The world was still.
For the first time since the night Kael had been cursed, there was silence—not the kind born from death or ruin, but the silence that comes when creation itself pauses to listen. The white light faded slowly, curling back into the sky like smoke drawn toward the moon.
And beneath that ghostly glow, Kael awoke.
He was lying in the ruins of what had once been the clearing. The Heart's shattered essence pulsed faintly above him, its glow fractured but alive. The scent of charred earth filled the air, laced with the faint sweetness of Lyria's magic—moonflowers after the rain.
He turned.
Lyria lay beside him, her skin pale as frost, her chest rising and falling in fragile rhythm. The mark of their bond burned faintly along her collarbone, the shape no longer twisted with darkness, but threaded with silver light that shimmered beneath her skin like veins of starlight.
