CHAPTER THIRTEEN - Embers of What We Were

It was the way she looked at him.

Like he was a stranger.

Not an enemy. Not a threat.

Just… someone she hadn't met yet.

Kael stood frozen in the doorway of his chambers, the remnants of pain still simmering beneath his skin, but eclipsed by a colder ache—one that pulsed beneath his ribs like a wound too deep for healing.

"Eira?" he said gently.

She blinked at him. Tilted her head.

"I've heard that name," she said softly, brows knitting in thought. "They said I was her."

He flinched.

"You are. You're—" His voice cracked. "You're the girl who burned through my life like a comet."

But she only smiled politely, apologetically.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I wish I remembered the stars."

---

Naima's Fury

Naima stormed through the hall like a woman possessed.

"I told you not to let her go!" she hissed at Thorne, who now sat quietly in the solar, sipping tea like he hadn't just unraveled lives.

"I gave her the choice," he replied calmly. "Would you rather she remembered and buried him instead?"

Naima's magic flared, hot and vicious. The air shimmered.

"She loved him. She loved him. You turned that love into ash."

Thorne didn't flinch.

"She turned it into life."

That silenced even Naima—for a breath.

But not Kael.

He appeared in the doorway, wild-eyed, broken. "Is there a way to reverse it?"

Thorne looked at him then. Slowly. Carefully.

"There is always a way."

"But?"

"But it would cost you everything this time."

---

The New Eira

Eira walked through Maravelle like a ghost in her own skin. People bowed. Doors opened. Flames responded to her touch, but they no longer danced.

They merely flickered.

The city whispered behind her back:

"She's not the same."

"She doesn't remember Kael."

"She walks like a queen now."

And maybe they were right.

The girl who had loved Kael—the girl who had raged and burned and felt—was gone. In her place stood someone polished, distant.

Beautiful.

But cold.

She sat in the Hall of Embers that night, crownless, staring at her own reflection in the flame glass.

And whispered:

"Who am I, really?"

---

Kael's Desperation

He tried everything.

Bringing her flowers she once loved—moonbloom, with petals like powdered snow. She sniffed them and smiled but didn't remember.

He showed her sketches of places they'd been. The old market in Veridan, the garden where they kissed in the rain.

She looked at them like they were beautiful fiction.

He played her music—his music—the song he wrote for her on the eve of battle.

She wept.

But didn't know why.

"Why does this hurt?" she asked him, voice trembling. "Why does this ache?"

Kael's hands shook.

"Because your soul remembers even if your mind cannot."

---

A Spark Reborn

It happened the next night.

Eira wandered the city alone, against Naima's orders. She found herself in the lower district, where children ran barefoot and magic flickered like candlelight.

She stopped outside a broken-down tavern. Something about it felt… familiar.

She stepped inside.

And saw a small girl struggling to light a lantern with her fingers.

"Too much wind," the girl muttered. "Stupid wind…"

Eira knelt beside her. "Here," she whispered, cupping the girl's hands. "Breathe slower. Let the fire come to you."

The girl blinked. "Like… it wants me?"

Eira nodded. "Yes. Fire always wants its match."

The flame sparked.

Caught.

And the lantern lit.

The girl beamed.

And something inside Eira clicked.

---

Elowen Watches

In a distant hall of bone and smoke, Elowen stood before a mirror of black water.

She smiled as she watched Eira in the tavern.

"She's trying to remember," she whispered.

A shadow behind her shifted. "Is that a problem?"

"No," Elowen said.

And her eyes glowed.

"It's a gift. Because when she remembers… she'll feel every ounce of what she gave up. And then I'll take her joy, her hope, her fire—and I will wear it as my crown."

---

The Letter Beneath Her Pillow

That night, Eira returned to her chambers.

And found a letter.

The seal was familiar.

The ink smudged.

You once told me fire chooses where it lives.

You chose me.

Maybe you will again.

Her hands trembled.

She read it again.

And again.

And when the tears came this time, they felt like recognition.

Not grief.