After the gray flames died out, silence finally returned to the void.
The torrential energy that once tore the firmament and incinerated the fate wheel had dissipated, leaving only scattered embers floating in the air, as gentle as stardust. The ruins of the Shattered Moon hovered silently in the sky, like a mute monument deep within the Gray Realm.
When Ilea opened her eyes, she was lying on a bed of ash, with Lucian beside her. His wounds remained severe—his left shoulder and below were nearly consumed by gray flames—but he still held her hand tightly.
Ruins stretched all around. The collapse of the old world brought an unfamiliar stillness.
Yet Ilea knew this was not an end, but the starting point of rebirth.
"What of them?" Her voice was faint, but clear.
"All who survived are gathering," Lucian murmured. "The Soul-Burning Knights, the Shattered Moon survivors, the remaining Dream Tide drifters… they're waiting for your order."
"An order?" She sat up slowly, her gaze drifting to the distant floating fragments of the fate wheel. In the light, those shards grew translucent, as if about to dissolve into memory.
"No," she said softly. "The Gray Realm no longer needs a fate wheel, nor domination and submission."
She stood, and the ash beneath her feet transformed into flowing firelight, forming a staircase leading to the heights. At her call, the Rift-Realm refugees, Soul-Realm drifters, Soul-Burning Knights, and all survivors—gathered toward this scorched earth.
She climbed to the top, with a fragment of the Shattered Moon Core as her backdrop. Her flame-feathers unfurled slowly, like a phoenix reclaiming its throne.
She looked out at the crowd, her voice cutting through every fault in the Gray Realm like a stream of fire:
"We have paid enough. We fought for fate, fought for the Gray Realm's survival. Now, it is time to free the Gray Realm from the grip of destiny."
"From this day forward—"
She raised her right hand, and a new oath seal bloomed in her palm. No longer blood-red, no longer carved by the fate wheel, but an imprint woven from gray flames and dream tides.
"The Gray Realm shall be governed by all beings. The fate wheel will no longer be a tool of control, but an echo of history. We will rebuild order, in the name of the fallen, to forge a truly free world."
"No more Shattered Moon. No more judgment."
"Only coexistence."
As her words fell, a brilliant beam of gray-gold light pierced the broken clouds in the sky. The fragments of the old Shattered Moon scattered, dissolving into stardust that showered down on everyone's heads.
In the crowd, some knelt silently, some wept, some raised broken weapons and howled at the sky. It was a long-lost emotion—hope.
Lucian stood behind her, watching her back, as if gazing at a phoenix that had truly completed its. No longer burning for vengeance, but reborn to protect.
When night fell, the entire Gray Realm knew peace for the first time.
Reconstruction began with the smallest spark.
On the ruins of the Soul-Burning site, a new council chamber took shape. The Dream Tide crystals, once used as weapons, were recast as energy sources, powering cycles that sustained ecological balance. The remains of the Shattered Moon Judgment Tower were rebuilt into the Gray Realm's Memory Pillar, inscribed with the names of all who fell in the battle against the fate wheel.
Ilea personally oversaw the reconstruction, day and night. Lucian stood by her side, assisting in organizing the fledgling new government—the "Flame Heart Council," jointly founded by former Rift-Realm sages and Dream Tide scientists, was officially established.
The Phoenix Throne stood empty. Ilea declined all requests for coronation, leaving only these words:
"The phoenix was not born to rule."
"But to spark the first flame in despair."
Epilogue
On the seventh night of reconstruction, Ilea walked alone into the Shattered Moon ruins. She reached the spot where the fate wheel's core once hovered; the ash still held the embers of her oath seal's burn.
She lifted her hand, and a tiny flame flickered at her fingertips.
"Is this your final mark…" she whispered, "Riche."
She gently placed the flame in the soil and closed her eyes.
"May you find freedom beyond the Gray Realm, no longer enslaved by the fate wheel."
The flame died. Above the night sky, a new galaxy slowly rotated—the Gray Flame Star Domain, born from the shattering of the Gray Realm's fate wheel.
The burning light had faded, but embers rekindled.
The Gray Realm, in its new form, would greet an eternal dawn.
The end of the book.