The silver bridge shimmered as Elira stepped onto it, the glassy surface suspended over a chasm of swirling starlight. Ahead, the Heartforge pulsed, its molten crystal core shedding golden embers into the ether. The Council claimed only a true heir of Aenoth could rekindle the dying world-fire, but Elira had no ancestral birthright—only stolen knowledge and a desperate hope.
She raised the Emberstone, its heat searing her palm, and whispered the incantation she had glimpsed in forbidden scrolls. The forge roared to life. Power flooded through her, a storm of memories and voices not her own. The bridge splintered. She lunged forward, pressing the stone into its socket as cracks webbed the chamber.
Light erupted. The world-fire blazed anew, but a sigil seared onto her arm—the brand of an unbidden heir. The forge had chosen her. As the Council’s horns echoed in the distance, Elira turned toward the unknown, a new destiny burning in her grasp.
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