Chapter 25 The Flame That Cannot Die

• Morning broke over the war-ravaged city of Cindermarch with a hesitant light. Smoke still drifted from broken towers and burnt watchposts, but the sky was finally blue again—clean, unmarred by magic or ash.
• Elara stood atop the central battlement, her long cloak catching the breeze, hair braided back by Lyra’s skilled fingers. She wore no crown yet. No gold, no silver, no jewels. Only the charred red sigil of the Flameborn sewn onto her shoulder, blazing like a sunburst over scorched fabric.
• Behind her, Kael approached.