Aran stood once more at Elarian Ridge.
Older now. Slower. But not faded.
The same place where it began—his sword buried in the earth, the sky burning above, and the valley quiet.
He whispered into the wind.
"I found her. I found him. I kept the promise."
The flame within him pulsed once—gently.
Not as a weapon.
But as a memory.
And as he turned to walk back to Elira, to their quiet cottage, to the world they'd saved, he did not look back.
Because the promise in his eyes was no longer a burden.
It was peace.
The End.