it again, I won't be able to stop myself."
She froze.
The air between them crackled — not with magic, but with something far more dangerous. Far more human.
Then she turned to him, fierce and vulnerable all at once.
"Then don't."
And this time, it wasn't a kiss stolen in fear or desperation. It was one born of fire and choice. Kael pulled her in with a growl of hunger and relief, his hands cupping her jaw, hers twisted in the fabric at his back. The kiss deepened, messy and real, setting her blood alight. The threads within her pulsed in rhythm with his heart.
When they finally broke apart, breathless, he whispered, "What now?"
Elyra blinked, eyes full of fire. "Now we become what Velcrin fears."
They emerged from the depths of Astralis days later — changed.
The city above had stirred in their absence. Word of tremors below had spread. The Council was in disarray, half of them demanding to seal the lower levels forever, the others calling for war.
When Elyra and Kael entered the council hall, cloaked in ash and shadow, the room fell silent.
Lady Veyra — tall, silver-haired, and sharp-eyed — rose slowly. "You've returned."
Elyra stepped forward. "We have the Flame."
Gasps echoed around the chamber.
"But Velcrin is moving. We met him beneath the city. He knows."
Councilors exchanged fearful looks.
"We don't have time for more politics," Kael said, voice steely. "He'll come for Astralis first."
Lord Thorn gave a dry laugh. "And you expect us to follow a girl with a spark and a rebel with a sword?"
Elyra raised her hand. Threads of flame coiled around her fingers — brighter now, tighter, sharper. Controlled.
"I don't expect it," she said coldly. "But if you don't, you'll all burn."
The room fell still.
Lady Veyra finally nodded. "Prepare the defenses. Ready the Heartspire. We'll follow the girl with fire."
That night, Kael stood on the balcony outside Elyra's chamber, watching the stars. The city below was already shifting — lights moving, barriers rising. The first true preparations in years.
Elyra stepped beside him, her expression unreadable.
"Velcrin's not just coming for power," she said. "He's coming for me."
Kael turned to her. "Then we make him regret ever wanting you."
She looked up at him. "Would you still fight, if it meant watching me fall apart?"
He frowned. "I'd fight harder. So you wouldn't have to."
Her eyes shimmered. "I'm afraid of what the Flame might make me."
Kael stepped closer. "Then let me remind you who you are, every time it tries to change you."
Their hands found each other again.
And the night, for all its shadows, felt a little less dark.
In the forest beyond the city walls, far from the starlight, Velcrin stood before a monolith of bone and smoke. Around him, the Lost gathered in silence.
"She bears the mark," he murmured. "The Loom awakens."
He turned to the priestess at his side — pale-skinned, blindfolded, lips stitched shut.
"Begin the rites. Break the wards. Let the Others through."
The sky above him cracked faintly with unnatural light.
"Let the real war begin."