The days that followed were unlike anything the world had seen since the Flameborn Empire fell.
Word of Iralith's awakening spread across the scarred continent. From distant desert cities to frost-bound northern outposts, those who once feared the return of the flame now watched with cautious awe. The skies above Iralith shimmered with a permanent golden hue—less fire, more memory—rippling like auroras over the spires of the restored citadel.
At the heart of it all, Ember Solara stood before the rebuilt Circle of Ash, not as a conqueror, but as a rebuilder.
Council fires had been lit for the first time in centuries. Survivors, scholars, descendants of old bloodlines, and even former enemies gathered to witness what Ember would do next. The Flameborn were not reborn through battle… but through purpose.
"The shards are no more," Ember told them, voice ringing through the obsidian hall. "And yet, the flame remains—not in weapons or thrones, but in the will to protect, to learn, to unite."
Lysra sat beside Eryssa, exchanging glances. They both knew this was no longer just Ember's fight. It was a transformation.
Orin, ever Ember's shadow, watched the gathering from the back, hand resting on his hilt not out of threat—but habit. "You think they'll follow her?" he murmured to Eryssa.
"They already are," she replied.
Ember stepped forward and laid her hand upon the Core's new cradle, embedded in the Circle's center. The flame rose gently, illuminating everyone present.
"Iralith is open once more. But not as a kingdom. Not as a temple. As a beacon. A forge for all who believe in the balance between fire and restraint."
A hush fell. Then, one by one, voices called out from the circle—pledging knowledge, offering aid, invoking old oaths with new meaning.
The Flameborn were no longer a legend.
They were becoming a legacy.