He did not enter with fire.
He entered with silence.
The Ash King stepped through the Gate of Bone without sound or ceremony. The sky darkened. The wind died. Even the shadows bowed.
Kael stood frozen.
Corva drew her staff and whispered ancient protections.
Briar stepped forward.
He looked nothing like a man. His skin was smoke and cracked earth. His eyes burned too bright to face. His crown was made of the same bone as the gate.
"You've remembered," he said.
"I have," Briar replied.
"Then you know why you must die."
"No," she said. "I know why I lived."
He raised a hand. Flames bloomed—but Briar's thorns responded, shielding her in a cocoon of green fire.
She stepped through it, unburned.
"You're not the same girl," he said.
"No," she agreed. "I'm worse."
Kael charged. Corva chanted. Briar raised her blade—the one that had waited centuries to taste his blood.
The valley became war.
And Briar felt it—this wasn't the end.
It was the reckoning.