Ah. There she was. My little death-slayer, speaking truths she could barely accept in herself.
Bran snorted. “That’s just stupid.”
“They say the fire of the Great Phoenix is eternal. Older than stars. Not just destruction, but the first spark of life. Within her. Within you,” Rynna continued.
Elara leaned forward, ramen forgotten.
“Or. At least. That’s what the texts said.” Rynna smiled faintly. “From when Guide Fenn and I searched the Tide Reach Library for any reference to the Elementals.”
I remembered. The two of them, tramping across continents, scavenging words to make sense of destiny. As if it were a puzzle to solve instead of a flame to endure. I could only imagine what else they had gotten up to during those months alone.
The wolf. I’d seen her laugh with him—truly laugh. Something I hadn’t thought possible after the Weaving took her from us. But he was good for her.
“So what?” Bran picked up a pebble, rolling it in his hand. “What’s that got to do with me?”
“Because you always get up,” Rynna said simply, sitting up now. “No matter what. No matter who you lose, how much it hurts, you keep believing. You never stop fighting.”
The pebble skipped twice before sinking. Plunk.
He didn’t look at her. “And someday it’s going to get me killed. That’s what Taren said. And he was right. It almost got us all killed with Renji. Or Kaelith. Or whoever he was.”
The name slithered through the air.
Rynna grimaced. I felt it before I saw it—that flicker of pain before she pasted on the same brittle smile she always wore when the Serpent came up. Or those few times he’d shown himself these last few years before disappearing.
“And then Taren left,” Bran added. “What if that was my fault, too?”
Elara reached for him. “Taren made his own choice. With the new Warden’s permission. He’ll come back. When he’s ready. That wasn’t your fault.”
“You think?”
“See?!” Rynna grinned. “That’s the spark. That’s why the Phoenix chose you.”
Bran puffed his chest a bit, bumping fists with Elara. “She probably just wants to make sure she’s in the next Ember Warden.”
I did.
“What?” Elara wrinkled her nose at Rynna, who rolled her eyes.
Then, before he could move, Elara tackled him, pinning him down and grinding her knuckles into his scalp. “Such an idiot!”
He writhed. “You’re the idiot! I can’t help that she chose me!”
Elara huffed, still straddling him. “Even now, you’re the same freaking—!”
“You’re just jealous,” Bran laughed. “I heard the Phoenix can bring people back from the dead. You’ll never manage that with your healing.”
“And now we’re spouting folk tales,” Elara muttered.
She was wrong, though the cost was high, I thought, watching the others.
The sun lit Rynna’s hair like burgundy thread. Elara’s laughter danced across the water. And Bran, beneath it all, was still trying to understand why I had come to him.
I watched them, and for the first time in ages, a quiet settled in my flames. These past few years, I’d seen my young man grow in ways I hadn’t been strong enough to witness in his father. Back then, after the Hearth fell, I’d been too lost in grief, and too shrouded in pain, trying to condense my full self in one versus hundreds without hurting him.
Grief and pain had been all we knew for many years, Ben and I.
But here, now—watching these fools laugh in the sun—I felt something close to peace.
