Lilitha_Ntlebi

In a world where mirrors whisper prophecy and fire remembers everything, two souls must choose between power and peace—before the last crown reignites.

The ancient mirrors—once shattered to save the world—have begun to awaken.

Talen, a reluctant heir with a mysterious past, and Lira, a fierce flame-binder with no kingdom to serve, are drawn into a quest to recover the seven mirrors of power. Each mirror reveals not only magic, but devastating truths—about the world's forgotten history, and about themselves.

As storms ignite, fortresses burn, and visions of the past twist into possible futures, Talen and Lira must confront the cost of memory and the seduction of destiny. With every shard they reclaim, the Crownfire stirs—an ancient force that doesn’t seek a ruler, but a vessel.

But what if the only way to save the world… is to refuse to lead it?

In the gripping fourth installment of Crown of Cinders, battles are no longer just fought with swords or flame—but with the truth, with grief, and with the power to walk away.

The fire never sleeps.
But perhaps, it can finally rest.

Crown of Cinders

Chapter Forty-Five: Legacy of Flame

The sun rose for the final time in this story with golden fingers brushing the walls of Riverfort, catching on every repaired stone, every scorched tree now showing fresh buds. Life was returning. Slowly. Quietly.

Because flame, even when tamed, always leaves a mark.

Talen stood before the old brazier in the academy's central hall—the same one that once bore silver flame. It now held nothing but cold ash. Yet his fingers hovered above it, not to light it again, but to remember that it once burned.

"You've decided, haven't you?" she asked.

She smiled softly. "I knew you would. Peace rarely holds people like you for long."

He faced her then, eyes calm, shoulders lightened. "You taught me that holding on too tightly to the past only invites the fire back."

"And letting go too fast forgets the cost of surviving it."

Lira stood outside the orchard, packing their final supplies. Her sword was strapped across her back, not as a weapon, but as a reminder. Her journals—full of maps, mirror sketches, and half-scribbled truths—fit neatly into her satchel.

She turned when Talen stepped beside her.

For the first time, there were no omens.

Just two people walking into a new world.

They traveled east first—toward the distant rivers where ancient stories still clung to riverbanks and ruins. Then south, where old Voicekeeper shrines still stood, abandoned, but not broken.

Talen spoke often to villagers. He didn't mention the mirrors. He asked what they needed.

Lira listened more than she spoke. She recorded names. Drew maps. Wrote things down no one else cared to remember.

In one village, a boy asked Talen if he could control fire.

Talen smiled and showed him how to start a campfire without magic.

In another, an old woman pressed a carved stone into Lira's hand and whispered, "For the flame that chose not to rule."

The world did not change overnight.

But it no longer feared reflections.

And people no longer whispered about crowns.

Eventually, they settled on the edge of a quiet valley—between river and forest, near the bones of a fallen tower swallowed by green.

They built a home with their own hands.

Talen taught children how to read the wind and listen to silence.

Lira taught them to question stories—and how to write their own.

One night, many years later, a girl with flame-red hair found an old book buried in the floorboards.

Inside: sketches of seven mirrors.

And a final sentence, scrawled in Lira's delicate hand:

"The fire didn't choose us to lead.