Chapter 111 The Flame That Watches

• The world had not changed. But it felt different. Wolves across the Flameborn territories woke with answers to questions they hadn’t asked yet. Dreamweavers spoke words they hadn’t studied. And warriors paused mid-swing, suddenly aware that their strike would wound rather than teach — and chose peace instead. Some called it intuition. Some called it madness. But the elders had begun calling it what it truly was:
• > “The Watching Flame.”
• Lucy sat beneath the Genesis Tree — a blossom of pale fireroot that had sprouted from the ashes of the Origin Stone. She watched a young pup, no more than five, weave a flame strand into a butterfly shape. He wasn’t a seer. Not trained. Not even aware of what he was doing. But when Lucy asked, he shrugged.