The golden thread pulsed in Elira's hand like a heartbeat not her own.
She sat cross-legged in the old chapel of Southwatch, the scent of ash and iron all around. The walls flickered with flame from torches, but the light that enveloped her came from within—from the thread that shimmered between her fingers.
She closed her eyes… and let it pull her under.
---
When she opened them, she was no longer alone.
Before her stood a circle of figures wreathed in fire—not burning, but glowing. Flameborn of the past. Their faces were marked with the same sigil she now bore, glowing faintly on her collarbone. Each one carried different weapons, different clothes, different times—but the same fire in their eyes.
One stepped forward. A woman in ash-gray armor, her voice echoing with command.
> "You've awakened the Thread. That means you are ready."
Elira swallowed. "Ready for what?"
> "To become more than a bearer. To become a forge."
A younger man stepped forward, flame coiled around his arms like vines.
> "Each of us left behind something," he said. "A memory. A power. A part of the Flame. And now, they are yours to remember."
The circle flared. Visions surged through Elira—short, sharp bursts:
A woman weaving fire into silk to shield her village.
A man etching flame-ward sigils into the hull of a ship before a battle.
A child lighting lanterns to guide lost souls back from war.
They weren't warriors. They were guardians. Builders. Makers of hope.
Elira gasped, clutching the thread tighter.
> "This… this is what the Crown fears."
The first Flameborn stepped close.
> "Then give them reason
One stepped forward. A woman in ash-gray armor, her voice echoing with command.
> "You've awakened the Thread. That means you are ready."
Elira swallowed, her voice barely more than a whisper.
> "Ready for what?"
The woman gestured, and the vision around them shimmered. The chapel melted into a scorched battlefield—centuries old, yet still echoing with cries of magic and war.
> "This is where the first Flameborn fell," the woman said. "Where we learned that fire alone is not enough. It must be bound by purpose—or it consumes everything."
The ground was littered with weapons. Symbols of rebellion and power. Elira knelt to touch one—a broken crown, still warm.
> "What happened here?" she asked.
A man stepped forward this time, robes lined with flame-thread sigils. His eyes were tired.
> "A Flameborn tried to take the throne. Not to destroy it, but to wield it. They believed they could rule better. They were wrong."
The vision shifted again—this time to a quiet grove, where a single Flameborn extinguished her fire to save a child.
> "The greatest among us were not those who burned brightest," the woman said. "But those who chose when not to burn."
Elira's hands tightened around the golden thread. She felt their legacy running through her veins—bravery, sacrifice, failure, triumph.
> "So what do I do now?" she asked.
The figures circled her. One by one, they pressed their hands over her heart—fire passing into her, not as heat, but as memory.
> "Unite the remaining sanctuaries," said the armored woman.
"Seek the Flamebound in exile," said the old man.
"And when the time comes, do not burn the throne," whispered a final voice. "Break it."
A final surge of warmth flooded her chest—and the vision shattered like glass.
---
Elira awoke in the chapel, gasping.
The thread was gone. But a new sigil now pulsed on the back of her hand—twining flames in a broken circle.
Footsteps echoed behind her.
Auren.
> "You were gone for hours," he said, his voice strained with concern.
> "I was with them," she said, rising. "The Flameborn who came before."
> "And?"
She met his eyes, steady and resolute.
> "We're not just fighting for the people. We're fighting for a world where fire won't be feared… or used."
> "So what now?"
She looked at the map on the wall, fingers brushing the edges of marked Flameborn sanctuaries.
> "Now, we gather the rest. The Obsidian Order wants to erase what we are. But we will remind the world."
She turned, fire glowing in her eyes—not just magic, but purpose.
> "It's time to rekindle every forgotten flame."