The night pressed heavy on the ruins, and Nicolette found herself sitting on a jagged stone, her breath shallow, her body trembling from what she had just witnessed. The image of the hand—dark, clawed, yet undeniably human—lingered in her mind like a shadow she could not shake off.
For the first time since she stumbled into the Looping Ruins, silence frightened her more than noise. No rustle of leaves, no whispers of wind, only the echo of her heartbeat hammering inside her chest.
What was that thing? Why did it feel so… familiar?
Her flames had risen on instinct, protecting her, yet they had faltered the moment the hand appeared. She remembered the searing heat, the golden blaze that should have consumed anything in its path—but it didn't. That hand had reached through fire unburned. It had touched her flame as if it belonged to it.
The thought made her shiver.
Nicolette drew her knees close, wrapping her arms around herself. The fire she carried—once a source of strength—suddenly felt like a burden. Was it hers at all, or was it borrowed power tied to something older, something darker?
Her mind wandered back to fragments of her childhood—dreams of standing in the middle of a burning field, faceless figures whispering, "She will inherit the fire, but not its freedom."
She had always dismissed those dreams as imagination, but now, they clawed at her memory with a cruel certainty.
Her eyes drifted to the sky, searching for comfort in the stars. Yet even they seemed dimmer here, as though the Looping Ruins stole their light. She clenched her fists, heat rising from her palms again, but this time she pulled it back before the flames could bloom.
"No… not now," she whispered, her voice breaking.
She needed answers, not reckless fire. She needed to understand why the ruins had called her, why her flame had awakened here, and who—or what—was bound to that haunting hand.
The words of the stranger from the ruins echoed faintly in her ears: "An oath once broken will seek its heir."
Could it be that she was the heir to a broken vow? Was the fire not a gift but a curse passed down to her?
Her chest tightened. She wanted to scream, to run, to tear the questions out of the night, but she forced herself to breathe slowly instead. She had learned one thing already in this cursed place: the ruins fed on chaos. Panic only deepened its traps.
So she sat in silence, listening to the hum of her own flame under her skin, trying to make peace with its rhythm. It was both hers and not hers, a duality she didn't understand. But perhaps, in time, she would.
At last, her gaze shifted to the path ahead. The ruins stretched before her like an endless puzzle, its stones rearranging subtly under the moonlight. For now, she would not run. For now, she would endure.
But deep within, Nicolette knew this moment of rest was temporary. The hand would return. The vow would find her. And when it did, she had to be ready—whether the fire was truly hers or not.