She stepped forward, the glow around her softening the air until the fire itself seemed ashamed to continue raging. Her lips parted, and from them came a song older than Veyrakar's first dawn, a hymn in High Veyrani, pure and unbroken, the language of the gods long before mortals diluted it with their coarse syllables.
The melody unfurled like a wingspan of light in the cavern, brushing against his scales with the tenderness of a hand he had not felt in ages.
"O Flame of Ages, still and deep,
In lonely dark Thy vigil keep.
Lonely is the crown of fire,
Until time awakens our heir.
No star to guide, no hand to steer,
Yet blood shall rise, the end draws near."
Her voice wove the prophecy with aching reverence, each note a reminder of the life they had once shared, the love that had bound fire and wind in a harmony mortals could never understand.
