The silence after the prophecy was worse than the fire.
Aria's body still stood, rigid, Kael clutched against her chest as if her arms were chains forged of ash and flame. She didn't breathe, not really. The fire breathed for her, veins pulsing faintly, smoke curling off her skin as though the air itself recoiled from her presence.
No one moved at first. Not the worshippers with ash-streaked faces. Not the zealots smeared in blood. Not even the wolves, crouched low in a trembling ring at the edges of the clearing.
Then whispers.
"She rose with no command"
"It carries her"
"She is chosen"
"She is cursed"
Each voice splintered the camp further, until the clearing was a mirror cracking in every direction.
Nora stood frozen, sword slick with blood, her chest heaving. She had just cut down a zealot to protect Aria, her hands still trembled with the effort. But her eyes were fixed not on the enemies she felled, but on Aria herself.
