The brazier was still burning bright gold when the first bell of true dawn rang through Silvervein Hollow—clear, astonished, almost joyful.
Lira woke slowly, deliciously sore, wrapped in two warm bodies pressed against her on the narrow cot. Kazeal's arm lay heavy across her waist; Seraphin's head was pillowed on her breast, black hair spilled everywhere like ink. The bond thrummed behind Lira's ribs: three bright threads braided so tightly she no longer knew where one ended and the others began.
She shifted. Kazeal's eyes opened instantly, green and soft in the golden light.
"Morning," he whispered, voice gravel-rough from sleep and from screaming her name half the night.
Seraphin made a sleepy protesting sound and burrowed closer. "Five more minutes. Prophecy can wait."
Lira laughed, quiet and shaky with wonder, and felt the bond flare warm in answer. The fire inside her chest felt… lighter. Shared. Manageable.
Kazeal brushed a kiss against her temple. "It worked."
Seraphin lifted her head just enough to smirk. "Told you three was the magic number."
A second bell rang—urgent this time. Footsteps pounded past the vine curtain. Voices rose in the corridor outside.
Kazeal sat up, instantly alert. "Something's wrong."
They dressed in hurried silence—Lira pulling on her wool tunic, Seraphin lacing her leathers with practiced speed, Kazeal already stringing his bow. The bond hummed with shared adrenaline.
They stepped into the corridor just as the scarred ranger from yesterday skidded to a halt in front of them.
"Maerwyn wants you," she panted. "Now. The pool is… it's screaming."
They ran.
The scrying chamber was chaos. The black water boiled, spitting sparks of gold and violet. Maerwyn stood at its edge, arms outstretched, face lit from below like a death-mask.
The moment Lira entered, the pool went still.
Maerwyn turned her blind eyes toward them. Her expression was unreadable.
"You little fools," she said, but there was wonder in it. "You braided the tether three ways."
Lira lifted her chin. "We did."
The seer laughed—cracked and delighted. "Impossible. Beautiful. The gods themselves are jealous." She gestured at the now-calm surface. "Look."
They looked.
The pool showed a new vision: Lira, older, hair threaded with silver, standing on a mountain peak beside two figures whose faces were hidden in light. Behind them, the Eternal Flame burned steady and golden, no longer devouring. In the foreground, the Shadow Empire lay in ruins.
The image dissolved into ripples.
Maerwyn lowered her arms. "The price is still paid," she said quietly, "but now it is paid in centuries instead of decades. You bought the world time. And yourselves a life."
Seraphin let out a low whistle. Kazeal's shoulders sagged with relief so profound it looked like pain.
Tears pricked Lira's eyes. She reached blindly; Kazeal's hand found hers, Seraphin's fingers laced through her other side. Three again.
Maerwyn's voice softened. "You cannot stay. Malthor's next wave will be here by nightfall. Take what you need and ride east at once. The Cradle of First Light waits, and the Trial of Ash will test whether your new bond holds."
She paused, then added, almost gently, "It will hurt. All three of you. But it will not kill you."
The scarred ranger stepped forward with three packs already prepared—food, waterskins, cloaks dyed the colour of storm clouds, and a map sealed in oilskin.
"Horses are saddled at the hidden gate," she said. "Go with the dawn. And… thank you. For Laerion. For all of us."
Outside the chamber, the Hollow was already stirring: survivors packing, preparing to scatter like seeds before the next storm. No one looked at them with blame. Some touched foreheads in silent salute.
At the hidden gate, three black horses waited, breath steaming in the cold. Seraphin vaulted into the saddle of the smallest mare with a grin.
"Try to keep up, lovers," she called.
Kazeal offered Lira a leg up onto the second horse, then swung onto the third. Their eyes met over the saddle. The bond flared warm and fierce.Together.
They rode out of Silvervein's secret tunnel just as the sun breached the ravine wall, painting everything gold.
Behind them, the Hollow sealed its gates and vanished into legend.
Ahead, the Cradle of First Light waited—and the first trial of many.
But for the first time since the night the sky caught fire, Lira did not ride alone.
She rode with two hearts braided to hers, and the promise that whatever came next, they would burn together, not apart.