Snow still fell over Havenreach.
The fires had died, but their smoke curled skyward like ghosts refusing to leave. The once-proud outpost was now a scar — the smell of ash and blood thick in the morning air.
Sorra sat among the ruins, her cloak torn and her hands still trembling from the battle. Every muscle in her body ached, every breath burned. Yet, for the first time in years, she wasn't alone.
Across the shattered courtyard, Nova stood silently, mask lowered, the wind teasing strands of silver-grey hair from his hood. The cold didn't seem to touch him; his eyes, glowing faintly red, stayed fixed on the blackened corpse of the abomination they'd just slain.
Neither spoke for a long while.
Finally, Sorra broke the silence.
"Three years, Nova. Three years I thought you were dead."
He didn't turn. "And I thought you'd learned to stay out of trouble."
Her tired laugh cracked through the still air. "Guess we were both wrong."
Nova finally faced her — his expression unreadable, but the faintest trace of warmth flickered there, brief as a spark. "You've grown," he said simply. "Your control… it's sharper."
Sorra tilted her head, a half-smile on her lips. "And you've gotten dramatic. A mask, a name like 'Corpse'? Really?"
He shrugged. "It keeps people guessing."
"Or running away."
"Also useful."
The corner of her mouth twitched. "Still impossible."
He looked away, but she caught the ghost of a smile before it vanished.
Silvercrest Academy — Two Days Later
News of Havenreach spread faster than wildfire.
By the time Nova and Sorra arrived at Silvercrest, the Academy had turned into a storm of whispers.
"They say the Grey siblings survived."
"Impossible. House Grey was wiped out."
"Then who else could destroy a corrupted Phoenix-beast?"
The great gates of the Academy opened before them, guards standing aside in uneasy silence. Sorra walked ahead, her uniform still singed, her crimson eyes steady. Nova followed — cloaked in black, hood low, his cracked mask hanging at his belt.
They were led straight to the Council Hall — a grand circular chamber built of obsidian stone and silverlight, where the most powerful mages and instructors of the Academy gathered.
At the head of the chamber stood Headmaster Verden Kael, his silver robes flowing like mist, his expression unreadable. "So," he said at last, his voice echoing through the hall, "the last heirs of Grey return to the world."
Sorra straightened. "We didn't plan on it. Havenreach forced our hand."
Nova's eyes glowed faintly under his hood. "That creature wasn't random. It was sent."
A murmur rippled through the council. One of the instructors — a scarred veteran with a steel prosthetic arm — slammed his hand on the table. "Sent? By who?"
Nova reached into his coat and tossed something onto the council table — a fragment of scorched metal, still faintly pulsing with crimson sigils.
"The Royal Crest of Terra," he said. "Twisted, corrupted. Someone's forging monsters using relics of the Crown."
The room fell silent. The faint hum of the sigil fragment filled the void, low and sickly.
Verden's eyes sharpened. "Do you know what that means?"
Nova's voice was calm. "It means whoever destroyed House Grey… isn't finished."
The Headmaster's Study — Later That Night
The chamber was quiet now. Only the crackle of the fireplace broke the stillness.
Sorra stood by the window, watching the moonlight spill across the courtyard. Nova sat nearby, sharpening his blade — the rhythmic scrape of steel oddly comforting.
"You really think the Crown's behind it?" she asked softly.
Nova didn't answer right away. "Not the Crown itself," he said finally. "But someone within it. The same kind of mind that would burn a forge just to steal what it can't create."
Sorra's fingers curled into a fist. "Then we find them."
Nova looked up at her, eyes faintly glowing in the firelight. "You're sure about that?"
She met his gaze. "We didn't survive just to hide again."
For a moment, there was silence between them — the kind that said more than words ever could.
Finally, Nova nodded. "Then we hunt together. Like before."
Sorra smiled faintly. "Like before."
The Capital — Deep Beneath the Throne
Far from Silvercrest, deep beneath the royal citadel, a chamber of fire and shadow pulsed with unnatural light.
A cloaked figure knelt before a floating crest — the same sigil that had marked the beast of Havenreach. Its light flickered in rhythm with the figure's voice.
"Two sparks survive," the voice hissed. "The forge is not yet cold."
Another voice answered — smooth, distant, and regal.
"Let them burn, then. From their fire, we will draw power unmatched."
The sigil flared crimson, and a dozen armored silhouettes stepped from the smoke — living weapons, their bodies branded with the mark of the Phoenix.
The figure bowed. "As you command, my King."
Back at Silvercrest
Nova stood outside the Academy gates, staring into the horizon where the mountains burned faintly in the distance.
The wind carried with it the faint smell of ash and iron — the scent of home, and war.
Sorra joined him, cloak fluttering behind her. "The others think you'll join the staff," she said quietly. "As an instructor."
Nova glanced at her. "Not my style."
She smiled knowingly. "No, I didn't think so. But stay close, at least."
He nodded once. "I will. For now."
They stood there together — two remnants of a broken house, staring at a dawn they had yet to shape.
The fire had not died.
It was only waiting to be reforged.