They reached the edge of Solmira by dusk.
It wasn't a city anymore. Just bones of one. Crumbled towers clawed at the sky, scorched statues lay half-buried in ash, and the air shimmered with heat that didn't come from the sun. Elira felt the crown stir beneath her cloak, its whispers growing louder, more urgent.
Kael stopped at a broken archway. "This is where the Order fell."
Elira stepped forward. The mark on her wrist flared, and suddenly the ruins weren't ruins at all—they were whole. For a heartbeat, she saw Solmira as it had been: golden spires, fire-lit halls, people in robes etched with flame. Then it was gone.
"What was that?" she gasped.
Kael's jaw tightened. "The crown is unlocking your sight. It's showing you echoes—memories burned into the land."
They moved deeper into the ruins, past shattered altars and blackened murals. At the center stood a pedestal, cracked but still standing. On it, a second crown—smaller, darker, pulsing with a cold light.
Kael froze. "That's the Crown of Embers."
Elira's breath caught. "There's more than one?"
Kael nodded slowly. "Two crowns. One born of fire. One born of shadow. They were meant to balance each other. But the shadow crown was lost… until now."
Before Elira could speak, a voice echoed through the ruins—low, melodic, and cruel.
"You've brought me the flame," it said. "How thoughtful."
A figure stepped from the shadows. Cloaked in black, eyes like dying stars. The rival crown-bearer.