The last threads of Raine's fire faded into the air, leaving only smoke curling in ghostly patterns above the clearing. The forest stood unnaturally still, its silence pressing close like a held breath. Even the crickets had quieted. Raine hugged her arms around herself, her palms still tingling, as if the fire wanted to come back but hadn't chosen to.
Her chest heaved, her heartbeat loud in her ears. She had done it—burned those things into ash—but instead of triumph, only dread curled inside her.
The Guardian stood a short distance away, tall and motionless, eyes glowing golden-green. He seemed carved out of the very forest, as if the earth itself had raised him to guard its secrets. His gaze was steady on her, but there was something beneath it, something layered—knowledge that weighed heavier than the silence.
Before Raine could gather her thoughts, a voice cut through the night.
"Enough."
The word carried like a blade through the stillness.
Raine spun, heart stuttering. Her mother stood at the edge of the clearing, the moonlight catching the pale lines of her face. She looked as though she'd been standing there for longer than Raine realized, watching in silence. But her eyes weren't on Raine. They were locked on the Guardian.
"Mother?" Raine's voice cracked.
Her mother didn't answer. For a heartbeat, her face softened—shock, disbelief, grief all tangled in her expression. Then her lips parted, and she whispered:
"You… It's you."
The Guardian's gaze did not waver. His voice was quiet, but the weight in it carried. "It has been a long time."
Raine looked between them, her stomach knotting. "You… you know each other?"
Her mother's hands clenched at her sides. "I buried this," she said, voice shaking. "I buried that night. I buried you."
The Guardian's eyes glowed brighter, ember-deep. "You buried memory, not truth."
Raine's confusion twisted into panic. "What night? What are you talking about?"
Her mother's breath hitched. Her gaze flickered—not at Raine, but inward, as if fighting memories she'd sworn never to recall. But memory was cruel. It slipped through cracks no matter how tightly she sealed them.
A night sky torn open with fire.
Shadows circling, whispering her name.
A man standing in the inferno, golden-green eyes unyielding.
Blood soaking into the earth.
Her mother's lips parted, trembling. The images flickered across her face before she could crush them down. She pressed a hand to her chest as though to hold them in. "No. She doesn't need to know."
"Mother, please!" Raine stepped forward, desperation bleeding through her voice. "Know what? What happened?"
The Guardian's voice rang sharp, cutting through the clearing. "The oath. The fire. The choice that bound you both."
Her mother's eyes snapped to him, burning with pain. "Not tonight. She is not ready."
"She is not safe," the Guardian countered, his tone hardening. The forest seemed to lean into his words, branches groaning above as if stirred by his anger. "The enemy hunts her already. The shadows have tasted her fire. If she doesn't know the truth, she will fall."
The tension between them thickened the air until Raine could hardly breathe. Her mother's face had gone pale, her lips pressed tight. A storm of silence weighed on her shoulders—years of secrets, buried deep enough to wound.
Raine's voice broke into the stillness. "Why won't either of you just tell me?"
Her mother looked at her then, truly looked, and Raine almost wished she hadn't. Pain filled her gaze—pain and fear so sharp it made Raine step back. Her mother reached out, then stopped, her hand curling in on itself.
Her whisper carried like a confession and a curse all at once. "Because knowing will break you."
The words cut deeper than anything Raine had faced that night.
The Guardian's gaze softened, but only slightly. His voice, though quiet, was firm. "Not knowing will kill her."
The wind stirred again, rushing through the clearing, carrying whispers Raine could not understand. She shivered, her fire stirring faintly in response.
Her mother tore her eyes away, turning toward the darkened trees. "Not tonight," she said again, more to herself than to anyone else. Her shoulders shook with every step as she walked past them, disappearing into the forest shadows.
Raine's throat burned with questions she couldn't form, her chest heavy with the weight of truths dangled just out of reach.
The Guardian remained still, his gaze lingering on the path her mother had taken before turning back to Raine. His golden-green eyes gleamed in the dark, unreadable.
"The shadows will return," he said. "And when they do, the past she buries will rise whether she wills it or not."
Raine stared at him, her body trembling. She wanted to scream, to demand the answers both of them were withholding. But deep in her chest, the fire pulsed, restless, as if it knew what her mind could not.
Something vast had happened long ago. Something that had bound her life before she was even born.
And Raine realized, with a chill crawling down her spine, that the truth wasn't gone.
It was buried.