She didn't welcome them.
The woman stood at the edge of the chamber, arms folded, flame-mark long faded. Her cloak no longer trailed embers—it hung heavy, like memory. Elira felt the crown pulse faintly, but the woman didn't flinch.
"You shouldn't be here," she said. "The fire doesn't belong to you."
Kael stepped forward. "She carries the mark. The crown chose her."
The woman's eyes narrowed. "The crown chooses recklessly."
Elira didn't respond. She stepped into the chamber, the runes on the walls flickering faintly. "You asked me once if I saw visions," she said. "I do now."
The woman's expression shifted—just slightly. "Then you've seen him."
"Marlic," Elira said. "He turned to smoke. His followers followed."
The woman's voice dropped. "Then the war has begun."
Kael moved beside Elira. "We need answers. Not riddles."
"You want answers?" the woman said. "Then earn them. The fire doesn't serve the curious. It serves the worthy."
Elira's mark flared. The chamber trembled.
The woman turned away. "Follow the smoke. That's where the fire will test you."