The world returned in fragments.
Elira's body ached as though fire itself had turned against her. Her wrists were bound by cold iron that bit into her skin, and her flame—her soul's heartbeat—remained silent. No warmth answered when she reached inward.
The darkness around her was heavy, like being buried beneath ash. Then a whisper stirred.
Not Mira's voice. Not the rebels.
Something older. Something deeper.
> "Flameborn… broken, but not gone."
Her eyes snapped open. She was not in any prison cell she recognized. The floor was obsidian glass, stretching endlessly, reflecting shards of light that twisted like dying embers.
Elira tried to rise but her strength failed. Her knees struck the mirror floor, and the sound echoed as if across eternity.
> "Where… where am I?" she whispered.
And the voice answered again—closer this time, breathing against her ear.
> "Between fire and void. Between what was, and what will choose you."
A shape emerged from the darkness. A woman cloaked in flame that did not burn, her face hidden behind a crown of embers. Shadows clung to her like chains, and her presence was both terrifying and familiar.
Elira's pulse thundered.
> "Are you… Flameborn?"
The woman lifted her head slightly, and her ember crown blazed brighter.
> "I am every flame that remembered, and every flame that was silenced. And now, I am here… because yours has been stolen."
Elira's breath caught. Mira's face flashed in her mind—the black flame, the twisted power, the smirk as Elira fell.
> "Then tell me how to take it back," Elira demanded, forcing herself upright though her body trembled. "Tell me how to fight her."
The woman extended her hand. Fire crackled at her fingertips, not red, not gold—something purer, older, alive.
> "To reclaim what was stolen, you must awaken what sleeps. But every flame has a price. Are you willing to burn for it?"
The shadows shifted, and Elira realized this was no vision of comfort. This was a trial.
And the cost would be hers to decide.