The days that followed Maerin’s arrival rippled with tension. The Embermarked, once bonded loosely by fear and awe, now whispered in split circles. Some gathered beneath Lyra’s instruction, eager for guidance and wary of losing control. Others followed Maerin to the high terraces, drawn by her fire-forged certainty and refusal to bow to the past. Lyra felt the fracture growing—not from malice, but from desperation. These were children of ruin, flame-blooded without context, power awakening in bodies too young to carry it. They needed not just teaching—but ritual, structure, something ancient to frame what they were becoming. And so, she prepared the Circle. The old teaching ring of Kithra Vale, half-buried and broken, was swept clean by dawnlight and ash. Glyphs were re-inscribed along

