Embers in the Snow
The snow fell soft on Frosthold's upper ramparts.
Elira stood at the edge of the wall, watching the city lights below. Her cloak billowed behind her, lined with a new sigil: the Ember Reforged, glowing softly in the fading moonlight.
Kael joined her quietly, his steps familiar now—no longer guarded, no longer distant.
"It still doesn't feel real," she said, not turning.
He stepped beside her. "It is real. You changed everything."
"We changed it," she said. "You believed in me when I didn't even know who I was."
Kael's eyes didn't leave hers. "I always knew. Even before the vision. Even when they told me to forget."
She reached up, brushing a curl of hair from his face. "Then why did you stay away?"
"I was afraid," he admitted. "Of what I'd become. Of what I wanted. Of what it would mean to let myself choose you."
Elira stepped closer, the space between them narrowing like breath in winter.
"And now?"
His hands slid around her waist, steady and warm. "Now, I'm not afraid."
Their lips met—slow, sure, like a promise spoken without words. Not a fairy tale ending. Something deeper. Earned. Alive.
When they parted, Elira rested her forehead against his. "This isn't over."
"I know."
"They're still out there. The Thorned Hand."
Kael's smile was faint but fierce. "Then let them come. They've no idea what fire they've lit."
Elira looked toward the west, where black clouds gathered far beyond the mountains.
And in the snow, beneath the starlight, her ember flared to life once more.