The road to the capital burned.

Every mile closer, the air grew heavier — not with smoke, but with whispers.

The world itself was holding its breath.

Eiden walked in silence, Mira on his back, her faint breathing the only sound besides the wind.

Her skin had turned cold, threaded with silver veins that pulsed like veins of living mercury.

Each beat of her heart seemed to echo with another — a distant rhythm that wasn’t her own.

The rhythm of something awakening.

---

The gates of Solara Capital loomed ahead — once golden, now cracked and blackened.

Guards were gone.

Only echoes remained, like a city preparing for its own funeral.

As Eiden entered, a strange melody drifted through the air — faint, wordless, haunting.

It came from the temple at the city’s heart.

Cale stopped dead, his expression grim.

“That song… It’s them. The Black Choir.”

Eiden frowned. “Who are they?”

Cale’s voice lowered, almost a whisper.

“The Empress’s last weapon. They don’t fight — they sing.

Their hymn bends the essence of creation itself. Anything caught within it…”

He swallowed. “…forgets it ever existed.”

---

They reached the plaza before the temple.

The Choir stood in a perfect circle — twelve hooded figures cloaked in black, faces hidden behind veils of silver thread.

Their voices blended into one unearthly note — not loud, but heavy enough to make the air tremble.

The Empress watched from the marble steps, her crown catching the dim light.

Her eyes were cold.

“I warned you, Eiden Vale,” she said softly. “The flame was not meant to return.”

Eiden laid Mira gently on the ground.

“She’s dying because of what you did to her,” he said, his voice shaking. “Tell me how to stop it.”

The Empress smiled faintly.

“Stop it? No, boy. She was chosen.

The vessel is fulfilling its purpose.”

Mira stirred, her hand clutching Eiden’s sleeve weakly.

Her voice was faint, slurred by exhaustion.

“Eiden… it hurts… I see… faces… all of them screaming…”

He held her tighter. “Stay with me. Please.”

---

The Empress raised her hand.

The Choir’s song deepened — low, resonant, impossible.

The stone beneath their feet shimmered as sigils ignited in patterns of silver flame.

 “Begin the Requiem.”

The world howled.

The melody turned violent, a vibration that ripped through the air and stone.

Eiden felt it tear at his soul — pulling memories, faces, moments.

He saw flashes of Mira, the village, his mother’s smile — all burning, fading into white.

He screamed.

The light in his veins blazed gold, fighting the pull.

“Mira! Don’t let go—!”

But Mira was already glowing — her body floating, eyes open and blank.

Her voice joined the Choir’s song, soft, unwilling.

And for the first time, the gold and silver lights intertwined, colliding mid-air.

---

The impact cracked the sky.

The temple’s spire shattered, light erupting like a second sun.

Every shadow screamed — and for a heartbeat, the world turned inside out.

Eiden stood at the center of it all, surrounded by shards of light spinning like glass.

Time slowed.

And there, within the storm, he saw her — Mira — standing barefoot, her hair flowing in the white wind.

She smiled sadly.

“It’s too much, Eiden… I can’t hold it anymore.”

He reached for her. “We’ll find another way—”

She shook her head.

“No. This… this is the way. You can’t cage what you were born to be.”

Her eyes softened, full of that quiet warmth that had always steadied him.

“Thank you for giving me something real… even if it was short.”

He froze. “Mira, no—”

She lifted her hand — silver flame blooming from her palm, merging with his gold.

Light consumed everything.

---

Outside, the Empress stared into the storm — half of the capital glowing with golden fire.

The High Seer fell to her knees. “My Empress… the Lumenflame is merging with the Echo!”

The Empress whispered, almost to herself:

“So… the Dawn has chosen its price.”

The sound of the Choir’s song died, one voice at a time — until only silence remained.

---

When the light faded, the temple was gone.

Ash drifted like snow.

In the center of the ruin, Eiden knelt, holding what was left of Mira — her body still, her face peaceful.

The gold in his veins dimmed to faint embers.

He didn’t cry.

He couldn’t.

Because he could feel it — a heartbeat that wasn’t his own, pulsing faintly beneath his skin.

Mira’s essence — the Echo — had merged into him.

A voice echoed inside his mind — her voice, faint but real.

"Eiden… don’t stop here. If you burn… let it be for something beautiful."

He closed his eyes.

The last of the ash fell like rain.

“I promise,” he whispered.

“I’ll make the dawn worth it.”

---