The firelight tree had always shimmered in stories—golden bark that pulsed like breath, leaves that flickered as if they remembered flames long past. No one ever said it called to people. No one ever said its roots whispered names.
But that was what it was doing now.
Mira's boots crunched softly over the mossy path as she followed Lior into the clearing. The light around them dimmed, not from the setting sun, but as though the trees themselves leaned closer, watching.
Neither of them spoke.
Mira could feel the tug of the place deep in her ribs, just beneath where Lior had touched her in the pines, where her breath had once caught in his silence. She felt it again now—that tight pull of wanting, of not knowing what they were walking into, but needing to walk there anyway.
The clearing unfolded around them like a memory: golden bark glowing in the dusk, a ring of flat stones that looked too smooth to be natural. And in the center of it all—the Firelight Tree.
Lior stopped just before the edge of the circle. "This is where she…" He trailed off.
Mira stepped beside him. "Where who?"
He didn't answer at first. His eyes were locked on the tree, and his shoulders had stiffened, as if holding back something wild.
Finally, he said, "My sister. Elian."
The name struck Mira like a stone tossed into still water.
"I didn't know you had a sister," she said softly.
"She was older. And brighter than me in every way. She used to say this tree listened when no one else would."
Mira looked up at the twisting limbs, the golden bark that gleamed like embers, and wondered how many voices it had heard. How many secrets it had buried in the dark.
"She disappeared," Lior said, voice thinner now. "Years ago. We came here together—when magic was still quiet. When it hadn't yet started... cracking."
"Did she vanish here?" Mira asked, not quite whispering, but nearly.
Lior nodded. "One moment she was laughing beside me. The next... the light around the tree shimmered, like it's doing now. And she was gone."
Mira's breath caught. She had felt something since entering the circle—a humming beneath her skin, a sensation like heat without fire. Magic.
But not the soft magic she had known in the glades and whispers. This was older. Wilder. It knew names.
She stepped forward cautiously. "What do you think it wants?"
"The tree?" Lior said. "I think it remembers. I think it waits."
Mira turned back to him, her heart pounding. "Waits for what?"
Lior met her eyes, and something flickered between them—fear, and hope tangled too tightly to untangle.
"For someone to ask it the right question."
Mira's fingers tingled as she stepped into the ring of stones. The world shifted.
She didn't fall—but it felt like falling. The air turned thick, like honey in her lungs. The golden bark of the tree pulsed softly. Her name echoed—Mira...—not aloud, but from the ground, the sky, the spaces between.
She knelt and touched the roots.
"I don't know what you are," she whispered. "But I need to know what you've taken. And what you've left behind."
The tree answered.
Not in words—but in images. Blinding, radiant impressions behind her eyelids.
Elian's laughter. A glade of golden moss. A shadow of a boy hiding his tears. Lior.
Then—a shimmer of silver eyes.
Mira jerked back, gasping. The vision vanished. But something remained.
The name was in her mind again—not her own. Hope.
Lior had knelt beside her. "Did you see it?"
She turned to him. "I saw her. The girl with the silver eyes. The one I saw by the river—when all of this began."
Lior went still.
"You've seen her too?"
Mira nodded. "She looked... sad. Powerful. She said nothing. But I feel like she's part of everything."
Lior's voice was barely audible. "She is."
There was a crack in his tone, like something breaking open. And Mira saw it—not just the pain, but the terror he'd held in for so long.
He had known this girl. He had loved her, maybe. Or lost her, just like his sister.
"She was there that night," he said slowly. "When Elian vanished. I thought I imagined her."
The firelight shimmered again.
This time, Mira stood tall.
"Then we need to find her. Not just to know the truth—but to undo what's been done. The magic's breaking. Something's wrong. And she might be the only one who knows why."
Lior stared at her. The wind lifted a strand of her hair, brushing it like fingers through leaves.
He looked like he wanted to run—but didn't.
"Okay," he said. "But not tonight."
Mira turned back to the tree. The light pulsed slower now. The roots no longer whispered. Whatever it had wanted to say—it had said it.
She nodded.
They walked back through the clearing in silence, shoulder to shoulder, not quite touching. And behind them, the Firelight Tree stood tall, watching with all its old, golden patience.
Somewhere deep in its roots, it remembered every name.