In the heart of the quiet woods, far from the flames, a child-like figure made of smoke and starlight wandered barefoot.
She had no eyes. But she saw.
She carried no blade. But she knew war.
She sang to the wind — a lullaby from a world long lost.
"Little flame, don't fall asleep.
Darkness watches. Promises weep."
And as she sang, a voice — old, venomous, almost forgotten — rose from the deepest fracture of the shattered realms.
"I remember you, Flamebearer."
Aran woke in the middle of the night, sweat on his brow, Elira clutching his arm.
"I heard it too," she said.
The World-Flame flickered.
The promise was not broken.
But something older had begun to awaken.