The golden flame curved back.
For several breaths afterward, the Rotunda seemed unwilling to accept that anything should follow.
Lucavion lowered his hand, and the black fire resting above his palm folded inward until the final ash-white mote disappeared between his fingers. The First Flame's Witness answered in its own fashion, drawing the last wandering strand of gold toward the brazier and settling once more into the shape it had possessed before his name was called: quiet, contained, almost modest when compared to what had filled the chamber only moments earlier. Around it, the ancient inscriptions gradually surrendered the darkness that had entered their channels. Black withdrew from gold, gold returned to itself, and the old formation resumed an appearance of perfect continuity, as though the interruption had belonged to some private conversation the stone had already decided against explaining.
