The forest pressed close, dark and heavy with secrets, as if every tree leaned in to listen to the words that had just been spoken. Raine's breath caught in her throat. The Guardian's voice lingered in her ears like a shadow she could not shake.
"You are not just an heir, Raine," he had said, his eyes burning gold-green in the half-light. "You carry a fire that should not exist."
Her hands curled into fists at her sides, trembling with something she could neither control nor name. The fire in her veins had stirred at his words, responding like a caged beast hearing the call of freedom. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to breathe, forcing herself not to let the warmth break free and betray her.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Raine whispered, though the words felt thin, fragile against the weight of the truth pressing down on her.
The Guardian tilted his head, his shadowed figure still half-hidden among the trees. His presence was like the forest itself—vast, ancient, and unyielding. "You may not remember," he said, his tone calm yet edged with something dangerous, "but the fire remembers you."
A sharp pang pierced her chest. The fire. Always the fire. It had taken her father from her, reduced him to ash and memory. It had burned through her life like a thief, leaving nothing but scars she carried in silence. And now this stranger, this Guardian, dared to speak of it as if it belonged to her.
Her throat tightened. "My father…" she began, her voice faltering. "He—he was consumed by it. I was only three. Do not stand there and tell me it remembers me, as if it's some lost friend."
The Guardian stepped forward, and the shadows shifted with him. For the first time, moonlight caught the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his lips pressed into a solemn expression. His eyes gleamed brighter, too bright, like molten fire caught in emerald glass.
"Your father," he said, voice low, "was not consumed. He was chosen. Fire never destroys its own—it only transforms. He gave himself to it. He became what you fear most, and what you are destined to awaken."
Raine's breath hitched, her chest rising and falling too quickly. The forest seemed to spin around her, each word sinking like a blade. She wanted to scream, to deny, to run. Yet her feet were rooted to the earth, as if some unseen force refused to let her flee.
"Stop," she choked out. "Stop speaking as though you know him. As though you know me."
The Guardian's gaze softened, just barely, but the weight of his stare still pressed against her like a command. "I swore an oath, Raine. Long before you were born, long before your father carried you in his arms. I swore to protect the fire's heir. I did not expect it would be you. And I did not expect you would live this long without remembering what you are."
Her heart pounded violently in her chest. "I am not—" She stopped herself. The word heir burned bitter on her tongue, a lie she wanted to believe but couldn't.
Silence spread between them, thick and suffocating. Even the forest seemed to quiet, no whisper of wind, no rustle of leaves. Only Raine's breath and the Guardian's steady presence filled the void.
Finally, he broke the silence. "You fear the fire," he said simply. "Good. Fear tempers power. But fear alone will not save you when they come."
Her head snapped up, eyes narrowing. "When who comes?"
For the first time, a shadow flickered across his expression—not the kind cast by trees or moonlight, but something deeper, hidden in the marrow of his being. He hesitated, as though the answer itself was a dangerous secret.
"They are already watching," he murmured. "Waiting. You are not the only heir the world seeks."
Raine's stomach knotted. She wanted to demand clarity, to seize him by his cloak and force the truth from his lips. But the heat in her veins surged again, this time sharper, hotter, making her stumble back. She pressed a hand to her chest, her heartbeat echoing in her ears like war drums.
"What… what is happening to me?"
The Guardian stepped closer, though not enough to bridge the gulf between them. "Your blood answers," he said. "The fire stirs when it is called by truth. And Raine, the truth has found you."
Her knees weakened, and she clutched at the rough bark of a nearby tree. Her mind raced, fragments of memory flooding back—the flash of flames the night her father vanished, her mother's broken sobs, the strange warmth that had always lingered in her skin, even on the coldest nights. She had always told herself it was imagination. A child's dream. A girl's curse.
But what if it was real?
"No…" Her voice trembled. "I don't want this. I never asked for this."
The Guardian's gaze sharpened. "Do you think destiny waits for permission? It burns, with or without your will. What matters now is whether you will be consumed… or whether you will rise."
His words cracked something inside her, like glass splintering under pressure. She had tried so hard to live quietly, to be nothing more than the girl her mother raised, the heir of a forgotten line. But now the truth pressed against her skin, demanding recognition.
And in the silence that followed, she realized something terrifying—she wasn't sure if she wanted to deny it anymore.
The Guardian straightened, his cloak shifting with the night breeze. "There will be a trial," he said. "Sooner than you think. The fire will test you. And when it does, you will not face it alone."
Raine's breath steadied just enough for her to lift her eyes and meet his. "Why?" she asked. "Why swear yourself to me, when you could have walked away?"
For a long moment, he said nothing. His eyes dimmed, the brightness fading into something older, heavier. Finally, his voice dropped to a near whisper.
"Because I failed her once," he said. "And I will not fail again."
Her heart lurched. "Her…?"
But before she could press, the Guardian turned, his shadow melting deeper into the forest. The sound of his voice lingered, carried by the wind as though it belonged to the trees themselves.
"Remember, Raine. The fire is not your enemy. It is your inheritance."
Then he was gone, swallowed by the night.
Raine sank against the tree, her body trembling, her mind spiraling. Inheritance. Destiny. Trials. Words that weighed heavier than chains. And yet, beneath the fear, a flicker stirred in her chest—a spark she could not smother, no matter how much she wanted to.
She closed her eyes, clutching at the faint warmth that lingered in her veins. For the first time in years, she wondered if the fire that had taken her father was not a curse… but a call.
A call she could no longer ignore.