The desert had gone too quiet.
After that storm—and those strange claw marks—something was bound to go wrong. And Arven wasn't the kind to sit back and wait for disaster. He called for a scouting team. Small. Armed. Fast.
"I'm coming," I said, grabbing my blade.
"You're still healing," Arven warned.
"I'll heal later," I shot back.
He didn't argue after that.
Ronan joined us without a word, brooding as ever, still watching me like I was a puzzle with no picture to guide him. And Shira... she hadn't been invited, but she followed anyway. Quiet. Unseen. Her mother's journal tucked beneath her cloak, and a knot of dread tightening in her chest, even if she didn't know why yet.
Something was coming.
And it wasn't just danger.
It was truth.
--------
The ruins rose from the sand like broken teeth.
Cracked towers, half-buried, their stone faces carved with runes that pulsed faintly—even in daylight. The air felt thick, like the world itself was holding its breath.
We stepped inside.
And the shadows moved.
---------
Screams.
Clawed shapes.
A soldier dragged into the dark with a strangled cry.
Then chaos.
Not monsters. Guardians. Twisted by ancient magic, they came from every side—made of stone and smoke, with molten gold eyes and limbs that split and reformed mid-strike.
They didn't bleed. They cracked. They hissed. They stank of ancient power—and worse:
Intention.
It was a trap.
"Formation!" Arven roared, already swinging his blade.
Steel clashed. Dust flew. I ducked beneath a sweeping claw and retaliated—fire bursting from my fingertips like instinct. Not summoned.
Unleashed.
The blaze tore through a creature's chest, shattering it into radiant shards.
But the magic didn't stop.
It poured from me—wild, blinding, furious.
Not clean fire. Not gentle.
Living flame. Ancient.
The kind that knew war.
"Lyara?! What—?!" Arven's voice cracked as he saw the fire curling around me like wings.
I had no time to explain. Another guardian charged.
I met it head-on.
My blade sang, slicing arcs through air thick with smoke. I moved like someone possessed—a soldier in a dance of chaos, each motion sharp, practiced. Fire coursed down my arms, pulsing with every heartbeat.
Ronan froze mid-swing, watching me.
His eyes narrowed at my stance—the way I pivoted, the way I exhaled in rhythm with each strike.
And something inside him shifted.
He knew those movements.
Not from Lyara.
From someone else.
Adelaine.
But the fire? That was new. And terrifying.
------
Then it happened.
A guardian—bigger than the others—burst through a collapsed archway, its shoulders scraping stone. It moved like smoke laced with hate, claws dragging sparks across the floor.
It came straight for me.
I spun. Raised my arms.
Too slow.
It slammed me into the wall, claws tightening at my throat. I gasped, the air torn from my lungs as fire flared weakly around me. I kicked. Struggled. Felt Lyara's soul inside me scream.
Not like this.
I saw the blur of its mouth opening.
It was going to kill me.
Then—
BOOM.
A shockwave of blue-silver light ripped through the chamber.
The guardian flew backward, limbs tearing apart midair, crumbling into ash before it ever hit the ground.
Dust and light spun in the air like falling stars.
I dropped to my knees, coughing hard.
Someone dropped beside me, breathing fast.
Shira.
Her hands still glowed, thin strands of starlight curling around her fingers.
Her face was pale, her eyes wide with panic—and something deeper.
Recognition.
"You okay?" she gasped, grabbing my arm.
I gave a faint nod, still shaking. The fire around me flickered, then vanished.
She glanced down.
And saw it.
Just below my collarbone, the skin still flushed from battle—a mark. Faint. Swirling. Ancient.
Not burned. Born.
Her fingers hovered, trembling.
"This…" she whispered. "It's the same symbol… from my mother's book."
I looked at her, confusion bleeding into dread.
Her expression shifted—like she'd seen a ghost.
Or found something she never thought she'd see again.
------
"That mark…" Shira whispered, her fingertip barely grazing my skin. "It's just like the one in my mother's book… exactly how she wrote it. About the fireborn girl who would appear when the world starts to rot."
I stared at her, chest still tight, body shivering between heat and cold. The glow beneath my skin had started to fade.
Shira looked at me like she was seeing a prophecy fulfilled.
"So it's true," she murmured. "You're her. The girl she wrote about. The one I didn't dare believe existed when I was little."
I swallowed. No idea what to say.
But I didn't feel afraid. Just… seen. Known.
"You're not some stray soul," she said, mostly to herself. "You're the spark meant to be guarded."
She took my hand, her grip firm, grounding.
I looked at her—still dazed. But no longer lost.
Her mother knew about me?
Then… she must have known things I still didn't. Things others never could.
------
The battle wasn't over.
But something between us had shifted.
Arven and Ronan, both still swinging swords, barely noticed the moment. All they saw was 'Lyara,' still glowing with fire, and Shira pulling her to her feet.
Just another wild burst of power, they thought.
Another cursed day in this desert.
But Shira was somewhere else entirely.
------
When the last creature crumbled into ash and silence reclaimed the ruins, Arven turned, panting.
"Anyone down?"
Ronan's eyes never left me. Not for a heartbeat.
I turned away.
Shira didn't say another word.
But she didn't let go of my hand.
She wasn't confused anymore. She wasn't afraid.
She knew.
She remembered every word in her mother's journal. Every hushed warning. Every page about the flame-marked child who would one day rise.
And she saw me.
Not as Lyara.
As Adelaine.
------
She's the ember my mother wrote about, Shira thought, heart racing.
The hidden flame. And I… I feel it too. She's part of me. Part of my blood. My sister.
Her jaw clenched. Her spine straightened.
She made a vow.
I'll protect you, Adelaine. From Velkhar. From the Court. Even from Lyara, if I must.
You're not alone anymore. I'll be with you. To the end.
------
I was still catching my breath, still dazed from everything that had just happened, unaware of the storm Shira had just walked through.
But I felt her grip tighten.
I looked at her.
"What just happened?" I asked, voice barely a whisper.
Shira smiled through the tears in her eyes.
"Later," she said softly. "Right now, we live."
I blinked at her, still not fully understanding, but her hand around mine kept me grounded.
We started moving again, stepping over crackedstone and fading embers.
Behind us, Ronan's voice cut through the quiet. "Shira. Lyara."
We turned.
His sword was still gripped tight, but his gaze wasn't on the ruins—it was on us. On me.
"What the hell was that?" he asked, stepping closer. "That thing nearly tore you in two."
"I noticed," I said dryly, trying to mask the tremor in my voice.
"Your power—it's never done that before," he pressed. "That much fire… it's not normal. You almost brought the whole ruin down on our heads."
Shira stepped forward, calm but firm. "She saved your life. Mine too."
Ronan didn't flinch. "I'm not saying she didn't. I just want to know what we're dealing with."
"I don't know," I lied, meeting his eyes. "It just… happened."
His jaw clenched. "Right. Just happened."
Arven walked up then, brushing soot off his armor. "We're lucky no one died."
"Barely," Ronan muttered.
I was about to walk away when Arven's voice stopped me.
"You're not telling us everything," he said.
Silence.
He wasn't accusing—yet. Just... watching.
"Look," I said. "If I knew what was going on inside me, I'd tell you. But I don't. I don't even know what this power wants from me."
He studied me for a long moment. Then gave a single nod.
"For now," he said.
Shira slipped between us, shooting him a look. "Maybe now's not the time for interrogations."
"Maybe not," Ronan said quietly. "But soon."
I exhaled slowly as they turned to leave, then looked at Shira beside me.
"You didn't have to step in."
"I know," she said. "But I wanted to."
We walked on in silence, until I added, "Thanks.
She didn't answer.
But her hand never let go of mine.
—------