Dawn cut across the horizon.
Elias sat on the ridge above the ravine, cloak damp, skin raw from the night. The stream below ran steady, its sound covering the distant call of crows. His body ached, but the pain was nothing compared to the fire under his skin. The mark pulsed like a second heart. It did not rest.
He had survived the night. That was all.
The Inquisitors would not stop. Villages would hide them. Roads would guide them. His face was already marked for death.
He looked at his palm. Light flickered faintly beneath the skin. Not flame, not yet. A shimmer like coals under ash. He clenched his fist and turned away.
The whisper was gone, but silence did not mean peace. Silence meant waiting. Watching.
He climbed the slope. The forest gave way to open hills. The sun rose higher, painting the sky gold. In the distance, thin smoke climbed into the air. A settlement.
Elias's stomach twisted. He had not eaten since the bread he dropped during the chase. Hunger gnawed at him harder than the mark. He pulled his hood low and walked.
The village was small. A handful of houses circled a crooked church. Chickens pecked in the dirt. A boy ran after a dog, laughing. The sound cut through Elias like a knife.
To him, this was not peace. This was danger.
He moved slow, steps heavy, shoulders hunched. At the baker's stall, the smell of bread nearly broke him. He handed over his last coins. The baker's eyes lingered too long, but the bread dropped into his hand. Elias tore it apart as he walked. He ate like a man starved.
Then hooves struck the ground.
Four riders entered the square. Cloaks black. Flames stitched on their shoulders. Inquisitors.
Elias froze in the shadow of a cart.
They dismounted. The leader spoke sharp and loud. "A fugitive passed this way. Branded by fire. Speak if you saw him."
The square fell silent. Villagers lowered their eyes. No one spoke.
Elias held still. His hand drifted to his sword. To draw it here meant slaughter. To fight here meant losing the last of his control.
An old man raised a hand. His voice cracked. "The river path. I saw someone. Running."
The Inquisitor narrowed his eyes. He swung into the saddle. "Search the banks. He is near."
The riders turned and left in a spray of dust.
Elias stayed hidden until the noise faded. His chest felt tight. He wanted anger for the man's betrayal. Instead he felt only understanding. Fear ruled faster than loyalty.
He left the square without looking back.
By noon, the hills rolled wide and empty. Clouds stacked low. The air carried the threat of rain.
The whisper rose again.
They fear you. They will always fear you. Why hide? Why run?
Elias grit his teeth. "I didn't ask for this."
You carry it now.
The fire stirred inside him, waiting for permission. He kept walking.
At the top of the hill, he saw the ruins. Broken stone, a tower collapsed, weeds choking the courtyard. No one lived here. No one prayed here. To most, it was cursed.
To Elias, it was shelter.
He climbed. The stones were cold under his palms. Ash stained the cracks. Something had burned here long ago. He lowered himself against a wall and closed his eyes.
The whisper softened.
This place remembers fire. You belong.
He saw the temple again. His friends laughing in the halls. His mother at prayer. His father's stern hand on his shoulder. He saw the boy who believed.
That boy was gone.
Elias opened his eyes. The sword rested across his knees. His reflection stared back in the steel. Not the boy he remembered. A man. Branded. Hunted.
Alive.
He pressed the blade into the dirt. His hands wrapped around the hilt. He spoke low, not to Heaven, not to the Inquisition, not to the whisper.
"To myself. I swear. I will not be your weapon. I will not be their prey. If I burn, it will be by my hand."
The whisper shifted. Not anger. Not triumph. Something harder to read.
We shall see.
Thunder rolled above. Rain fell across the ruins, cold on his skin. Elias raised his face to it. The fire inside eased, not gone but quiet.
Ash and oaths. That was what remained.
And for the first time since the temple fell, it was enough.