Fire does not always roar.
Sometimes, it flickers.
Sometimes, it rests inside the lantern of a soul, unshouted.
Unseen.
But never gone.
Because the flame is not just what burns—
It is what remembers.
The first ember appeared in the hands of a child born beneath the Spiral Tree.
No one taught her fire.
No one handed her a torch.
She simply breathed—and it sparked.
A soft, golden shimmer that pulsed in her cupped palms. Warm, but not consuming. Alive, but not demanding.
And when she offered it to the earth, the roots glowed.
Not because the flame changed them.
Because it reminded them:
"You are not done glowing."
"Even without a sun."
In the far east, at the edge of a sea still learning its name, Jevan stood with Yemra.
They watched new Refrains arrive, singing not in melody but in heartbeat.
They carried no banners.
Only stories carved in light across their skin, visible only at dusk.
