Years passed.
The people rebuilt. The lands healed. The name of the Shadow-Aran faded into myth — not out of shame, but because the world had learned to move beyond him.
Elira walked through the gardens with a child at her side — a boy with curious eyes and hair like firelight.
"Tell me the story again," he said.
She smiled. "Which one?"
"The one about the man with the two hearts."
Aran stepped onto the path, joining them. "That's a heavy tale."
"I can carry it," the boy said proudly.
Elira laughed. "You're his son, after all."
Aran looked up at the stars, now free of flame and fear. "Then hear it well," he said. "There once was a man born with a promise in his eyes. One that burned, not because he wanted to conquer… but because he refused to forget who he was."
The boy blinked. "Did he win?"
Aran knelt beside him. "He lost. Then won. Then lost again. But in the end, he kept his promise. That's what made him strong."
The child thought for a moment. "What was the promise?"
Elira looked to Aran. Aran looked to her.
And together, they answered:
"To love… no matter how long the fire burns."
The wind shifted.
And in the distance, the Vault of Varyn shimmered — quiet, content, eternal.