In the royal capital at midnight, the surface tide of gray flames had been temporarily suppressed by the Phoenix fire.
But beneath the palace, in the dark veins of the earth, shadows were churning.
The bells had fallen silent, yet in everyone's heart, a low murmur still echoed.
In the palace's secret chamber, Ilea leaned against Lucian's chest, sweat still beading on her forehead.
Her oath mark, overburned, was crisscrossed with crimson cracks, as if it might shatter at any moment.
"You can't keep draining yourself like this," Lucian's palm pressed against her back, his voice strained with anger.
"I have no choice," Ilea opened her eyes, the golden flames in her pupils illuminating his resolute face. "I've seen the source. It's beneath the capital. If we don't sever it, it will devour the entire land."
"Then I'll go with you."
There was no hesitation in Lucian's words.
Ilea stared at him, her lips trembling, but she made no argument.
The distance between them vanished in an instant. Their searing kiss carried the burn of blood and desire, their bodies blazing with a fire as fierce as war in their brief union.
It was no escape—it was a vow.
Moments later, Ilea donned her armor again, flame sword in hand.
"Let's go. Meet the true face of this dream tide."
They descended through the secret passage, passing ancient stone steps and sealed tombs.
The air reeked of ash and blood, as if all the dark emotions of the capital had converged here.
Deep in the earth's veins, gray flames coiled between stone walls like countless sinews.
The murmur grew clearer, like a thousand souls whispering in their ears:
"Come... Phoenix who burns all... return to the dream tide."
Lucian drew his sword, taking the lead, and snapped: "Be silent."
But the shadows thickened, and gray flames coalesced into countless human illusions, reaching for them.
Ilea raised her flame sword high, the blaze slicing through the phantoms—only to wince as her oath mark throbbed sharper with each one destroyed.
These shadows were feeding on her power.
"Stop burning alone!" Lucian roared, yanking her into his arms and pressing his hands over her oath mark.
Their vow flames merged at the touch. The gray shadow's illusions were incinerated by the purifying fire in an instant, and a shrill scream echoed through the underground space.
Ilea panted against his chest, murmuring: "Without you, I'd fall completely."
"Then don't let go," Lucian's voice was low, yet fiery as a flame.
At last, they reached the depths of the earth's veins.
A colossal gray flame heart pulsed underground, beating like a living organ, spitting gray fire that lit up the entire abyss of the dream tide.
Around it, hundreds of figures—commoners of the capital—were entangled in gray flames, their souls torn from their bodies, in the fire.
Ilea's eyes flickered: "This is... her root."
Lucian tightened his grip on her hand: "Then we'll tear it out."
But as they readied their swords, a familiar figure stepped slowly from the heart.
It was a tall woman, with a crown and robes woven from gray flames. Her face was nearly identical to Ilea's, yet twisted into an eerie smile.
"Welcome back, the other me."
Ilea froze.
At last, she understood why the gray shadow had slipped so easily into her dreams.
Because it was the other half of her soul.