Page 259 of Elemental Becoming

As they climb higher, wind chimes strung throughout the cliffs begin to peal. The sound drifts across the Ring like a language I’ll never fully understand.

A language made of grief and breath and flight.

Earth Clan’s Stone Markers are laid at the base of the pyre in a quiet, continuous line. Some are pressed into the soil by Earth Clan mages, etched permanently into the land itself. Others remain above ground, waiting to be claimed by surviving loved ones.

A weight to carry forward. A reminder that remembrance is its own form of endurance.

Thousands of people fill the Ring: warriors, healers, families, children. The injured sit wrapped in bandages and healing cloths. Dragons line the surrounding ridges, their massive silhouettes dark against the fading sky.

No one speaks above a whisper. The grief is too large for that. And when the final name is spoken, when the last wind-carried prayer disappears into the stars, one final ritual begins.

The Ember Vigil.

Earlier, Thane told me about the final ritual. When the last name is spoken and the offerings are complete, a single flame will be taken from the pyre and carried to the Hall of Remembrance, where it will burn until the war ends.

A promise, flickering in the dark.

For now, the fire burns low, banked and waiting. It will not rise until the names are spoken.

Thane stands beside me, his hand brushing mine. He asked me to stand with him tonight as the Spiritborn. He said people needed to see me, just like when we walked through the infirmary. My presence mattered. In the wake of so much death, they needed something to hold on to. A symbol. A flicker ofhope. A little light.

But I don’t feel like hope or light.

I feel like the reason we’re here.

Because this memorial wasn’t born from tradition. It exists because people died. And they died because the Shadow Forces came for me. Everyone at the ball. Everyone who bled, who burned, who didn’t make it home. Collateral in a war I never asked for but can’t seem to escape. A war that grows larger everywhere I go.

So I stand here with my back straight, my chin lifted, and my eyes dry. I do what’s expected of me.

I let them see what they need to see.

But inside, I feel like a fraud.

My shields remain firmly in place, held not out of fear, but by choice. If I let them down, even for a second, Thane would feel it. The weight pressing into my ribs. The guilt wound so tightly through me that some days it feels difficult to breathe.

I haven’t spoken it aloud since the night of the attack. And I won’t. Not now.

Thane already carries enough.

Every eye in the Ashen Ring turns toward him. They look to him not only as the Warlord of the Fire Clan, but as something more. Something they can count on.

Something that does not break.

He’s the one holding this ceremony together, giving grief a shape in a world that keeps threatening to fall apart.

I won’t add to what he’s already carrying. I won’t let my doubt become another burden he has to shoulder.

Because no matter how many people speak of me with reverence, no matter how many times they whisperSpiritbornas though it means hope, I cannot shake the truth lodged deep inside me.

This happened because of me.

And even if no one else will say it, I know it. I know it every time I close my eyes. I know it every time I hear another name spoken into the fire.

Still, I stand here, composed and present. I let them see strength. I let them see something they can believe in.

But the truth is, I feel like I don’t deserve to stand here at all.

And yet, I do it anyway. Because they need the symbol.