Aran opened his eyes to the dawnlight filtering through the wooden rafters of Elenwood's sanctuary. Elira lay beside him, her breathing steady and warm. The color had returned to her cheeks, and when she stirred and looked at him, her smile carried the strength of fire reborn.
"You came back for me," she whispered.
"Always," Aran replied, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "I made a promise."
The days that followed brought peace—but also reckoning. News spread that the Hollow Court had fractured entirely. Some remnants had fled beyond the frozen sea, while others were hunted by Flamebound knights. With their fall, balance returned to the lands, but the scars they left would take time to heal.
Aran and Elira stood before the Flamebound council, now restored in their ancient keep. The elders offered Kael the mantle of Flamewarden—protector of the Flame's legacy.
He refused.
"The Flame doesn't belong to one man," Aran said. "It lives in those who love, who protect, who remember."
Instead, Aran and Elira returned to the Valley of Whispers, where their journey began. There, they built a sanctuary—not of war, but of healing. A place where wounded warriors could rest, where broken oaths were mended, and where stories—like theirs—could be passed on.
Years later, as the twin suns set on the horizon, children gathered by a fire to hear the tale of the swordsman who burned like the sun and the healer who carried light in her soul.
Aran sat quietly nearby, Elira's hand in his. He smiled as the storyteller recited the old words:
"And he kept the promise in his eyes."
The Flame flickered gently in the hearth—not of war, but of warmth.