The citadel that once housed the Council of Tamers now rang with new purpose.
Light poured through its shattered roof as the Dawn Creed reshaped the ruins into something sacred again. Runes of gold lined the broken halls. Spirits—once wild, now tethered by ritual—circled obediently beneath banners woven from light itself.
At the center of it all stood Solenne, her hands pressed against the cracked altar. Each breath she drew glowed faintly, filling the air with radiant motes.
"Their chains are gone," she whispered. "Now they must learn to fly."
Behind her, apprentices bowed their heads, repeating her words like prayer.
Far across the ridge, Lyn watched from a cliffside overlooking the citadel.
The wind carried faint echoes of the Creed's chants up the valley. Rhea stood beside him, eyes shadowed. "They've already built a hierarchy. Teachers, disciples, even a system of ranks."
Arden snorted. "Didn't take long for freedom to start organizing itself."
Umbra's voice drifted through Lyn's thoughts, quieter than usual. —Humans crave structure. Even in rebellion, they search for new patterns to serve.
Lyn's jaw tightened. "I didn't break seven Seals for them to rebuild cages out of light."
"Then what do you want to do?" Rhea asked softly. "If you move against them, they'll call you a heretic of your own world."
He stared at the citadel for a long moment. The air shimmered faintly where the Dawn's rituals bent the mana flow—altering the reborn world to suit their doctrine.
"We watch," he said at last. "And when they forget what the Seventh cost, we remind them."
Within the citadel, Solenne opened her eyes.The altar beneath her cracked—and from its fissure, golden light spilled outward, forming a symbol that spiraled across the floor like molten veins.
One of her disciples gasped. "High Keeper, the altar bleeds light—"
"Good," Solenne murmured. "It means the gods still remember us."
She extended her hands, and the light obeyed—rising, shaping itself into a pair of luminous wings that hovered behind her shoulders. The room filled with reverent whispers.
"The Forge of Wings has awakened," a follower breathed.
"Through you, the heavens will walk again," another murmured.
Solenne's expression softened with something between sorrow and resolve. "Not heavens. Hope."
But even as she spoke, the wings pulsed—too bright, too fierce. The radiance carried a hum too deep, too familiar.
A voice echoed faintly in her mind—cold, ancient, wrong.
—You would bear our shape, child of dust? Then you must bear our hunger as well.
Her breath caught. The wings flared uncontrollably, shards of light scattering like glass.
The disciples screamed. Runes melted, walls cracked, the floor rippled with molten gold. For an instant, the citadel burned with divine resonance—the same vibration that had once shattered worlds.
Then silence.
Solenne stood alone amid the ruin, trembling, her eyes glowing faintly with crimson light.
She looked at her reflection in the molten floor. The wings behind her remained—dim now, but alive, bound by her will.
"So this is what they feared," she whispered. "Not power… but choice."
That night, a crimson flare rose above the citadel.Lyn saw it from miles away—the sky glowing as if the gods had returned.
Rhea's hand flew to her staff. "That's not just ritual light—that's resonance! She's channeling forbidden energy!"
Umbra's tone was grim. —The Forge is not mortal craft. It is what remains of the Eighth Flame.
Lyn's pulse quickened. "Then she's playing with something none of us can control."
Arden drew his sword. "So much for watching."
Lyn's eyes reflected the distant red flare. "Then we move before wings turn to chains again."