Smoke still curled from the rooftops of Kirevale when the people gathered again—this time, not in fear, but in hope. The old chapel in the town square, long abandoned by priests of the Crown, had been repurposed overnight.
Rebels filed in, their heads bowed. Farmers, blacksmiths, and former soldiers knelt on cracked stone floors, waiting—not for prayers, but for purpose.
Elira stood at the altar.
Her clothes were scorched from battle. Her hair loose around her face. But her eyes burned brighter than ever.
> "You all saw it," she said quietly. "The Crown does not protect us. It feeds on our silence."
Murmurs of agreement filled the space.
> "We have been called cursed, lesser, disposable… but no more. If fire makes me dangerous, then let it also make me free."
She drew a dagger from her belt and held it out.
> "I do not ask for followers. I ask for flamebearers. For those who will carry the truth, even when it burns."
One by one, they came forward. Garran first. Then Mira. Then the villagers who once trembled at the sound of hooves.
Each pressed a hand to the dagger's hilt, speaking the words Elira had taught them:
> "I swear by ash and ember,
to light the dark,
to shield the fallen,
and to never kneel to a throne built on fear."
The flame inside her pulsed stronger with every oath.
---
Outside, Auren stood watching the chapel doors.
He still wore a stolen soldier's cloak, but it was Elira's fire that cloaked him now. Not royalty. Not blood. Choice.
> "Do you ever regret it?" asked Garran beside him.
> "Regret what?"
> "Leaving the palace. Turning your back on your crown."
Auren looked toward the chapel, where Elira's voice carried like the call of a storm.
> "I didn't turn my back," he said. "I just chose to follow the real fire."
---
Far across the land, in the Capital, the Council listened to Seraphine's report in grim silence.
> "Kirevale has fallen," she said. "But worse than the loss is the story spreading with it."
> "What story?" the High Chancellor demanded.
Seraphine's lips thinned.
> "That the Flameborn has returned. That the fire is ours again."
> "Then we must stamp it out," came the cold reply.
Seraphine's eyes narrowed. "You tried that once before. And you lit a legend."
---
Back in Kirevale, Elira emerged from the chapel to meet her growing army.
She didn't wear a crown. She carried no banner.
But her fire danced behind her eyes, and when she raised her hand, the people didn't kneel—they stood.
> "The time is coming," she told them. "Not just to rebel... but to reclaim."
And the ash beneath their feet stirred with the promise of a rising blaze.