The Nightingale sailed quietly through the inter-realm drift, cloaked in the cosmic mists that shimmered between fractured dimensions. With three fragments of the Starflame now bound to the Aether Key, the ship pulsed faintly with power — like a beating heart waking from centuries of slumber.
But peace was a fleeting illusion.
Inside the war room, a map hovered in projection — a constellation web of Realm Gates, energy flows, and growing anomalies.
Riven pointed to the next convergence "There. The shard's signature is bleeding through in the Sable Crescent."
Vaelion's eyes narrowed "That's deep within Obsidian Accord territory. We'll have to deal with their sentinels — or avoid them entirely."
Kaelen leaned against the wall, arms crossed "We don't avoid anymore. We cut through."
Lyra sat at the table, her fingers tracing the now-triadic flame symbol on the Aether Key. Each fragment shimmered with a different hue — blue, gold, and violet — resonating like notes in a forgotten melody.
"They're changing me," she whispered.
Kaela, seated beside her, glanced over "What do you mean?"
Lyra closed her eyes "Every fragment we find… it's like unlocking doors inside my own mind. Memories that don't belong to me — but feel like mine."
Vaelion stepped forward "Then it's working. You're not just the bearer of the Starflame. You're becoming its soul again."
Riven turned from the map "Which makes us targets. The Accord won't let us near the Crescent without bloodshed."
Elsewhere, in the shadows of a dying Realm, Serian stood before a massive circular gate — the Cradle of Embers. Around him, seven cloaked figures knelt. One rose — the Seventh General, once thought fallen.
"Voidspire has fallen," the general rasped "The Starflame rekindles."
Serian nodded, expression unreadable "And soon, it will shine bright enough for all to see — even those who've forgotten its burn."
He raised a hand "Send the Fourth and Fifth Generals to the Crescent. Prepare the Veilfang. If Lyra seeks the next flame… we'll give her fire."
Back aboard the Nightingale, preparations intensified. Kaelen trained in the gravity chamber, his blade arcs faster than sight. Sparks crackled with each strike. Every swing honed by the memory of battle, and the weight of destiny.
Kaela meditated, whispering incantations to stabilize the emotional pull of the fragments. The flame wasn't just power — it was pressure. Responsibility. Burden.
Riven recalibrated the ship's dimensional shield, knowing full well they'd need stealth and speed.
Lyra? She wandered the lower deck, stopping before a sealed door she'd never seen before.
The lock recognized her.
With a hiss, it opened into a chamber filled with starmaps, old tomes, and a single projection — her former self, from the memory shown by the Chronicler.
"If you've come here," the echo began, "then you've begun to remember. Good. But you must not reclaim the seventh flame. It is alive."
Lyra staggered back. The projection vanished.
She stood still, heart racing, flame flickering at her fingertips.
"I wasn't supposed to complete it," she murmured "I was supposed to break it."
The door closed behind her.
Hours later, the crew gathered as the Nightingale neared the Sable Crescent — a shattered realm where time bled into itself. The stars there wept crimson, and ancient relics of war drifted in endless orbit.
"This is it," Riven said "The Crescent's unstable — we have one chance to retrieve the shard before the timeline folds."
Kaelen drew his blade "Then let's not waste it."
As they prepared to launch, Vaelion looked at Lyra "You're holding something back."
She hesitated — then shook her head "Nothing that changes what we need to do."
But deep inside, the words of the echo rang clear:
The seventh flame is alive.
And it remembers you.