A month passed since the Silent Flame was sealed, and the land began to breathe again. Snow melted across the lower valleys, and green returned to the hills like hope reborn. Yet in the shadow of peace, Aran lived with a quiet dread.
Elira had not awoken.
She rested in the sanctuary of Elenwood, watched over by the Flamebound sisters. Though her body was whole, her spirit remained adrift, caught between realms. Aran sat at her bedside each day, reading the stories she once loved, whispering old memories, and praying to gods he no longer believed in.
He wore his blade no longer. The Oathbrand on his skin had dimmed, its fire hushed but not gone. The promise still lingered there, waiting.
Vaerin arrived one morning, his armor dulled, his face lined with worry. "There may be a way," he said, lowering his voice. "But it's not without risk."
Aran turned to him, desperate. "Tell me."
"The Dreamroot Tree," Vaerin replied. "It lies deep within the Hallowed Forest. Its roots pierce the Veil. If you drink its sap, you may enter her dreams. Find her soul. Bring her back."
Aran rose without hesitation. "Prepare my gear. I leave before dusk."
The journey to the Hallowed Forest was unlike any Aran had known. The trees whispered in riddles, and time bent around their ancient boughs. Yet he pressed forward, guided by the memory of Elira's touch.
At last, he stood before the Dreamroot—an enormous, silver-veined tree humming with arcane power. Aran cut a shallow line across its bark, collecting the luminous sap in a carved bowl. He drank.
The world fell away.
He awoke in light.
A world woven of memory and song unfolded before him. And in its heart, beside a still lake, stood Elira—radiant and real.
"Aran," she whispered, eyes wide with wonder. "You found me."
He stepped forward, arms open. "I promised I would."
And as they embraced beneath the dreaming sky, the Flame flickered once more—no longer silent, no longer bound.