The battlefield blurred. Flame and shadow dissolved into silence, and Elira found herself standing in a hall of fire. The crown pulsed against her chest, its light fractured, whispering truths she had tried to ignore.
She stepped forward. The hall was lined with torches, each one flickering between flame and smoke. At the center stood a figure crowned in fire, its face hidden, its voice echoing.
"You carry me as salvation. But I was born of betrayal."
Elira's breath caught. "Show me."
Visions surged—two armies once united, flame and shadow bound together. But in the moment of grief, fire turned away. Shadow was left behind, broken, abandoned. From that division, the crown was forged—an ember of loyalty severed, hardened into power.
Elira staggered. "So Marlic was right. You were born from broken trust."
The crown pulsed violently, its voice sharp. "I am memory. I am division. I am the fire that chose itself over shadow. That is why I burn."
Her chest tightened. "Then I carry betrayal as my weapon."
But another voice rose, softer, steady. "Flame is not only origin. Flame is choice. You can bind what was broken. You can make me more than betrayal."
Elira's eyes burned with tears. She clenched her fist, forcing fire outward. "Then I choose. I choose to bind flame and shadow. I choose to make you more than what you were."
The hall trembled, torches flaring brighter. The crown pulsed in harmony with her heartbeat, no longer whispering division but possibility.
When she opened her eyes, the battlefield returned. Kael stood at her side, the Ashbound torches blazing. Marlic's storm pressed harder, but Elira's flame burned steadier.
She whispered, "I know your origin. But I will not let it define your end.