The fires had cooled.
Ash blanketed the stone courtyard, soft as snow. The Cradle no longer glowed with power, but a residual warmth clung to its bones, as though the ancient forge still breathed beneath the ground.
The group had camped just beyond the ruined gates. The villagers had found space near a crumbled wall where a spring trickled from the rocks, enough to drink, to wash, to feel something close to peace again.
No one spoke of victory.
It didn't feel like one.
Lena sat near the spring, sleeves rolled up, gently binding a child's arm. The boy barely flinched, his eyes watching her not with fear, but wonder.
"Did you really ride fire out of the ground?" he whispered.
Lena smiled faintly. "No. That was Eira. I just patch holes and give scoldings."
The boy grinned. "You're good at both."
Behind them, Kaela paced the edge of camp, eyes always scanning the treeline. She hadn't slept, not since Maelis had vanished into the woods. Her sword was always close, her expression unreadable. But when she passed by the villagers, she nodded once to each of them as if silently vowing they'd be kept safe.
Torin rested with his back to a low wall, boots off, leg stretched awkwardly in front of him. He'd torn the fabric from his cloak to make a proper brace. Lena had offered to help, but he waved her off.
"I need my hands," he said. "Not my leg."
Instead, he cleaned his bow, fingers working through the motions automatically. But his eyes strayed, often, toward the Cradle's shattered arch.
"Never thought I'd see anything like that," he muttered. "Magic waking up like it remembered us."
"Maybe it did," came Thorne's voice.
He was sitting nearby, sharpening one of his blades. Not because it needed it but because he didn't know what to do with his hands otherwise. For once, he hadn't vanished into the woods or retreated into silence. He stayed near Eira.
She was still at the heart of the courtyard, kneeling where the flame had risen. Her hand hovered above the ash-streaked stone. She wasn't listening for answers. Not anymore.
She was remembering.
Kaela finally broke her circuit and came to stand beside her.
"You're quiet."
"I'm trying to feel what's left."
Kaela glanced down. "And?"
Eira's voice was low. "The Cradle is tired. But not empty. It's like… it gave all it could, but there's still something buried here. Older than memory."
Kaela studied her for a long moment. "You scared her. Maelis."
"She'll come back."
"I know." Kaela's voice was flint. "And next time, I'll be ready."
Eira looked over, gaze softening. "You shouldn't have to fight your sister."
"She stopped being my sister when she chose the Veil."
They stood in silence for a while.
Later, Eira walked among the villagers. Some of them flinched when she passed, still wary of what they'd seen; the pillar of fire, the runes, the way her eyes had changed. But others reached for her hand, or bowed their heads slightly.
"Are you going to lead us now?" an older woman asked.
Eira hesitated. "I don't know how."
"You don't have to," the woman said simply. "You just have to walk ahead. And let the fire follow."
That night, a small fire crackled in the center of camp. Not magical. Just wood and ember. Simple warmth.
They sat together around it; Eira, Thorne, Lena, Kaela, Torin. Even some of the villagers had joined them, drawn by the quiet, by the heat, by the chance to rest.
"So what now?" Torin asked, gaze flicking between them.
"We go to the Wellspring," Eira said. "The Cradle gave us pieces, but the Wellspring might hold more. History. Answers."
"And danger," Kaela added.
"Always," Thorne murmured.
Lena reached into her satchel and pulled out a folded scrap of parchment. "Before we fled Hollowmere, I copied pieces of the old archives. I think they mention a bridge, the last marker before the Wellspring valley."
Eira leaned closer. "A bridge?"
"Or what's left of one. I think it's warded. We'll need to approach carefully."
Torin snorted. "Carefully? That's a new word for us."
Kaela actually smiled at that.
Thorne's gaze remained steady on Eira. "Are you ready?"
"No," she said quietly. "But I'm going anyway."
The wind stirred through the leaves overhead, and the embers leapt higher.
This wasn't victory. It wasn't safety.
But it was something.
A place to breathe. To gather. To remember why they still walked forward.
The fire hadn't burned them away.
It had brought them together.