Three months had passed since the Heartchain's fall.
On the windswept shores of a fishing village at Dragon Isle's edge, Lion stood watching the tide roll in. The Shadowheart in his chest lay quiet now, though only two of its seven chains remained intact. Beside him, Selene flexed the fingers of her new right arm—a masterpiece of dragon-scale and Phoenix Ember ash forged by Calvin's ingenuity. As for the one-armed knight himself...
"Oi, brat! Keep dawdling and you'll starve tonight!"
Calvin's hook glinted in the sunset as he waved them over, the clever contraption currently clamped around a bottle of ale.
Lion chuckled, making his way to the beachside fire where Selene tended to skewered fish. The scar across her nose had faded, though the glint in her eyes burned brighter than ever.
"The Conclave lies in ruins. The dragonkin have fled north." She passed Lion a perfectly charred mackerel. "Where to next?"
Lion gazed at the horizon. The Shadowheart's final memories whispered of two surviving Shadowkin still imprisoned somewhere. Meanwhile, the Phoenix Ember's residual flames in Selene's core pulsed with warnings—fragments of the Heartchain yet remained, scattered across the world...
Calvin took a long swig, his hook clinking against the bottle. "Wherever it is, pack extra ale."
As the sun dipped below the waves, their shadows stretched long across the sand. In Lion's pooling darkness, one might glimpse a pair of watchful eyes—the Shadow Prince's lingering presence, now at peace.
And in Selene's silhouette, if one looked closely, a tiny golden flame still danced.
Unquenchable.