That morning, the sun never really rose — not the way it typically does.
Instead, light filtered slowly through the sky, not gold, not orange — but a pale, sparkling silver. The clouds broke apart like theater curtains, allowing the Hollow's breath to flow skyward.
Serena emerged from the ruined temple, her white-glowing eyes gradually fading back to gold. The mist seemed to part around her. It curved around her like something deferential — or fearful.
Lucian and Elias followed her, then the villagers. The ones who'd waited on the ridge had watched in silence through the night. No one cheered when Serena came in.
They bowed their heads. Because somehow, they knew.
She was no longer just a girl with fire.
She was fire.
She was truth.
Lucian stood next to her, always a half-step behind. Guarding her. Watching her. At first he said nothing, but the way his fingers continued to twitch near hers spoke words that were lullaby-soft and too quiet to hear.
