_*]:min-w-0 !gap-3.5">They say the fme remembers.

  Memories endure beyond flesh, beyond names—preserved in the heart of the Sacred Fme. Silent. Eternal. Waiting.

  Before Heartspire rose from bck stone and molten bone, before dragon shadows carved histories across trembling skies, three sisters ruled the dawn of Drakhalia: Vaetra the Fmeheart, Melys Stormborn, and Selyra of the Emberwing.

  Vaetra, the eldest, burned with unyielding w—fire coursing through her veins, absolute command etched into every scale.

  Melys stood distant as a thundercloud, wielding silence sharper than any bde, her presence a brewing storm of contained power.

  Selyra, the youngest—a fracture in the bloodline's pristine narrative.

  In a world where wings defined strength and breath determined birthright, Selyra was an anomaly. Wingless. Unblessed. Her magic ran sideways, her fire flickered with an unusual, almost heretical intensity. The court hushed her existence behind golden curtains and rigid, uncomfortable smiles.

  But Selyra did not bend.

  She witnessed her kin forging chains of honor, binding futures to ancestral decrees. She watched the casteless toil beneath fire-lit towers, their scales dulled by systemic shame, their very identities erased for transgressions whispered but never spoken.

  And she dreamed—not of rebellion, but of justice.

  One moonless night, Selyra vanished. She crossed the Ashwilds' broken spine, a ndscape where nothing living should survive, and kindled a new fme. Not sacred. Not royal. Ashwake—a fire born from exile, fed by grief, tempered in righteous fury.

  From her defiant bze rose the Forgotten Wing. Casteless. Wingless. Elementally impure. They bore poison breath and stone skin, wielding magic that bent the very fabric of nature, shadow, and spirit. The world called them monsters. Abominations.

  When they marched upon Heartspire, the Sacred Fme at the city's heart screamed.

  Thirteen days of war followed—sky torn by fme and thunder, kin transformed into enemies, ancestral stones baptized in blood. On the thirteenth night, Selyra disappeared within a tower of ash that reached toward the stars, leaving no trace.

  Queen Vaetra decreed the Erasure. The Ashwake were sealed. Those who carried the forbidden blood were hunted, silenced, burned.

  Two things survived the purge: The Sacred Fme's unnatural silence when her name was whispered, and the persistent legend that one day, the fme would flicker again for the wingless queen.

  Centuries passed. Far from the Ashwilds, beneath spires that gleam with a veneer of peace, the Sacred Fme begins to waver.

  And in the eyes of a stranger cloaked in ash-bck scales, the fire remembers.