The sky bled pink and gold.It wasn’t the harsh red of war or the somber grey of mourning. It was gentler like the world was softening its edges for just this moment, as if it too understood the weight of what was being laid to rest. Morning rose slowly, hesitantly, like the earth itself was not ready to say goodbye.Adrian stood still beneath the canopy of ashwood trees in the garden Elara had once dreamed. She had spoken of this place so often, even as a child how flowers might still grow from soil that had known only fire, how peace could take root where grief once reigned.The enchanted seeds they had planted together Evelyn, Elara, Adrian, and Damien now stood tall, swaying in the hush of dawn. Their petals glowed faintly with hues of orange and violet, kissed by fire magic, as though the earth remembered the hands that once touched it. Every breeze carried their scent smoke, lilies, and something older… something sacred.And in the heart of that garden, Evelyn lay beneath a slen

The sun rose golden over the square soft, gentle, like the first page of a hopeful story. Light spilled across the polished stones, kissing the corners of rooftops and tracing silver along the fountain edges. The city had never felt so quiet. Not in mourning but in reverence.It had taken years to rebuild this part of the kingdom. Brick by brick. Heart by heart. Not just in stone, but in soul. The war had left its scars, visible and invisible. But today wasn’t about wounds. It wasn’t even about victory.Today was about her.A velvet curtain hung from the tallest scaffold in the center of the royal square, shielding the statue beneath. Around the platform, people gathered in waves. Merchants with sun-creased brows, scholars with scrolls tucked under their arms, farmers with rough palms, children too young to remember the war but old enough to feel its echoes.Some brought bouquets. Others held candles, parchment, relics. Many brought nothing but memory.Adrian stood to one side, robes

The Memory Room wasn’t built with stone it was built with silence, with breath held between tears, with hands that trembled over relics of the past.Adrian spent weeks assembling it. Not because he was told to. Not because of duty. But because there was something inside him that refused to let go without offering the world a place to remember not just the pain, but the fire, the love, the laughter, the quiet sacrifices.He chose a room at the palace’s heart, once a war council chamber where maps had once been sprawled out, where lives were gambled in strategies and ink. The table, long scarred by knives and time, was dismantled. In its place, Adrian built a circular garden of stone benches, carved with phoenix feathers along their edges. The benches encircled a platform of glass and flame-colored marble.At the center stood a tall, crystal-clear case lit from beneath with flickering light that never died. Inside it, Evelyn’s curved sword lay next to a folded letter in Elara’s distinct

The sun stretched golden fingers over rooftops, dancing between the trees that now lined the main square trees Elara had once planted in a moment of rare quiet. They were tall now, strong, shading laughing children who chased ribbons and wooden swords across soft earth. Their trunks bore faint carvings names, hearts, symbols left by those who had lived through the fire and those born after it. Roots ran deep beneath a kingdom that had burned and healed.Adrian sat on a bench beneath the largest tree, its branches bowing gently as if listening. His hair was more silver than black now, and the once-rigid set of his shoulders had softened. Time had carved him into something gentler, though his eyes still held the steel of old battles. He watched a young girl leap from a tree stump, her cloak flying behind her like wings, and shout, “For the Phoenix!” as her friends squealed with joy and scattered in every direction.He smiled. Not the sad smile of memory, but a full one peaceful, genuine

The wind carried a soft fragrance lavender, mint, something unfamiliar yet ancient over the hill where Liora knelt, her hands buried in warm, living soil. It was morning, the hour when mist still clung low and light filtered in gold through drifting clouds. Here, on the slope above the valley, the earth whispered.Around her, the valley shimmered with growth. Golden stems curved toward the sky, soft green herbs sprouted between violet flowers, and beside a row of mossy stones stood a single sapling with red-tinted leaves. It hadn’t been there a year ago. Now, it stood strong, steady against the breeze. It was planted where Elara had last spoken to her.Liora placed a hand on its young trunk, fingers splayed like a promise. Her lips moved without sound at first, forming words shaped from memory rather than speech. Then she whispered, “Elara. We’re still listening"Behind her, footsteps approached. She didn’t need to turn to know who they belonged to. The steps were careful but firm, li