Dawn bled softly through the high windows, painting the infirmary in pale gold. The night's shadows retreated like weary soldiers, and with them went the restless whispers of Elira's dreams.
She sat upright slowly, her body stiff but stronger than it had been yesterday. The healer's charms had done their work, though silver sparks still pulsed faintly beneath her skin. The ember within her lay quiet now, as though it too waited for what came next.
Outside, the Academy bells tolled thrice—an announcement that the Trials had ended, and that those chosen to ascend would depart with the rising sun.
Her chest tightened. It was real. She was leaving.
Serenya arrived first.
The crimson-haired warrior stood tall as always, though her usual fire carried a strange weight today. Her blade hung sheathed at her side, her posture sharp, but her eyes… her eyes softened when they found Elira awake.
"You survived," she said simply.
Elira managed a faint smile. "So did you."
Serenya crossed the room in two strides, her boots striking against the stone floor. She stopped beside Elira's bed, and for a moment, silence stretched between them. It was the silence of battle-forged bonds, of two flames that had clashed and yet refused to be extinguished.
Finally, Serenya exhaled. "I am not going to Heaven's School."
Elira blinked. "What?"
"My flame is strong, but it is not theirs to claim. I will forge my path here, not in chains disguised as lessons." Her crimson eyes narrowed. "But you… your flame is different. Too different to be left in peace. They'll drag you into their crucible, and you'll either rise… or burn."
She reached out suddenly, gripping Elira's hand. The strength in that grip startled her—it was as though Serenya was willing her own fire into Elira's bones.
"Do not let them break you," she said, her voice low, fierce. "And if you fall, remember: silver does not kneel to gold."
Elira swallowed hard. Her throat tightened, but she nodded. "I'll remember."
For a heartbeat, Serenya's lips curved—not into a smirk or a sneer, but something dangerously close to a smile. She released Elira's hand, turned sharply, and left without another word.
Her crimson flame lingered even after she was gone.
Vaelith came as shadows do—quietly, without warning.
Elira startled when she noticed him leaning against the far wall, his cloak half-melded with the darkness. His amber eyes glowed faintly, watching her.
"You're leaving," he said softly.
She nodded. "To Heaven's School."
His gaze flickered toward the window, where the dawn spread wider across the sky. For a long time, he said nothing, and Elira wondered if he had come only to vanish again.
But then, he stepped forward.
"I will not follow," he said. His voice was calm, but beneath it ran an undercurrent she had never heard before—something almost like regret. "The School binds shadows as tightly as it binds fire. If I walk those halls, I will not return myself."
Elira's chest ached. "Then why come at all?"
He studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he reached into his cloak and drew something out.
A shard of obsidian, smooth and cool, its surface etched with faint, curling runes.
"Take this," he said, pressing it into her palm. "It is a tether. If your flame consumes you, it may anchor you long enough to remember who you are."
Her fingers curled around the stone, its weight grounding, real. She looked up to thank him, but his eyes stopped her.
"Do not mistake this for kindness," he murmured. "If you fall, and your flame threatens the world… I will be the one to end you."
The words should have chilled her. Instead, they steadied her.
She nodded. "Then I'll give you no reason to try."
A faint glimmer passed through his eyes—whether approval or sorrow, she could not tell. And then, as silently as he had come, Vaelith melted back into the shadows and was gone.
When the sun finally crested the horizon, Elira stood outside the infirmary, her pack slung over her shoulder. Marcell was already waiting, his arm still bandaged but his grin bright and unshakable.
"You're stuck with me," he said, his tone deliberately light. "Heaven's School won't know what hit it."
Elira laughed, though it came out shaky. "I'm glad."
Together, they walked toward the gates.
Behind them, the Academy lay scarred from the Trials. The Arena still smoked, its stones cracked and blackened, as though the earth itself remembered her silver flame. Ahead, a carriage bearing the mark of Heaven's School waited, its doors open like the mouth of fate.
The nobles stood nearby, their eyes sharp, their whispers following her every step. Some bowed faintly, others sneered, but all of them stared—as though she were no longer just a girl, but a storm barely contained.
Among them stood the golden-haired boy. His wounds had been bound, his golden flame dim but smoldering. His gaze locked on hers as she approached, and though his lips curved into a cold smile, the scar across his cheek burned brighter than his pride.
"We are not finished," he murmured as she passed.
Elira met his eyes, silver sparks flickering faintly in hers. "Then be ready to lose again."
Marcell snorted, barely containing his laughter.
The carriage doors closed.
The wheels turned.
The Academy, with all its fire and ash, receded into the distance.
And ahead, across the horizon, rose the first glimpse of Heaven's School—spires of crystal and flame piercing the sky, a fortress in the clouds where the Sovereigns' heirs would be made or broken.
Elira's hand tightened around the shard of obsidian Vaelith had given her. Serenya's grip still lingered on her skin. Marcell's warmth stood solid at her side.
She exhaled, steadying herself.
The ember within her pulsed once.
Ascend.
And with that, her journey toward the heavens began.