The void cracked.
From the fractures poured light—not golden, not pure, but edged with scarlet and black. Fire tore through the darkness, filling Elira's lungs, flooding her veins. She gasped as her body arched, every nerve alight with searing power.
The crowned figure's voice echoed like thunder.
> "You asked to burn. Now burn as you were meant to."
Elira screamed, but the sound carried both agony and strength. The flame burst from her skin, spiraling upward, reshaping into wings of fire jagged with shadows. Her hands blazed with markings—ancient sigils branded into her flesh, glowing with a dangerous heat.
This was not the gentle warmth of the old flame.
This was wild. Untamed. Hungry.
The crowned figure's eyes softened with something like pity.
> "The Flame answers those who bleed. But beware, Flameborn. It will take as much as it gives."
The void shattered—
—and Elira's eyes flew open in Southwatch.
She sat bolt upright on the cot, a scream ripping from her throat as fire erupted around her. The rebels staggered back, shielding their faces. The flames did not spread outward—they coiled, wrapping tight around Elira like a storm made flesh.
Auren was at her side instantly. "Elira!"
She turned toward him—and for a terrifying heartbeat, the fire didn't recognize him. The markings on her arms flared, the shadows inside the flames hissing, reaching.
Elira grabbed her head, forcing the fire inward. Her whole body shook. "It's me," she rasped. "I'm still me—"
The flames recoiled, dimming, but they left the stone beneath her blackened and cracked.
Silence fell over the tent. No one moved.
Finally, one rebel whispered the words all were thinking:
> "That… that wasn't her flame."
Elira's hands trembled. She met Auren's gaze, fear etched across her face. "It's back," she whispered. "But it's not the same."