The pale-haired woman stood calmly before them, cloaked in twilight silk and moonlight confidence. Though unarmed, there was a weight to her presence — like the air shifted to make room for her.
"Elara Wynne," she said softly. "Daughter of Isolde. I've been waiting for you."
Elara's heart skipped. "Who are you?"
The woman inclined her head. "My name is Miraen. I am a Seer of the Outer Flame. One of the last who remember what truly happened before the Gate shattered."
Lysar's brow furrowed. "The Outer Flame is a lost order. Supposedly wiped out centuries ago."
"Supposedly," Miraen echoed, a ghost of amusement in her tone. "We hid. Some in starlight. Others in shadow. All waiting for the one who would wake the Flame again."
Kael didn't lower his blade. "Why show yourself now?"
Miraen looked at Elara.
"Because she touched the first shard. And because time is thinning — the Hollow Star stirs. Its prison weakens each time a Flameborn like her awakens."
Elara's throat tightened. "Then helping me— won't it hasten its return?"
"No." Miraen stepped forward slowly, carefully. "Finishing what Isolde began is the only way to stop it forever. You must gather the three Flame Seals, unite them, and reforge the Gate. Not as a weapon. As a beacon."
Seris crossed her arms. "And the cost?"
"There's always a cost," Miraen said. "Flame is born from sacrifice."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Then Miraen reached into her cloak and pulled out a silver pendant — etched with the mark on Elara's hand.
"The second shard lies in the Temple of Ash, in the fallen city of Vaerith. But its guardian is no illusion. It's alive. Bound to the last soul who tried and failed."
Lysar tensed. "The Temple's been buried since the First Sundering."
"And it will open only to her," Miraen said, looking at Elara. "But you won't survive without guidance. Let me join you."
Kael didn't like it. Elara could tell. But she looked at Miraen and felt something strange — not trust, but resonance. Like the woman's soul burned in rhythm with hers.
Elara extended a hand. "Then come. But no more riddles."
Miraen smiled — not kindly, but honestly.
"No more riddles. Only fire."