[SWE] It ends in fire

Amalia I took the stars from my eyes, I made a map Light. Light. Light. It creeps through the crevices, permeates the cracks in well-boarded windows and illuminates the shadows of silent halls. Insidious, infectious, it breaks through their defenses, piercing the temple with luminescent beams and leaving motes of dust lying in its wake. It is beautiful, perfect, untouchable, warm. It is light, and it is real. At first she does not believe it, cannot believe it, because to believe it and be wrong would hurt to much, shatter her already fractured soul. So she tries to rationalize (the braziers are lit), to explain it away (Long Night ended early), even as her she drifts, entranced, through the awakened halls, the antler clutched defensively in her quivering hands. Where she goes, the light follows - or was it already there? Her heartbeat flutters and jolts in her chest. It isn't what she dreams (what if it is?), they failed (what if they succeeded?), and she does dare to hope (she cannot help but hope). Stepping toward the temple door, Amalia steels herself and swallows, mentally bracing for the worst. There are a million possible explanations, each more likely than the one she yearns for. Her fingers ease around the handle, and with a firm motion she pushes out, ready to face her disappointment, another reminder of how she failed. Except it isn't. Or rather, it is. Dream-like. That is the only way to describe it, the feeling which wells in Amalia's mind, overtaking her senses and leaving her at a loss. Is she dreaming? It feels like it, and yet even when she blinks the scene is still there, perfect and surreal, something out of one of her grandmother's tales. Without a thought the girl drifts forward, her body moving of its own accord: her mind is too entrapped by wonder to tell her muscles what to do. The only thing in her eyes is the creature, majestic and perfect and beautiful and bright and real, it's real, and they did it, and-- A voice, a laugh, and she is in an embrace, caught by strong arms and kind words and helpless to do anything but return the man's hug. The hand holding the antler wraps around his shoulder and her face finds a place among his tangle of tawny hair, comfortable and connected, warm and safe. Another hand slips into her free one, and she looks up to see Jigano standing there, stalwart and peaceful, guiding and calm, his blue eyes and pale hair gleaming in the Spark Bird's light, and at once the girl knows. She squeezes his hand, and there is laughter, and tears, and she realizes they are both hers. They are both hers. Her team, her companions, her friends. "We did it," Amalia whispers, breathless with elation, her dark eyes wet and bright with tears. She knows she ought to release her hold on both the men, but she isn't ready, not yet, and so she clings as long as they will let her, finally feeling anchored back to the world. Over Rory's shoulder she looks back upon the bird, wonder and joy illuminating her face. "We did it. It's real. It came." Her grandmother would be proud. And I knew that somehow I could find my way back