You wouldn't find the road to the City of Ash and Bells on any map. Not a chance.
Maelin and Kaelen just sort of stumbled along—pushing through forests where the trees were more like glass than wood, past salt flats that hissed under their boots, and into ruins that seemed to warp time itself. The whole world got weird about it, almost like it was watching them and messing with the route—sometimes clearing the way, sometimes tossing roadblocks in just for fun.
When the city finally showed up in the distance, it was honestly like someone had ripped open the ground and tried to sew it shut with black wire.
Towers—tall, scorched things—jabbed at the sky, all twisted and charred. Bells hung from iron arches, dead still, even though the air was so quiet it hurt. Ash drifted everywhere. It didn't just fall; it smothered everything—cold, gray, endless. The streets were laid with blackened stones, lined by statues that looked like ghosts—faces all smeared and broken by soot.
Maelin swallowed hard. "I hate this. It's… off."
Kaelen just nodded, jaw clenched. "This used to be Ariathal. Place was famous for music, inventions—every bell had its own song. People would literally write symphonies just walking around."
Maelin stared at him. "So what went wrong?"
He didn't answer. Didn't have to, honestly.
Silence said enough.
They squeezed through the main gate. Half-buried in ash, you could still make out the words:
"Let none be voiceless."
Right in the middle of the city, the biggest bell tower stood, burned but somehow still standing tall. And waiting for them—like she'd been there for years—was the third member of the fallen Choir.
Woman looked like a statue—draped in tarnished brass and smoky lace, eyes shut tight, little silver bell in her hand.
Kaelen spoke up, barely loud enough to hear. "That's Serai. She was the heartbeat, kept everyone in time when we started to lose it."
Maelin stepped closer, careful.
The air got heavy, like breathing through wet cloth. Ash curled around Serai's feet, swirling up in lazy spirals—like the city itself was holding its breath.
Then Serai's voice cut through—cold, sharp, echoing metal. "I've heard you coming. Every step. Like bells I can't forget."
Her eyes snapped open—silver, freaky, ancient.
"I don't want to remember."
Maelin didn't flinch. "Why not?"
Serai stood up, slow and stiff. "Because remembering means owning what we let burn. What I let go quiet."
The ground shook. Bells all over the city started swaying, not from any breeze—just the weight of old memories.
Kaelen shot Maelin a look. "She's barely holding it together."
Serai moved forward, the bell in her hand starting to hum.
"Can you really make something new out of ashes?"
Maelin fished in her satchel and pulled out the flame-shard—now etched with Liora's echo—glowing, flickering with weird fire and crystal light.
"I'm not trying to bring back the old rhythm," Maelin said. "I want to try something different. With you."
Serai hesitated. Her mask cracked just a little. She raised her bell and rang it.
The note was soft. Haunting. The kind of sound that could be the start of a funeral, or maybe the end of one.
She pressed the bell to Maelin's chest.
On the star map, a new line flared—number three.
Three reunited. Four more to go.
Above them, the bells of Ariathal finally woke up, singing together for the first time in forever.
And—way out there, buried in a canyon of frozen screams—a fourth member of the Choir stirred, dusted off her name, and remembered who she was.