The heavens exhaled one ashen deity within a drizzle of smoke and sparks, smoldering from its own subtle light. As if tired the God had sighed away from the turbulent, Heavenly flames she knew so well, as if bored with its own elegance and glam. (Still, He would always be purer than the sun itself when standing before them.) The Crownless bowed her head, feeling guilt weighing it down. (Was the dim in his fire the result of their herds actions? If only she'd read the signs – whatever signs – earlier, perhaps he would be still engulfed in the flames that danced within their herds warmth before. The ones she had gotten perhaps too comfortable with in her years of service.) – Or was this the fruit of her doubt? The absence of her belief?

When their smoldering God greeted her she still couldn’t help but smile. In a way she was glad He had noticed the aging of the memory of when they had last met. It had always been a honour to her; to be remembered, at all.

Priest, preacher, worshipper, but what is to become of me-

“That feeling is mutual,” which was an understatement. She had wanted to call upon him earlier, but possibly hadn’t felt the strength. Now, above all, she had felt the urgency.

She knew the Sultan had not liked the idea of rebuilding a bridge to restabilize the flow of the water, just like just couldn’t get used to the idea of crucifying their island by hammering in it with their iron-crafted nails. Bottling it up as it was more a fortress then a home.

She looked at Volterra as he spoke, her silent eyes silent, but her heart almost feeling the radiation of the warmth coming from his chest, his pride for their herd his willingness to protect his family. She didn’t put these kind of feelings into words, but she did experience them nevertheless. She barely noticed her ever so criticizing thoughts straying to the sound of the hushing ocean in the distance. Whispering that they would go as they would go, one way or another, whether the island got crucified by their gifted metalbenders or not - And hushing her to come along, that the water would flush away the rusty nails from her own wings, too.

“God of the Sun”, Maren’s outlandish voice rolled out hesitantly after all was said and done between Volterra, Ampere and the God. There was regret in her eyes, a view on a decision she couldn’t turn her back on for whatever reasons would there even be one left. There had been enough doubt within the creases. It was time to iron the pages that were her thoughts.

For a moment her gaze wandered to Volterra, hang longer on Ampere, before it found itself back to her God. “I… I am leaving today.” Had she ever not been direct with her words, she wondered; strangely wishing she could’ve wrapped her words inside a cozy blanket that would’ve dampened the unturned sounds that seemed to fall so harshly from her lips. “I have lost my connection to the enlightened world, I'm afraid. And am I to find it again, this is something I must do.” so she thought. She looked at them, Volterra, Ampere (sorry and regret in her eyes). “I will return one day, God of the Sun,” she bowed. “I promise that.” She wished she could bring a piece of the Diviner’s flame with her, to enlighten her path as she went and remember her as to what it was that had brought her so far or so beyond, but alas. When she would leave, it seemed like she would need to find the answers on her own. Compared to when she entered the threshold, little had changed after all.

She had burned through the years here. that she was the dreadful black singe spot on a long abandoned battleground; marking a time that should've long passed with its leftover ashes. As warm and hot as the fire burned, it was cold now where she was.

But perhaps she could fix it.
Perhaps there was hope still burning somewhere, and so she left.

The coast was wide, covered in a welcoming coat of thin mist that hid parts of the morning sun. Clouded with mystery, more filled with unknown as ever before. She stepped into het boat, Mr. Teatime yawning at her side. The waves crashed like she would crash.
They danced, she saw, perhaps just as well as fire did. And the foam would lick at her body and drape her veils just like fire would. But it wouldn’t burn. It would hide her until forever if she wanted.

She, the Crownless, was a wanderer once again.