Darkness.
Not the kind of darkness that comes with nightfall, but one that eats sound, breath, and hope.
Elira floated in it, weightless, her body refusing to move. Somewhere far away, she thought she heard screams rebels calling her name, the clash of steel, Mira's laughter curling like smoke through the void.
She reached for her fire, the one thing that had never abandoned her. But when she called, there was nothing. No warmth in her veins. No spark in her chest. Just silence.
The Flame… is gone?
Her hands trembled in the emptiness. She wanted to fight, to rise, to prove that Mira's strength was nothing but a twisted echo. Yet the fire that had always answered her had turned its face away.
And then through the silence came a whisper. Not Mira's, not the rebels, not even her own. A voice older than her heartbeat, carried on the threads of gold that still faintly glowed on her hand.
"Child of Flame, the fire does not serve you. It is you who must remember how to serve it."
Elira gasped as the darkness shivered around her, and a dim light began to form…
The light swelled, faint at first, then glowing like the last ember in dying ash. Elira's breath caught as the darkness cracked apart, spilling into shapes.
She was lying on the ground. Cold stone pressed against her cheek, slick with blood. Around her, the world of Southwatch trembled with battl screams, fireless torches, steel striking steel.
"Elira!" Auren's voice cut through the haze, raw and desperate. He was at her side in an instant, pulling her into his arms. His hand pressed against her wound, his eyes burning with fear. "Stay with me—don't you dare leave me now."
Elira tried to answer, but her lips felt heavy. She wanted to tell him she was fine, that the Flame would heal her as it always had—but when she reached inward, there was only emptiness. No fire. No warmth. Nothing but silence.
Behind them, Mira stood at the edge of the rubble, staff in hand. Her blind eyes glimmered like void-lit stars. "Do you feel it now, Flameborn?" she said softly, her voice carrying despite the chaos. "The silence where your fire once lived. The truth is cruel—you are no chosen savior. You are only a girl who mistook a curse for a gift."
The rebels nearest to Mira faltered, some looking at Elira with wide, fearful eyes. If the Flameborn's fire could be silenced… was the rebellion doomed?