Rhen's scream wasn't one of pain, but revelation.
The Ash Crown cracked. Threads of shadow unwound from it like smoke denied substance. The obsidian faded from his armor, revealing beneath it the boy he had been—the brother who had once braided Elira's hair with trembling hands, who had stood in the rain holding a wooden sword to keep monsters away.
He dropped to his knees.
"I only wanted to keep you safe," he whispered, tears burning down his face.
"I know," Elira said softly, stepping closer. "But the world doesn't bend to our fear. It grows from our hope."
She touched his brow.
The last of the Crown dissolved. The sigil in the sky faded. The ash storm ceased.
Aran lowered his sword.
For a moment, silence reigned.
Then—light. Real light. Morning broke through the clouds for the first time in days. The petrified people of Valebright stirred, eyes blinking against the sun.
Elira collapsed.
Aran caught her before she hit the ground.
The golden mark on her palm had faded—but her breathing was steady.
"She gave everything," Rhen whispered. "And you never stopped believing in her."
Aran met his gaze. "That was the promise in my eyes."
The three of them sat in the light of a city reborn.
But peace never lasts forever.
Far in the east, a shadow stirred.