Lucien and Astraea sat on a ridge of pale stone.
Below them, the shattered ground was already forgetting the violence.
Soon, footsteps crunched on stone behind them.
Lucien turned.
Darian was walking toward them with the expression of a man who had just found a sentence that would change the meaning of an entire book.
Astraea's brow lifted.
"Well," she said. "He returns with sparks in his gaze. Speak, little flame. What did the world confess?"
Darian gave them a deep nod then a grin.
"You found something?" Lucien asked.
"I did," Darian replied. "Something the world was not trying very hard to hide once I asked the right way."
Astraea's gaze settled on him.
"Then do not circle your insight like a timid scribe," she said calmly. "Set it before us."
Darian stopped a few steps away, drew a slow breath, and raised one hand.
"Do not think of flame as destruction," Darian said. "Think of it as interrogation. Heat forces matter to confess what it is made of."
