The valley was learning to breathe again.
The siren's silent visit had shaken them—but it had also stirred something beautiful.
For the first time in moons, tideborn and rootweavers sang together under the old flame trees.
Flameborn pups traced spiral paths across wet stones.
Even the elders, once so rooted in caution, seemed lighter.
Liora watched the changes unfold with a soft kind of pride.
It wasn't perfect.
But it was alive.
And that, she believed, was enough.
Until the wind brought something… different.
It came from the south.
A scent like scorched ash and old metal.
A heaviness in the air that made the roots beneath the soil draw inward.
Not warning.
Recognition.
Kaelen noticed it first.
He stood by the cliffs with Echo when the breeze shifted.
His eyes narrowed.
"That's old blood," he said.
Echo nodded, his spiral-mark glowing faintly.
"Flameborn," he murmured.
"But not from here."
---
They arrived at dusk, like a shadow falling just before moonrise.
