The eternal flame
The Aftermath
Verdantia was breathing again.
Where there had been fire and blood, now there were voices—hammers striking wood, people rebuilding, life moving forward.
But Lyra felt none of it.
She lay in a soft bed, the scent of medicinal herbs in the air. The warm glow of morning light filtered through a nearby window.
She was alive.
And yet, something felt missing.
Her fingers twitched as she flexed them against the blanket. They felt cold, numb—like they no longer belonged to her.
A quiet shuffle caught her attention.
She turned her head, and there they were—Callan and Elaris.
Elaris sat slumped in a chair, arms crossed, clearly exhausted. Callan, standing by the window, gazed out at the city with a distant look in his silver eyes.
As if sensing her, he turned.
And in an instant, his expression softened.
---
Reunion
Before she could even speak, Callan was at her side.
"You're awake."
Elaris jolted upright. "By the gods, Lyra—finally."
Lyra swallowed, her throat dry. "How long…?"
"Three days." Callan exhaled. "Three days of you teetering on the edge."
Lyra blinked.
Three days.
She had fought the Syndicate's leader. Used the Soulbreaker Elixir. Chosen to live.
She had survived.
And yet, something in Callan's expression told her—not everything was right.
His voice was quiet when he spoke. "You did it, Lyra. You saved us all."
She searched his face for something—joy, relief, hope.
But all she felt was emptiness.
She looked down at her hands.
They trembled.
"But at what cost?" Her voice barely rose above a whisper. "The book is gone. Aelara is gone. I don't know if I can ever be the same."
Elaris frowned. "We'll figure it out. One step at a time."
But Lyra wasn't sure there was a path forward.
---
A Broken Connection
Hours later, she sat at a worktable.
The room was quiet. Callan and Elaris had left her alone, sensing her need for space.
Before her lay a basic set of ingredients.
Something simple.
Something she could do with her eyes closed.
A healing potion.
She reached for the crushed moonwort leaves, the ember lotus extract. Measured carefully. Mixed them with precision.
But her hands wouldn't stop shaking.
She ground her teeth, forcing herself to focus.
Alchemy had always been like breathing.
But now—it felt foreign.
She tried to summon her magic, to infuse the mixture with energy.
Nothing happened.
Her breath hitched.
She tried again.
And this time, the mixture exploded.
The vial shattered, glass spraying across the table. The pungent scent of burnt herbs filled the air.
Lyra stared at the mess.
Her fingers curled into fists.
She couldn't breathe.
She had known.
But seeing it with her own eyes—
A dry, bitter laugh escaped her lips.
She was an alchemist who could no longer create.
---
A Lingering Threat
She didn't tell Callan or Elaris what had happened.
Not yet.
Not when the city was still healing, when the people were looking to her as a hero.
A hero who could no longer do the one thing that had made her who she was.
So she wandered.
Through the half-rebuilt streets. Past the people who nodded in gratitude, the ones who whispered her name.
Lyra the Alchemist.
It sounded hollow.
And then—
A message arrived.
A simple letter, sealed in black wax.
No name. No sender.
Her stomach twisted as she broke it open.
The words inside were precise, cold, deliberate.
"The Alchemist King's return is imminent. You stopped the ritual. But not the dream. The followers remain. And they are watching.
This is not over."
Lyra's fingers tightened around the parchment.
Her magic was gone.
Her path was uncertain.
But one thing was clear.
The war was far from finished.
---
A New Purpose
Lyra exhaled, forcing the fear away.
She had thought this was the end.
But perhaps—
It was just the beginning.
She folded the letter carefully, tucking it into her satchel.
If the Alchemist King's followers still lived—
Then so did her purpose.
Even if she had to find a new way to fight.
Even if she had to rebuild herself from nothing.
She would not stop.
Not until the last ember of the Eternal Flame was extinguished.