Elira had never seen the Ashlands up close.
From the rooftops of Virell, they looked like a smear of gray on the horizon—lifeless, cursed, and whispered about in taverns by drunk sailors and old priests. But now, standing at the edge of the cracked earth, she felt the truth in her bones.
Nothing grew here. The wind carried the scent of scorched stone and something older… something wrong.
Kael stood beside her, his cloak whipping in the wind. "Once we cross, there's no turning back."
Elira tightened the strap on her satchel. "Wasn't planning to."
They walked.
The ground crunched beneath their boots, brittle and blackened. Strange symbols were etched into the rocks—some glowing faintly, others pulsing as they passed. The crown in Elira's bag grew heavier with each step, as if it recognized the land and didn't like it.
By nightfall, they reached the ruins of a watchtower. Kael lit a small fire, shielding it with stones. Elira sat across from him, her fingers tracing the mark on her wrist.
"What is Solmira?" she asked.
Kael hesitated. "It was once the heart of the Ember Order. A sanctuary. Until the fire turned on them."
Elira frowned. "The fire?"
"The crown's power," he said. "It doesn't just grant strength. It tests you. Burns away weakness. Some survived. Most didn't."
She looked at the flames between them. "And you? Did it test you?"
Kael's eyes met hers. "It still is."