The morning after the Sacred Flame consumed her sister, the air itself felt wrong.
Hine woke to a world that seemed to have forgotten how to breathe. The silence in her small home was not the gentle quiet that came before sunrise, but the heavy, unyielding stillness of something missing. Even the familiar sounds of the wind moving through the clay tiles on her roof seemed to have vanished.
She turned onto her side and stared at the woven mat beside her. Mavuika had slept there the night before the ritual. They had spoken little, their words replaced by glances that said more than any promise could. Hine had hoped the scent of the oils in her sister's hair would linger, but the mat was cold and faintly smelled of ash.
Her eyes drifted to the satchel at the foot of her bed. The leather strap lay loose, as if it had been waiting for her to open it. Slowly, she pulled it closer and unfastened the clasp. Inside was the paper frog, folded with deliberate care. Its corners were sharp, its form perfect. Mavuika had taken an identical one with her into the Sacred Flame. This one was its twin, the one that remained in the living world.
Hine touched it gently, afraid her fingers might crush it. She could almost hear Mavuika's voice, low and calm, telling her that some bonds could last even when everything else burned away.
"You said I could not chase you," Hine murmured to the empty air. "But I will try."
She set the frog back into the satchel, careful not to crease it. The air in the room felt thick, as though the walls themselves were holding their breath. She pushed herself to her feet, letting the woven blanket slide to the floor, and crossed to the doorway.
When she opened it, the light outside was thin and colorless. The streets were covered in a dusting of ash that clung to her sandals as she stepped out. The people of the village moved slowly, their voices hushed. Some carried baskets of offerings toward the Sacred Flame's altar, while others simply stood in small clusters, speaking in tones that were almost too quiet to hear.
Hine noticed how their eyes shifted when they saw her. Pity and resentment mixed together in their gazes. She was the Pyro Archon's sister, which meant she was both a reminder of the sacrifice and a vessel for the pain it had caused.
An old woman approached, her back bent from years of carrying baskets of grain from the fields. She placed a hand on Hine's arm. "You should stay inside, child. The air is poisoned today."
Hine's lips curved in a faint smile that felt as fragile as glass. "If the air is poisoned, then so is every day from now on."
The woman's fingers tightened briefly, then loosened. She said nothing more and turned away.
Hine continued walking until she reached the Sacred Flame's altar. The fire still burned there, its light flickering in muted shades, as though even it had been weakened. The altar itself was a structure of blackened stone, polished smooth over centuries by wind and rain. At its base, offerings lay in careful arrangements: bowls of fruit, folded paper animals, necklaces of bright feathers. Some of the paper had already begun to curl at the edges from the heat.
She stepped closer and knelt on the cold stone. Her fingertips hovered above the warmth of the flame. She thought of Mavuika standing here only yesterday, her voice steady as she spoke to the gathered tribes. She had not looked back, not once, as she walked into the fire. That was who she was. The protector. The one who would give everything, without hesitation.
The scent of smoke clung to the air, mingling with something sharper, like the memory of burned cedar. Hine closed her eyes and let the heat wash over her face.
"You should not be here," a voice said behind her.
She turned to find a young priest of the Sacred Flame watching her. His robes were singed at the hem, and soot streaked his cheeks.
"It is dangerous to linger near the flame after the ritual," he continued.
Hine rose slowly. "Was it dangerous for her?"
The priest's expression shifted, but he did not answer. Instead, he stepped forward and placed a sealed clay jar into her hands. It was warm to the touch.
"Her last gift," he said softly. "She told us to give this to you if she did not return."
Hine stared at the jar. The seal was marked with a single pressed symbol: the outline of a frog.
Before she could ask, the priest stepped back into the crowd and disappeared.
She clutched the jar to her chest and walked away from the altar. The ash on the road was thicker now, and it swirled around her ankles as she made her way home. Once inside, she set the jar on the table and sat across from it. For a long while she simply stared at it, unwilling to break the seal.
Her mind kept replaying the last moments before Mavuika entered the flame.
The fire had roared, brighter than any she had ever seen, and the crowd had been silent. Mavuika had glanced up at the smoke-filled sky and said, "It is not the years that take us, Hine. It is the forgetting."
At the time, Hine had not understood.
Now, with the jar warm beneath her fingertips, she thought she might.
She pulled the jar closer, feeling the texture of the seal under her thumb. The pressed frog seemed almost alive in the flickering light. Carefully, she broke the seal. The lid came free with a soft crack.
Inside was a small bundle wrapped in cloth. She lifted it out and unfolded the fabric to reveal an object unlike anything she had ever seen. It was a shard of glass, irregular in shape, but with a faint inner glow that shifted between gold and crimson.
As she held it, a whisper brushed the edge of her thoughts. It was not a voice exactly, but it carried the rhythm of words.
Find me.
Hine's breath caught. The glow in the shard pulsed once, as if in response to her recognition, then faded to a steady ember-light.
She wrapped it back in the cloth and returned it to the jar. Her hands trembled slightly as she sealed the lid again.
She did not know what the shard was, but she knew two things.
It was part of Mavuika. And it was meant to be her guide.
Outside, the sky had begun to change. The thin light of morning was giving way to a muted, colorless afternoon. The air was still heavy, and the ash still drifted in slow spirals, but something in Hine's chest felt different. The silence was still there, but now it was joined by a quiet determination.
She returned to the satchel and placed the jar inside, beside the paper frog. Both were light enough to carry, but together they felt heavier than stone.
She pulled the satchel over her shoulder and looked around the small room one last time. This had been her home since she was a child. The walls were carved with marks she and Mavuika had made during stormy nights, little scratches that meant nothing to anyone else.
Her gaze lingered on the mat where her sister had slept.
"I will not forget," she said.
Then she stepped outside, letting the door close behind her.
The road ahead was long, and she had no map, no clear path to follow. All she had was the shard, the frog, and the weight of a promise.
That was enough.