The fire hadn't died.
Even after Ashen's vow, after the Oath Stone swallowed Darkfang's name, after the pack circled her in silence, the flames still burned higher than ever blue, gold, crimson. It was as if the earth itself had learned how to remember again, and now it couldn't forget.
We'd returned to the Flame Core only a day ago, and already the walls whispered.
Old names.
New ones.
Mine.
Hers.
Lucas's voice echoed in the war chamber as he addressed the council. "The sky has sealed, yes. But something else is waking beneath our feet."
Ashara stood with arms folded. "What you felt wasn't residual energy. It was direction. We bound Darkfang to memory, but his legacy runs deeper than blood."
I paced the edge of the flame altar, my fingers brushing the heat rising from its center.
"He's not coming back," I said. "But others might."
"Ashen said the same," Lucas replied. "Before she left."
That stopped me. "What do you mean left?"
