That night, Elira couldn't sleep.
The Watchers had gone, vanishing without sound.
But something remained. A charge in the ruin. A faint echo.
Elira stepped outside the arch, walking beneath the pulsing trees. Her hand glowed faintly with residual ice, but beneath that, something stirred.
She closed her eyes.
Reached inward.
And felt heat.
Not her husband's fire.
Her own.
Small. Buried.
Forgotten.
She drew it forth slowly, breath by breath. A tiny flame bloomed in her palm, flickering gold and blue.
Not cold.
Warm.
Elira stared at it.
She had never held fire before.
And yet, it obeyed.
The realm was changing her.
Or perhaps...
It was reminding her of what she had always been.