All Chapters of THE ALTAR WE BURNED : Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

The new dawn came not with fanfare but with silence.Ember Hollow, no longer a prison of ash and fire, now rested beneath a sky streaked with golden veins of light. The charred remains of the cathedral shimmered with dew, no longer bleeding from the cracks in their foundation. Even the trees that circled the edges of the once-doomed city began to unfurl new leaves, tentative and trembling.Isabella stood on the balcony of what was once the Archseer’s Hall, gazing out over the ruins. She wore a simple tunic and cloak, both singed at the hems but whole. Her hair hung loosely about her shoulders, kissed by the morning wind. She didn’t speak. There were no words to mark what had passed, only the weight of memory and what lay ahead.Behind her, Arthur stirred.His wounds had begun to heal, slowly but steadily. The Hollow's new light seemed to recognize him, nurture him, just as it did her. He limped toward her, each step measured."It's quiet,

The wind in Ember Hollow had changed.It no longer carried the choking weight of centuries of blood-soaked ash, nor did it echo with the screams of the Choir or the crackling fury of ancestral fire. It moved now like breath newly drawn, cautious yet alive, threading through ruined halls and quiet sanctums like a hesitant promise.Isabella stood in the Hall of the Departed, where once the Elders etched the names of those who had sacrificed themselves to the Hollow. The great wall, once obsidian black, now shimmered with veins of firelit crystal—an echo of the battles they had fought, and a testament to the lives no longer bound to silence.She traced her fingers across the fresh carvings.Arthur’s name was not there.He was alive, though only barely. Since the fall of Cathros, the Choir had gone silent, their song replaced by a hollow hum that mirrored his shallow breaths. He slept beneath the Temple's healing chambers, encased in a chrysa

The silence was a blade.Not metaphorical, not poetic—it was a living, breathing edge that cut through the air of Ember Hollow like the last breath before death. Where there had once been screams, war cries, and weeping, there was now only the silence of memory, of mourning, of the final calm before the flood.Arthur stood at the threshold of the battlefield, barefoot on ash.Around him, the Hollow trembled. The relic embedded in his chest—the final gift of the Ember Sigil—glowed faintly with each heartbeat. His body, bruised and broken from every battle past, bore the marks of something more than pain. His hair had grown wild, his eyes burned not with fury but purpose. But he could not speak.Since Threnos cursed him in the battle for the Last Seal, Arthur's voice had been severed. No scream of agony, no whisper of farewell, no declaration of love could pass his lips. But he had come here not to speak.He had come to end it.Acr

The sun rose over Ember Hollow like a pale whisper, struggling through ash-colored clouds. A stillness hung in the air—not peace, but the kind of silence before a storm swallows a city whole. Every soul that remained in the resistance felt it. Today would be the day their world broke, or was remade.Arthur stood on the edge of the sacred hill, overlooking the cracked stones of the Elders’ final sanctuary. He wore no armor—only a cloak woven from the ashes of fallen Seers, a symbol of what he had become: not a warrior, but a memory walking. His voice had returned, but he used it sparingly. Words carried weight now. Every word could build or break.Behind him, Isabella adjusted the cuffs of her battle cloak, the golden embroidery now dulled by soot. Her eyes, once alight with magic, had taken on a steadier, more human gleam since the destruction of the final altar. She had chosen to carry the fire within, not around her.Catherine approached in silence. The

The first rays of dawn bled over the horizon, pale and uncertain, yet filled with a warmth Ember Hollow hadn’t known in centuries. Smoke still lingered in the air, drifting from charred altars and shattered sanctuaries, but even that felt different now—like the final breath of an old curse.Isabella stood barefoot in the sacred glade, soil soft beneath her toes. The last of the divine marks had faded from her skin overnight, leaving only faint silver scars—memories etched into flesh. Her hair, once alight with power, now rested quietly around her shoulders, kissed by the wind.Beside her, Arthur watched in silence. The trees whispered around them, their leaves catching the soft sunlight, and for the first time, there were no spirits wailing, no visions clawing at their thoughts. Just silence. Just breath. Just being.“It’s gone,” Isabella said quietly.Arthur nodded. Though his voice had returned in the final hours of the battle, he hadn’t spoken