Nerathis looked up, her sapphire eyes red-rimmed and hollow. Slowly, with hands that shook violently, she opened her palms over the crystal vessel. The grey ash fell into the container like heavy sand. As the last of the soot settled inside, the crystal didn't stay clear; it began to pulse with a faint, rhythmic crimson light—a ghostly echo of the Bloodweaver's heartbeat that had been caught in the ash.
Luviyah sealed the top, the runes glowing as the container became an unbreakable sanctuary for the Dragon's remains. She handed it back to Nerathis, who pulled it to her chest, weeping silently as she finally felt a physical weight she could hold onto.
Ingi watched the exchange, his jaw tight as he fought back his own tears. "He is home now," the Patriarch rumbled, his voice thick with emotion. "In the North, where the blood runs cold but the spirit stays sharp."
