The journey east began under the soft breath of dawn.Mist curled low across the fields as the Lightkeepers left the valley behind — a long line of travelers on horseback and foot, carrying lanterns that glowed faintly with inner fire. The world was still, as though holding its breath.Mira rode near the front beside Riven. Neither spoke for a long while. Words felt too small for what they were doing — leaving the only sanctuary they’d ever known to chase a shadow no one could see.The path wound between golden hills, past rivers that shimmered faintly with the last traces of the Flame’s blessing. But as the sun climbed higher, the landscape began to change.The air grew colder. The light dimmed.And the grass — once lush and green — thinned to silver-gray, like the color had been drained from it.By noon, they reached the first sign of ruin.A small village, long abandoned.The houses were skeletal — roofs caved in, doors torn from their hinges. The wind moved through them with a hol

The mountains rose like a wall of ghosts before them.Sharp, jagged peaks pierced the clouds, and every gust of wind carried ash that burned faintly against the skin. The air smelled of smoke and snow — an impossible mix, like something alive had died here long ago and never quite stopped breathing.Mira guided her horse through the narrow pass. The Frostlands had vanished behind them, replaced by a blackened landscape of ridges and stone. No trees. No birds. Only wind and the whisper of shifting gravel underfoot.Riven rode beside her, his hood drawn low, eyes scanning every ridge. The silence made him uneasy. It made everyone uneasy.“We shouldn’t be here this long,” one of the Lightkeepers murmured from behind. “Nothing lives in Cinder Pass. They say it eats sound.”Mira didn’t answer. She could feel it too — the heavy quiet pressing against her ears, swallowing even the clink of bridles and the crunch of hooves. It was as if the mountain itself was listening.Then, faintly, she sa

The tremor faded as suddenly as it began, but the silence that followed was heavier than before.The kind that pressed against the lungs.The kind that listened.Mira didn’t move for a long time. The last echo of Lyra’s voice lingered in her mind like the fading warmth of a candle.Creation is not born of light or dark, but both.The words turned over in her head until the meaning began to ache.Across the fire, Riven kept his sword unsheathed, watching the valley below. The ash plains shimmered faintly under moonlight, calm again, but Mira knew it was an illusion. Something beneath that stillness had shifted.Something had woken up.“Tell me you didn’t feel that,” Riven muttered.Mira’s gaze drifted toward the horizon. “I felt it. The shadow half of the flame—it’s moving.”He frowned. “You mean whatever Lyra left behind?”“No,” she said softly. “Whatever she couldn’t destroy.”The words hung between them like frost.By dawn, they were on the move again. The air had grown colder overn

When light finally returned, it was soft — a pale dawn filtering through the fractures in the cavern ceiling, painting the stone walls in ribbons of gold and gray. The storm had passed. The earth had stopped trembling. Only the faint hum of the Hollow Flame remained, steady as a heartbeat.Mira opened her eyes to it.At first, she thought she was still dreaming. The ceiling above her shimmered faintly, veins of silver light threading through the stone like veins beneath skin. A warm breeze brushed her face — and with it came the faint scent of ash and lilies.She tried to sit up but pain rippled through her chest, sharp and deep. Her hand flew instinctively to the spot where the light had burst from her. Her skin was unscarred, yet beneath it pulsed the faint, rhythmic warmth of the flame.“You shouldn’t move yet,” came a quiet voice beside her.Riven.He sat cross-legged near the bedside, his cloak torn, his arm bandaged from wrist to elbow. His eyes were dark with exhaustion but ali

The valley was quiet — too quiet.Riven stood at the cliff’s edge, watching dawn’s light sweep across the mountains. The mist still clung to the treeline, glowing faintly as if the Hollow Flame beneath the valley floor was breathing with the earth itself.He’d woken before Mira, though not by choice. The whisper had come again — faint but sharp, cutting through his dreams. It wasn’t words, not exactly. Just a sound that carried weight, like a heartbeat echoing through time.Now it was gone. But the silence it left behind was worse.He turned when he heard her footsteps.Mira stood a few paces away, wrapped in a dark cloak. Her hair caught the light — pale strands glinting silver at the tips. She looked different now, though he couldn’t explain how. More grounded, yet less of this world.“You didn’t sleep,” Riven said quietly.“Couldn’t,” she replied, her voice soft but hollow. “It’s… louder now.”Riven’s jaw tightened. “The voice?”Mira nodded. “It’s not just a voice anymore. It’s… a