The fires still smoldered in the ruins of Black Hollow.
Ashen stood atop the broken battlements, surveying the aftermath. Below, warriors moved through the wreckage — salvaging what they could, tending the wounded, and burning the dead. Rain fell in a cold drizzle, washing blood into the cracked stones.
For a long moment, Ashen said nothing.
He just breathed.
Survived.
Lyra appeared beside him, limping slightly but standing tall. Her arm — or what was left of it — was wrapped in fresh bandages, and her eyes were sharp despite the pain she surely carried.
"You ever think," she said, breaking the silence, "that maybe the universe just hates us?"
Ashen let out a soft, humorless chuckle. "Starting to get that feeling, yeah."
They shared a moment of exhausted laughter, the kind that only came after staring death in the face — and spitting in its eye.
Ashen glanced sideways at her. Despite everything, she was still fighting. Still standing.
He admired that more than he could ever say.
"You did good down there," he said quietly.
Lyra gave him a lopsided grin. "You're not so bad yourself, flame-boy."
For a second, the world narrowed down to just the two of them — the rain, the ruins, the ache of survival — and something unspoken passed between them.
A pull.
A possibility.
Ashen stepped closer, heart hammering in his chest.
Lyra didn't move away.
Their eyes locked.
It would be so easy, he thought, to lean in.
To forget the pain, the war, the world for just a moment.
But before either of them could move, a shout rang out from the courtyard below.
Ashen tore his gaze away, pulse still racing.
Duty called.
Again.
They descended into the heart of the ruins.
Riven met them by what remained of the central keep, his armor scorched and dented. His face was grim.
"We need to talk," he said without preamble.
Ashen nodded. "Talk."
Riven gestured at the survivors gathering in the courtyard. "They're looking to you now. You're the one who lit the fire. You're the one who killed that… thing."
Ashen swallowed the lump rising in his throat.
He hadn't meant for this.
He was no king. No general.
Just a boy who refused to back down.
But now — now he was something more.
And if he turned away from it, all these people would be lost.
Ashen drew in a slow breath.
"Alright," he said. "We'll rebuild. We'll hold this place."
Riven nodded once. Respect flickered in his eyes.
Kael approached then, silent as ever.
Ashen stiffened, watching him carefully.
The other boy's expression was unreadable, but his eyes — those cold, sharp eyes — held something dangerous just beneath the surface.
For now, Kael said nothing.
For now.
The next few days were a blur of hard labor and harder decisions.
Ashen barely slept.
He worked with the others to shore up the walls, repurpose the ruins, and prepare for the next inevitable attack.
There was no rest in this new world.
Only survival.
Only fire.
Lyra stayed close, offering quiet strength when Ashen needed it most. Together, they trained the survivors — teaching them to fight smarter, harder. Turning farmers and villagers into warriors.
One evening, as the sun set in a blaze of crimson behind the mountains, Ashen and Lyra stood atop the walls again.
"You ever wonder what it would be like?" Lyra asked, her voice soft. "A normal life?"
Ashen thought about it.
About a life without battle. Without blood.
About a life where he and Lyra could just... be.
He shook his head slowly. "I don't think people like us get that luxury."
Lyra smiled sadly. "No. I guess we don't."
They stood there for a long time, watching the darkness creep in.
And somewhere beyond the horizon, a greater storm brewed — a shadow far more terrible than the Seared One ever was.
But for now, they had a fortress.
For now, they had each other.
And that was enough.
For now.