A Farewell of Lights and Petals

The night in Flambell City was not dark, but of a deathly amber as the funeral of the Priestess of the Flame, Shula, took place, marking the end of an era that was fading amidst steam and volcanic stone.

(Pssssssss... hshhhhhh...)

In the middle of the night, dense steam from the natural hot springs rose from the cracks in the ground, mingling with the cold night wind that whistled through the alleys.

(Fuuuu... uuuuu!)

The air was heavy, thick with moisture and the scent of sacred ash, while the people, shrouded in robes of a dull red, began to gather in the central plaza in a silence so absolute that one could hear the heartbeat of the earth.

"...."

"...."

"...."

"...."

At that moment, parallel to the meeting between divine entities striking deals in the shadows and Shija's awakening to her new reality, a particular group made their appearance in the plaza.

"The air feels colder today. The flame that warmed us for a century has flickered for the last time."

"It is not just the cold, brother. It is the silence. The world no longer sounds the same without her songs to the fire."

"We walk upon the ashes of our own era. Look at them... the people seek in us a fire that we can no longer sustain alone."

"Let them seek. Darkness is necessary so they may learn to value the light... Especially the one that approaches with the current state of this world."

One by one, men and women of advanced age, with hunched backs and faces carved by time, crossed the threshold of the sacred precinct. They were the Children of Fire. They were the orphans, the lost children whom Shula took into her arms during the uncertain days of Flambell’s foundation.

"Every ember must return to the earth for the cycle to be complete."

The Priestess of the Flame, Shula, did not only give them a roof; she raised them with the warmth of her own essence, turning them into the living pillars of the city.

"She is not gone. She has only passed from being the hand that fans the fire to being the spark that inhabits it."

"... That was what she always used to say."

Now, having become elders who walked with canes of charred wood, they returned to bid farewell to the mother who had raised them.

"I... I never imagined she would leave before we did."

Their slow steps echoed upon the stone. They were the last witnesses of Shula’s miracles, and their presence reminded everyone that, although the flame is eternal, the flesh that protects it is as fragile as frost beneath the sun.

"The weight she carried is now divided among our tired shoulders."

In this manner, the elders crossed the plaza with a solemnity that made time stand still.

"The plaza is full, but minds are void of guidance. They fear what tomorrow will bring."

Weary whispers floated among them as they recalled anecdotes from centuries past, walking with slow but firm steps toward the center of the precinct.

"Our mother has been extinguished at the moment when the shadows are longest. It is no coincidence."

There, an immense bonfire crackled with an unnatural strength; it was a flame born from the Priestess's primordial fire, the spark that gave life and name to the city of Flambell.

"Silence. Let our footsteps speak for us. The people need to see that the flame, though weak, still walks."

The history of the Priestesses of the Flame extended beyond the borders of that world. No matter the universe in which they manifested, each generation of these bearers left an indelible mark. This was because fire has infinite interpretations—destruction, rebirth, purification—and each priestess bestowed her own upon the use of the primordial power they carried within their souls.

In the world of Ky'lar, Shula was recognized and revered as the Priestess of the Watchtower Flame. Her fire was not a consuming blaze, but a guiding light in the midst of the absolute blackness. Like an immovable beacon in the night, her presence kept at bay the shadows that lurked at the edges of civilization.

"...."

"...."

"...."

"...."

For the Children of Fire, she was the warmth that prevented the darkness of the abyss from devouring their hearts.

"What was born from the spark, to the ember returns. Mother, guide, and guardian... today we release you from the weight of sustaining the day."

Now, before that very bonfire she once lit, the elders paused, feeling for the last time the warmth of a beacon that was about to go out forever.

"Tu fuego fue el muro que las sombras no pudieron escalar. Que tu calor se convierta ahora en el sol de los que ya no están, y que tu luz nos perdone por la oscuridad que estamos por heredar."

Uno a uno, los Hijos del Fuego se acercaron al borde de la fogata primigenia.

"Do not weep for the fire that dies; weep for the hands that forgot how to light it. She has finished her watch; now the cold is our only truth."

With voices cracked by the years, they uttered words of farewell that sounded like forgotten prayers, thanking the "Watchtower" for every night her light protected them from fear.

"May the ash be your bed and the smoke your path to the infinite. The Era of the Flame ends with you; may the Great Fire find us worthy of the shadows to come."

Thus, whispering as they dropped a handful of dried herbs into the fire...

"""Thank you for the warmth, mother..."""

The elders, as one, said their final goodbye.

(Fuuuuuuuuuuuuu!)

At that very instant, the wind shifted.

(FROOOOOSH!)

What was once a cold and erratic breeze intensified abruptly, gusting with a force that caused the bonfire's flames to whip violently toward the sky.

(SHRIIIIIIIIII!)

The whistling of the air between the stone structures turned into a high-pitched lament that forced those present to cover their faces.

"This was unexpected..."

However, the strangest phenomenon was occurring beyond the walls of Flambell.

"I didn't imagine you would perform such a... charitable act."

In the wastelands and within the cracks of the volcanic rock surrounding the city, the ground began to tremble subtly.

(Plup... p-plup... fllluup!)

From the barren earth, where there should only be ash, tiny sprouts of impossible colors began to emerge. They were flowers that did not belong to that ecosystem; translucent, vibrant petals that opened with unnatural speed, fueled by an absurd amount of energy.

"More! Let many more bloom!"

In the midst of the howling wind and the mourning that suffocated the plaza, the source of the impossible sprouts—a tiny, fluttering fairy—danced in the air.

"Bloom!!"

Her laughter seemed to inject life directly into the cracks of the volcanic rock. With every shout of hers, the petals multiplied, covering the gray ash with a mantle of electric colors and intoxicating perfumes. It was an explosion of life in a place dedicated to death.

"Well, a small whim isn't so bad..."

Melioris, standing with her arms crossed and an enigmatic smile as she watched the spectacle, contemplated Flora's enthusiasm, responding without looking at the "goddess" beside her.

"Even if it is somewhat hypocritical coming from me~!"

She stared at the flowers for a second longer before letting out a sigh heavy with an irony that only she could understand.

"To what end are you doing this?"

The "goddess," watching as Flora's flowers invaded the ashen landscape, narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

"And more importantly... why did you stop me when I was about to steal the corpse? I could have finished this long ago and withdrawn if not for your interference."

She did not understand the logic of that display of life in such a dismal moment, nor the incongruity of the actions of the fascinating being before her.

"Mmm... So as not to ruin the celebration, of course!"

In response to her questions, Melioris crossed both arms behind her head, letting the wind toss her hair while she closed her eyes in delight.

"Celebration?"

The "goddess" froze, raising an eyebrow filled with pure intrigue in a curious expression that graced her marble face.

"Are you perhaps referring to the priestess's death as a party? Is your nature truly that twisted?"

At that moment, upon hearing those words, Melioris broke her dramatic pose.

(CLANG!)

Like a cartoon defying the laws of physics, she pulled a cast-iron frying pan out of thin air and swung it through the air with a swift motion.

"You're wrong!"

She thus slapped a deity.

"¡?! "

This left the "goddess" in momentary shock, able only to clutch her cheek.

"I wasn't referring to death, you silly thing~!"

Meanwhile, a bit further from the argument, the rest of Melioris's group began to move.

("One, two, one, two!")

Silver, the little silver armor...

("¡¡!!")

And Goldie, the golden straw doll, positioned themselves flanking Flora amidst the sea of flowers.

(Clink, clank! Fshhh!)

Silver adjusted his metal joints and Goldie stretched her straw limbs, both performing a series of rhythmic stretches, preparing like athletes before a major competition.

"You wretch!"

The "goddess," regaining her senses after receiving the slap, erupted in a shout of pure frustration.

"Hey... did you know...?"

However, Melioris, ignoring the insult, walked lightly toward her group. The wind tossed her clothes as she began to explain the truth behind her "celebration" with a voice that carried ancestral wisdom.

"The Priestesses of the Flame do not simply die."

As she walked, she began to move in a zigzag pattern.

"Upon leaving this world, they pass their fire to the next generation in another time, space, or universe. Their flame was born to face the darkness, and that mission never ends. It only changes hands."

Finally, she stopped beside Silver and Goldie, leaning down slightly to tenderly rub the heads of the little armor and the straw doll.

"Let’s do it."

She whispered with a smile. In response, both leaped into the night sky with superhuman agility.

("Ready?!")

("Yes!!")

Immediately, Silver unsheathed his sword, enveloping the steel in hypnotic gray flames, while Goldie raised her straw hands, gathering golden light into a sphere that pulsed like a tiny sun.

(BOOOOOOM! VREEEEE!)

They launched both attacks in parallel, which collided at the highest point, creating a massive explosion of fireworks that illuminated every corner of Flambell.

"This is my way of celebrating the next generation as compensation."

Parallel to the lights, Shula’s corpse began to burn with a sacred intensity amidst the flames of the night, being consumed not by death, but by apotheosis.

"Damn it... She becomes more fascinating to watch every time."

Thus, while the light illuminated the sky and the flowers bloomed in their full splendor...

"This is my way of celebrating your birthday~"

The end of an era in the world of Ky'lar—a farewell full of lights and petals—had been marked...

"Buwaaaa!"

At the same time, in a distant corner of the multiverse, a new flame began to shine once more.