Page 262 of Elemental Becoming

We stay. Together.

The stars turn overhead, and still no one leaves. Because there are no words big enough for this kind of sorrow.

Only the Elements.

Only the silence.

Only the promise that we remember.

After the formal ceremony ends, the Ashen Ring remains open for those who are not ready to leave. Some people rise quietly and make their way toward the exits, their faces drawn and movements slow. But many stay. They linger in small clusters, exchanging words with friends and neighbors, clasping hands, embracing.

While Thane speaks with the council, I hang back.

The fire burns steadily now, no longer leaping in grief, just glowing low and alive. I watch it in silence, my arms folded, half-listening to the murmured conversations drifting through the amphitheater. Smoke curls upward into the night, disappearing among the stars.

My thoughts find my parents.

I wish they could see this. Not the ceremony or the people gathered around me, but me. That somehow, after everything, I’d found my way through the grief instead of letting it consume me. That I’d kept going. Kept fighting. Built a life they would recognize as worthy of the sacrifices they made for me.

My throat tightens as memories come in fragments—Mother’s singing, Father’s rough hands, the smell of fresh earth after rain. I stand serenely with them for a moment, letting the memories come and go like the smoke rising into the night.

I let myself drift for a moment, unanchored, lost in the flicker of firelight and heat. Grief still hangs heavy in the air, but peace is threaded through it now.

A voice breaks the quiet beside me, saccharine enough to make my teeth ache.

“It’s a beautiful sight, isn’t it?”

I turn and my stomach sinks.

Ardyn.

She’s dressed in white like the rest of us, but that’s where the similarity ends. Her golden hair is swept into an elegant twist, piled high on her head without a strand out of place. Gold earrings catch the firelight as they sway gently, and a heavy necklace rests against her collarbones, ornate and gleaming.

She looks immaculate.

Her hazel eyes shine like amber in the firelight, but there’s no warmth in them. Only calculation.

“Yes, it is, Ardyn,” I reply flatly.

Then I turn away, back toward the fire.

The heat brushes my face, but it does nothing to thaw the tension settling between us. I hear the faint rustle of her gown as she steps closer, uninvited, her presence curling around me like smoke I can’t wave off.

“So,” Ardyn says, her tone cool and crisp, “I see you’ve declared your station, standing beside the Warlord.”

Gods.

I don’t want to do this right now.

I don’t want to parry barbed words dressed up as pleasantries. I don’t want to trade careful smiles and veiled insults. I just want a moment to grieve in peace.

But Ardyn has a talent for finding cracks in my calm.

I keep my gaze on the fire. “I stand where my place is.”

I know exactly what she means.

She doesn’t need to say it outright. No one does anymore.