A soft, silver dusk descended over the ruined furnace at Ashveil Village's edge. Vines curled around crumbling stones, and children's laughter echoed between wych-elm trunks. Marin Ashveil knelt before the hearth's hearthstone, trace embers glowing faintly beneath her palm. Elias Bloodmoor stood behind her, arms crossed over his breastplate, crimson eyes reflecting the pale flame.
A little boy—no more than six—tugged at Marin's cloak. “Empath Regent," he asked, eyes wide, “will the wolves ever howl again?"
Marin smiled, fingertips brushing the boy's cheek. “They will," she signed, voice warm in her mind. “But only in harmony."
The boy's grin flashed as he skipped back to a circle of laughing children. Marin rose, drawing Elias's gauntlet into her hand. “Our world…" she signed—“healed."
