The sky was bruised purple when they returned.
Not with storm—but with memory. With things broken and things reforged.
Lyra walked through the shattered gates of the court with Sarek beside her, his flames subdued but constant. Her posture was unyielding. Her steps echoed on the marble stones that had once seen her judged, questioned, and almost executed.
Now they would witness something else.
Something unspoken.
Something earned.
Behind her marched the Flameborn—hundreds now. Women with scars and wild eyes. Outcasts once exiled for being too much, too loud, too soft, too strange.
Now warriors.
Now daughters of fire.
Kael walked at her side. Not leading. Not following. Beside her.
That was the vow they had made in silence.
But today, they would speak it aloud.
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