The golden thread pulsed in Elira's palm, heatless yet alive. As she closed her fingers around it, the world tilted.
Light bent. The forge district vanished. And suddenly, she stood in a place that was not a place—a vast plane of flame and shadow, where time moved like ash on the wind.
Whispers curled around her ears.
> "Flameborn… flamebound…"
Figures emerged from the fire. Not whole—shaped from memory, from ember and smoke. A woman with fire in her eyes and ash in her braids. A child holding a dying torch. A warrior wreathed in burning chains.
> "Who are you?" Elira whispered.
The warrior stepped forward. His voice echoed like a bell struck in molten iron.
> "We were the first. And the last. Carriers of fire when the world went dark."
> "You carry the spark again. But flame is not just power—it is cost."
Flashes—Elira saw battles she'd never fought. Cities she'd never visited, falling to ruin or rising in flame. Each bearer chose differently. Some burned for justice. Some… for revenge.
> "You must choose what you burn for."
> "I already have," she said. "For the people. For truth."
> "Then carry this," the warrior said, pressing a mark to her shoulder—an ancient sigil of flame laced with a drop of silver. Pain lanced through her, and suddenly—
She was back.
Southwatch.
Night air in her lungs. The golden thread was gone—but the mark glowed faintly on her skin.
---
Inside the war room, Auren rose as she returned.
> "Where did you go?"
> "Somewhere old," she said softly. "And I didn't come back empty."
She unrolled a new map on the table. Her fingers traced the old flame sigils now reawakened in her memory—symbols of past strongholds, forgotten sanctuaries where the Flameborn once gathered.
> "The Order wants to rewrite what fire means," she said. "Then we write it louder."
> "You want to awaken the other sparks," Garran said.
> "No," Elira replied. "I want to unite them."
She looked around the room—battle-scarred rebels, weary commanders, and those who still dared to hope.
> "We light a fire they can't extinguish—not because it burns, but because it remembers."