Years passed.
The Realm of Embers flourished. The Flamebound rebuilt not as warriors—but as guides.
Elira healed. Aran taught. And Lioran… wandered.
He walked between worlds now. A keeper of flame. A guardian of choice.
He never wore the Ember Crown.
He carried it within.
One night, before he left again, he turned to his father.
"There's still darkness out there. But I'll carry your promise in my eyes, like you once carried hers."
Aran smiled.
"No, son. You've made a new one."
Lioran nodded.
And stepped into the stars.