The night after the battle was too still. No wind. No fire. Only silence that pressed against the skin like ice.
They made camp in the hollow of an old ruin, the remains of what had once been a monastery of the dragons. The walls were carved with their symbols — wisdom, loyalty, sacrifice — now cracked and blackened by time.
The faint glow of embers flickered between them. Kaito sat apart, eyes on his broken sword, its jagged edge reflecting the dying fire.
Eira broke the silence first. "You've barely spoken since the valley," she said softly. "You heard something down there, didn't you?"
Kaito didn't look up. "Not something," he murmured. "Someone. Yù Lóng."
Reika stirred, arms crossed, armor glinting faintly in the firelight. "You're saying the dragon spoke to you? After death?"
"She's not dead," Kaito said quietly. "Not entirely. She's bound to the Null Flame — to me. The more it rises, the louder she becomes."
The Archivist's golden eyes gleamed from beneath his hood. "Then the prophecy is unfolding," he said. "As written in the Chronicles of the Scaled Dawn. The last dragon will die twice — once in fire, and once in silence. And when her echo speaks, the world shall forget its name."
Eira frowned. "What does that mean?"
"It means," Reika said grimly, "the Null Flame isn't just destruction. It's erasure."
The Archivist nodded. "Yes. A fire that burns memory, history, even the soul. Once it consumes enough, the world itself forgets what was. Empires vanish as though they never were. Names unspoken. Wars unfought. Love unlived."
Kaito's hands tightened on his sword. "Then it must be stopped."
The Archivist sighed. "And yet, perhaps it cannot be. The Null Flame is born from both light and shadow — from Yù Lóng's sin and humanity's fear."
Eira blinked. "Her sin?"
The old man hesitated, then gestured toward a cracked mural on the wall. The painting, half-erased by time, showed a dragon kneeling before men, her wings folded in surrender. Around her, human kings held crowns of flame.
"In the First Age," he said, "dragons ruled beside mankind. They gave wisdom and protection. But when they saw what humanity could become — cruel, greedy, ungrateful — Yù Lóng chose to hide the truth of their creation. She sealed away the source of dragonfire — the Eternal Heart — so that no one, man or beast, could wield it."
Reika's eyes darkened. "And that was her betrayal."
"Exactly," the Archivist said. "To dragons, it was treason. To men, it was mercy. But the cost was imbalance. Without the Heart, fire itself grew wild, untamed — birthing the Null Flame, a reflection of her guilt."
Kaito rose slowly, pacing the edge of the fire. "Then if we find the Eternal Heart…"
"…you can end the Null Flame," Eira finished.
Reika scoffed. "If it even exists. Every legend that speaks of it ends in death."
"And yet," the Archivist said softly, "it calls to him."
They all turned toward Kaito. The faint black burn across his palm — the mark left by the Null Flame — pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.
Eira reached for him. "It's reacting."
"It's guiding," Kaito said, voice low. "South. Toward the Obsidian Spire."
Reika cursed under her breath. "That's the Covenant's holy ground. Even I wouldn't go near it. It's said the dead walk there, whispering secrets they never meant to speak."
The Archivist's expression turned grave. "Then that is where the next chapter of this world will be written. For there lies the tomb of Yù Lóng's kin — and the last page of the Whispering Prophecy."
Thunder rumbled in the distance, faint but growing.
The Whispering Monk stood atop a distant ridge, his wooden mask turned toward the ruin. Around him, the wind itself seemed to chant — hundreds of voices repeating words long dead.
"She moves the pieces well," he murmured. "The Graveborn walks the same path as his brother. But this time, he walks willingly."
A figure stepped from the shadows beside him — tall, cloaked in silver, their face hidden behind a veil of white fire. Their voice was neither male nor female, only echo.
"The Obsidian Spire is awakening," the figure said. "The Covenant stirs. What will you do?"
The Monk tilted his head. "Wait."
"For what?"
"For him to remember," the Monk whispered. "Because when he does, the world will forget everything else."
At dawn, Kaito and his companions broke camp. The sky bled red over the mountains, and far below, the land began to tremble with unseen life.
Eira turned to him as they mounted their horses. "You're sure about this?"
"No," Kaito said. "But I've been sure before — and it only brought fire."
Reika smirked. "Good. Uncertainty keeps you alive."
The Archivist raised his staff toward the south. "Then ride, Graveborn. To the Spire. To the end of dragons, or their rebirth."
As they rode into the storm, the ashes rose behind them, forming shapes that watched and whispered.
And in the ruins, the cracked mural of Yù Lóng's surrender began to glow — faint golden light leaking from her eyes, as if she wept once more for the world she had failed to save.
Her voice whispered on the wind:
The Eternal Heart beats again… but not for me.
The ground shook — and from beneath the ruins, something answered.