The air in the Great Divide had changed. For a hundred years, it had tasted of ozone and dry ash, the stagnant breath of a dying world. Now, it smelled of rain and wild, blooming jasmine.
In the wreckage of the Silent King's palace, the Ember Spark Company sat around a campfire that was unlike any other. It didn't burn with wood; it flickered with a soft, pulsing violet-gold light, anchored by the Core of the Eternal Spark resting in the center of their circle.
"The Guild's messengers arrived an hour ago," Ria said, cleaning the violet gore from her spear. Her hands didn't shake, but her eyes were weary. "They aren't coming to arrest us. They're coming to beg for terms. The 'High Wardens' want to know if the rumors of the sky-ships are true."
Korg let out a sharp, barking laugh as he sharpened his axe. "Let 'em wait. Let 'em sit in their fancy towers and look at the sky. They spent a week trying to bury us; now they can see how it feels to have the shovel in someone else's hand."
"We can't just leave them to rot, Korg," Elara said softly, her fingers tracing the glowing jade veins that had sprouted across her staff. "The Star-Spires aren't just targeting us. They're targeting the life-wells. Oakhaven, the Grove... they'll be gone in a day if we don't share what we've learned."
Sissik nodded, his golden eyes reflecting the strange, new constellations appearing in the rift above. "The trees are screaming, little mage. Not in pain, but in warning. The 'Silence' was a cage, but it was also a blanket. We are very cold now, and the predators can see our breath."
Pip was the only one not looking at the fire. He was hunched over a pile of scrap from a defeated Ender-Golem, his Regulator Gauntlets sparking as he interfaced with a salvaged memory-core. "I've got the frequency," he whispered, his voice rising with excitement. "Kaelen, I can hear them. The ships in the sky... they aren't just talking to each other. They're calling out to something under the ground. Something in the West."
Kaelen stood at the edge of the plateau, his silhouette a sharp, glowing line against the dark. He wasn't wearing his armor. His skin, now etched with the permanent, glowing geometry of the Starlight Entity, hummed with a low, musical vibration.
"YOU ARE THINKING OF THE PEOPLE WE LEFT BEHIND," Ignis rumbled in his mind, the dragon's voice now a supportive echo rather than a dominant roar. "THE SCAVENGERS. THE COLD. THE ONES WHO NEVER SAW THE SUN."
"I'm thinking that a hero is just a calamity that chose to protect instead of destroy," Kaelen replied aloud.
He turned back to his company—the outcasts who had become his family. He looked at the five relics that had cost them so much blood and time. They weren't just trophies; they were tools. And they were going to need every single one of them for what was coming.
"Tomorrow, we don't go back to Oakhaven," Kaelen said, his voice carrying the authority of a King, but the warmth of a friend. "And we don't hide in the West. We build a forge. We take the Guild's resources, we take the King's iron, and we turn this world into a weapon."
"And if the Star-Eaters get here before we're ready?" Pip asked, looking up at the jagged tear in the atmosphere.
Kaelen looked at his hand. He clenched his fist, and for a moment, the starlight flared so bright it turned the night into day.
"Then we'll show them why it's a mistake to hunt a dragon," Kaelen said. "Even a small one."
Above them, another white-hot streak of light pierced the clouds, falling toward the horizon. The one-week clock was over. The era of the Ember Spark had begun.
The End.