The snow had stopped falling, but the world still looked like a grave.
Eric and Seraphina stood at the edge of the valley, gazing down at what was once the border of Drathmor's lands. The ground below was charred black, the forests turned into fields of twisted bones. Rivers that once shimmered with molten light now ran dark and sluggish, poisoned by ash.
They had been walking for three days.
Every night they made camp beneath broken cliffs or within hollowed trees, sleeping in silence. Every morning, they continued — one step at a time — as though distance alone could bury their grief.
Seraphina moved ahead of him, her cloak brushing through the snow. Her wings were hidden beneath it now, their wounds still healing. Only faint sparks of golden light marked her presence — a shimmer that came and went with her breath.
Eric followed, his hand resting on the sword Ka'varn had forged for him. Its edge was dulled from the last battle, but he refused to part with it. It was more than a weapon; it was a memory.
He broke the silence first.
"You used to talk a lot more before all this."
Seraphina glanced back, a small smirk ghosting across her lips. "And you used to complain more."
"I guess we've both changed."
"Maybe," she said softly, turning back to the road. "Or maybe we're just learning to listen."
Eric chuckled under his breath. "That's deep. You've been spending too much time around philosophers."
She didn't answer, but he caught the faintest curve of a smile. For the first time in days, the heaviness between them eased — just a little.
---
By midday, they reached the remnants of a village.
The houses were half-collapsed, roofs caved in from the heat of fire long past. The air smelled faintly of smoke and iron. Somewhere, a door creaked in the wind.
Seraphina paused, kneeling beside a broken stone arch. Beneath it lay the skeleton of a child — small, clutching what looked like a toy carved from bone.
Her breath hitched. She reached out a trembling hand but stopped halfway.
Eric stepped closer. "We can bury them."
She shook her head. "No. Let them rest where they fell. The earth remembers."
He hesitated, then nodded. Together they stood in silence, heads bowed.
For a long time, the only sound was the whisper of the wind.
When they finally moved on, Seraphina's expression was unreadable — but there was a spark in her eyes again. A quiet resolve.
"Eric," she said suddenly, "do you believe souls linger?"
He looked at her. "You mean after death?"
"Yes. Dragons can feel echoes — traces of the spirit. I used to think it was just instinct, but now… I feel them everywhere."
Eric thought for a moment. "Maybe they don't linger. Maybe they live through the ones who remember them."
She turned toward him, eyes glimmering faintly. "That's something only a human would say."
"Is that a compliment?"
"Perhaps," she said softly. "Or envy."
---
That night, they camped near the ruins of an ancient watchtower.
Eric gathered what wood he could find, while Seraphina carved runes into the stones around them — faint wards of protection.
The fire crackled to life, casting long shadows over the snow. Eric sat across from her, watching the way the flames danced across her face — how the light caught the gold flecks in her eyes.
"You ever wonder what you'd be doing if none of this happened?" he asked.
Seraphina looked up. "If Drakonis hadn't risen?"
"Yeah."
She thought for a moment. "I would have been a scholar, maybe. I loved history. Stories of the old ages, before the wars. My mother said I had a heart too soft for the throne."
Eric smiled. "I can believe that."
She tilted her head. "And you?"
He laughed quietly. "I'd probably still be fixing machines, drinking cheap ale, and pretending I wasn't lonely."
Seraphina's smile faded into something gentler. "You don't have to pretend anymore."
He met her gaze. "Neither do you."
The fire popped, and silence fell again — not awkward, but warm.
The kind of silence shared by two souls who no longer needed words to understand each other.
---
Later, when the stars appeared faintly through the haze, Seraphina moved closer to him.
Her wings unfolded slightly — half instinct, half longing — and she leaned her head on his shoulder.
Eric didn't move, just let her rest there, feeling the rhythm of her heartbeat against his arm.
"You should sleep," he murmured.
"I don't want to," she whispered. "When I sleep, I dream of fire."
"Then stay awake," he said softly. "Dream here."
She smiled faintly, closing her eyes but staying upright. The cold wind brushed past them, carrying sparks from the fire into the night.
After a long silence, she spoke again, voice barely audible.
"Eric… when I saw you standing in the flames that day, I thought you would die."
"I almost did."
"I felt your heartbeat fading," she continued, trembling. "It was like watching light being swallowed. I couldn't—"
Her voice broke. "I couldn't lose you too."
He turned toward her, gently lifting her chin. "You didn't."
Her eyes glistened, gold reflecting gold. "No. But it made me realize something."
"What's that?"
"That I would burn the world again if it meant saving you."
Eric froze — not from fear, but from the weight of her words.
There was no madness in her tone, no vengeance. Just truth.
A truth raw and terrifying in its purity.
He brushed his thumb along her cheek. "Then promise me you'll never have to."
Seraphina leaned in, pressing her forehead against his. "Then don't make me choose."
Their breath mingled — the warmth of dragonfire and the fragility of a human soul.
For a moment, the war felt far away, and all that existed was this — the heartbeat between them, steady and real.
---
Dawn came quietly.
The snow glittered like shattered glass as the sun rose beyond the mountains. Eric woke to find Seraphina already standing by the cliff, her cloak fluttering in the wind.
She looked back at him, eyes sharp again — calm, determined.
"You're awake," she said.
He rubbed his eyes. "Barely. You've been up long?"
"All night," she admitted. "I was listening."
"To what?"
"The world," she said simply. "It's not dead yet."
Eric walked up beside her. From where they stood, he could see faint trails of smoke in the distance — small fires scattered across the valley.
"Survivors?" he asked.
"Maybe," she said. "Or scavengers. Either way, we'll find them."
He looked at her, and for the first time in weeks, he saw hope reflected in her expression — fragile, but alive.
"Then we move," he said.
Seraphina nodded. "Together."
They began to walk again, side by side, leaving footprints in the snow that led toward the rising sun.
And though the land around them was broken, something had changed — not in the world, but within them.
The fire they carried now was not one of destruction, but of life.
A flame reborn.