Page 258 of Elemental Becoming

“It’sbecausethere’s a war that you need it,” he counters. “Peace isn’t indulgent, Amara. It’s survival of a different kind.”

I hesitate. The arguments rise to my lips, but before I can say anything, Valen continues.

“There’s more than one kind of burnout,” he says. “It isn’t only magical.”

He holds my gaze.

“If you burn outemotionally, Amara . . . you won’t be able to be the Spiritborn the realm needs.”

The protest dies before it reaches my tongue. Because the truth is, I trust him. Valen has guided me through grief, power, loss, and mistakes I never thought I would survive. Time and time again, he’s seen what I couldn’t.

If he believes I need this, then maybe I do.

So I nod.

The idea still feels strange. Indulgent, even. But when Ipicture dark soil beneath my fingernails and something green pushing toward the sun, a small spark of excitement unfurls in my chest.

I’m going to have my very own garden.

ASHEN RING

THIRTY-FIVE

Into the fire she was cast, yet the fire claimed her not.

Beneath the waters she was held, yet the depths took her not.

From the high cliffs she was hurled, yet no descent befell her.

Beneath the earth she was laid, and there her strength awakened.

—VALEN’S JOURNAL

AMARA

The Ashen Ring is silent when we arrive.

No music or speeches. Just the wind brushing against black stone and the distant crackle of flame as theceremonial pyre is lit.

I’ve never seen anything this beautiful.

Or this devastating.

The memorial is held at dusk in the Ashen Ring. It’s vast and circular, open to the sky, with obsidian benches arcing around a wide central hearth. The black stone drinks in the firelight, reflecting only what it cannot contain. Above us, the sky opens into twilight, stars beginning to emerge as wind weaves through the silence of the massive crowd.

Earlier today, while we were getting ready, Thane told me how each clan honors the dead. But standing here now, surrounded by thousands of mourners and the weight of their grief, I realize understanding and witnessing are not the same thing.

The Flame Offering is the heart of the ceremony. At the center of the ring stands a long pyre, the fire already blazing. One by one, Fire Clan mourners step forward, bringing tokens of the fallen—armbands, shattered bits of armor, singed scraps of cloth—and cast them into the growing flame.

Each time a name is spoken, the fire briefly flares, as if answering the grief of those who are left behind.

The Water Clan’s Vessels of Mourning are placed in a wide circle around the benches, shallow bowls of clear water, one for every life lost. People step forward, releasing a single drop into each bowl, salted with tears, sweat, or magics, marking a life remembered.

The water ripples outward.

Water Clan mages stand silently nearby, their magics shaping the reflections of the Elements into rippling moons and shifting light. The air itself seems to glimmer.

Air Clan’s Whispers to the Sky comes next. Thin strips of cloth and paper are handed out at the entrance, already etched with names, prayers, fragments of memory. At a signal, Air Clanchannelers lift them on the wind, sending them rising into the dusk.