The sun hung low over the Ashen Wastes, painting the cracked earth in bruised oranges and purples. Wreckage smoldered in scattered heaps—twisted metal from fallen skiffs, charred sails fluttering like dying flags. The air still carried the acrid bite of dragonfire and corrupted echoes, but the wind was shifting, carrying cleaner scents from distant rain.
Elara and Thorne had retreated to the lee of a half-collapsed spire—once part of an outer temple ring around the throne node. The stone offered shelter from prying eyes and the worst of the ash drifts. They sat side by side on a fallen pillar, backs against the wall, breathing in the fragile silence that follows survival.
Elara's shoulder wound had mostly closed thanks to the residual Binding Chain effects, but a dull ache lingered. She flexed her fingers, watching faint golden threads flicker between her wrist and Thorne's forearm before fading entirely. The skill's cooldown had kicked in; they were unlinked for now. Strangely, the absence felt louder than the connection had.
Thorne sat with one knee drawn up, wings tucked tight against his back. The tear in his left membrane had stopped bleeding, but the edges looked raw, fragile. He stared at the horizon where the imperial ships had fled, jaw set.
"You're quiet," Elara said softly.
He exhaled through his nose—a sound halfway between laugh and sigh. "Thinking how close that was to being the end."
"We won."
"Barely." He turned his head to look at her. Amber eyes caught the dying light, making them glow like banked coals. "You turned an entire wave of wraiths on their summoner. That's not winning by inches. That's rewriting the rules."
She gave a small, tired smile. "Isolde's rules. I just… remembered them at the right moment."
Thorne studied her face—really looked, as if seeing her for the first time without the haze of battle. "You're changing faster than I expected. The throne fragment didn't just give you power. It's reshaping you."
Elara touched the crown mark on her wrist. It no longer burned; it simply existed, warm and constant, like a second pulse. "I can feel her—Isolde. Not possessing me. More like… advice I didn't ask for, but I'm glad to have. She's proud of what we did."
He raised a brow. "And what does a long-dead queen think of her echo-bearer cozying up to a cursed exile?"
"She thinks you're useful." Elara's lips quirked. "And that your fire complements her light. Her exact words were something like, 'Even shadows can guard the flame if they choose.'"
Thorne let out a low chuckle—the first genuine one she'd heard from him. It softened the hard lines of his face. "High praise from royalty."
Silence settled again, comfortable this time.
Elara shifted closer until their shoulders touched. He didn't pull away.
"Thorne," she said quietly. "Back on the dais… when we claimed the fragment together. You said 'always.'"
His gaze dropped to their hands—close but not quite touching. "I did."
"Was that the Binding Chain talking? Or you?"
He was quiet long enough that she thought he wouldn't answer.
Then: "The chain makes things clearer. Amplifies what's already there." He finally met her eyes. "I've spent years keeping everyone at arm's length because getting close means they burn when the curse flares. But you…" He swallowed. "You walked into the fire with me. You linked your soul to mine knowing it might drag you down. That changes things."
Elara's heart beat harder—steady, unafraid. "I'm not afraid of your fire."
"You should be."
"Maybe." She reached out, slow enough he could stop her, and traced the edge of one remaining scale on his forearm. It was warm, almost feverish. "But I'm more afraid of what happens if we keep pretending we're just reluctant allies."
Thorne caught her hand gently—his grip careful, as if he still feared breaking something fragile. He turned her palm up, studying the faint golden veins that had appeared after the throne claim.
"You're becoming something the Empire has feared for centuries," he murmured. "A true Anchor. If we keep going—if we hunt the other nodes—you'll have to make choices queens make. Hard ones. Ones that might mean sacrificing pieces of yourself. Or pieces of me."
Elara curled her fingers around his. "Then we make them together. No solo heroics. No noble self-sacrifice. We've already proven we're stronger linked."
He looked at their joined hands for a long moment.
Then he lifted her hand to his lips—soft, deliberate, a brush of heat against her knuckles.
"Together," he echoed. The word carried weight, promise, and something deeper that neither of them named yet.
Elara felt warmth bloom in her chest—not just from Isolde's echo, but from something newer, human, raw. She leaned in; he met her halfway.
Their lips touched—tentative at first, testing. Then deeper, hungry in the way only people who've stared down death can be. His hand slid to the nape of her neck, fingers threading through her braid. She pressed closer, tasting smoke and storm and the faint metallic edge of his curse.
When they parted, foreheads resting together, breaths mingling, Thorne whispered against her mouth:
"No going back now."
"Good," she breathed. "I wasn't planning on it."
A soft chime in her mind—her HUD, quiet but present:
[Alliance of Ashes – Progress: 78%][Shared Echo Resonance: Stabilized at High. New Passive Unlocked – Mutual Echo Ward (shared damage mitigation when within 30 ft)][Hidden: Bond Milestone Approached. Next threshold requires mutual vulnerability confession.]
Elara huffed a quiet laugh. "Even the system ships us."
Thorne smirked. "Meddling little thing."
They stayed like that—tangled, quiet—until the last light bled from the sky and stars began to prick through the thinning ash clouds.
Eventually, necessity intruded.
"We need to move before dawn," Thorne said reluctantly. "Mirael will report everything. The Emperor knows the node is claimed. He'll send heavier forces—maybe even one of the Crown Princes."
Elara nodded. "Next fragment?"
Her HUD obligingly highlighted a direction: faint golden line stretching southwest, toward the jagged silhouette of distant mountains.
"The Obsidian Peaks," Thorne confirmed. "Old legends say the Second Binding Node is buried there—in the caldera of a sleeping volcano. Fitting, considering."
She stood, offering him a hand up. He took it, rising with easy grace despite his injuries.
"Rest first?" she asked.
"An hour," he agreed. "Then we fly."
He shifted—wings unfurling slowly, carefully. The tear in the membrane still looked painful, but the edges had begun to knit, helped by their resonance.
Elara stepped into his arms without hesitation. He lifted her effortlessly, cradling her against his chest.
"Hold on," he murmured.
She wrapped her arms around his neck. "Always."
With a powerful beat of wings, they rose into the night—two silhouettes against the emerging stars, bound by chain, by choice, by something growing stronger than either power or curse.
The Ashen Wastes fell away beneath them.
The next throne waited.
And so did the war.
[End of Chapter 7 – To Be Continued...]