Solmira didn't breathe—it burned.
Elira stepped through the obsidian gates, the Ember Crown pulsing faintly against her chest. The flame-mark on her wrist flared once, then dimmed, as if recognizing the city's heartbeat. The streets were paved in cracked stone, veins of ember running through them like forgotten fire.
Kael walked beside her, his gaze scanning every shadow. "The city was sealed for centuries," he said. "Even the old maps don't show this."
"You've read about it?" Elira asked.
He nodded. "In fragments. Solmira was the crown's birthplace. But no one's seen it since the last flame-bearer fell."
Figures cloaked in ash watched from the alleys. They didn't speak. They didn't move. But their eyes glowed faintly—orange, like hers.
Kael's hand hovered near his blade. "They're not hostile. Not yet."
Elira paused at a mural carved into the wall—flame pouring from a woman's hands, a crown shattered in midair. "They knew."
Kael stepped closer. "They remembered. That's different."
A voice echoed behind them. "And now, so must you."
They turned. A woman stepped forward, her cloak trailing embers. Her eyes burned bright. "You carry the flame. But do you carry the memory?"
Elira didn't answer. The crown pulsed again.
The woman smiled. "Then come. The fire waits."