Ember had been growing quieter, fiercer. His flame, once warm and playful, now crackled with intensity.
One night, he left a single ember on Lucky's pillow and vanished into the sky.
She chased him to the Pyre Mountains, where he stood upon a spire of black stone, preparing to unleash the Final Ascension—a phoenix's last and greatest blaze.
He looked at her, eyes ancient.
"Your light made me burn brighter," he said. "But my flame belongs to the world now."
He rose into the air. The fire was blinding.
When it faded, a feather drifted down, glowing forever.