Raine's feet dragged as she left the edge of the forest, the weight of the Guardian's words still heavy on her chest. The air clung to her skin, thick and damp, though the sun was climbing higher above the village. Her mind felt too full, a storm pressing against the walls of her skull. She pressed a hand to her forehead as if to keep her thoughts from spilling out, but the effort was useless.
The old woman in my room. The Guardian's warning. Darph. My father…
The pieces spun like broken glass in her mind, each sharp, each cutting her a little deeper the longer she thought about them. The memory of the woman was what unsettled her the most. She hadn't been a dream, hadn't been an illusion. Raine had felt her presence, the weight of her body in the chair beside her bed, the heat of her gaze, the way her voice had filled the room with an authority that no ordinary old woman could have carried.
And then the way she vanished—like smoke, like ash scattered by the wind.
Raine clenched her fists. She could almost hear the words again: "Darph burns. Darph waits. You are its light… or you are its ruin."
Her heart hammered, and she shut her eyes tightly. I don't want this. I don't want to be anyone's heir.
The pounding in her head grew worse until she thought she might collapse right there in the middle of the path. She staggered a step, her breath shaky, her throat dry.
And then—
"Raine!"
Her mother's voice broke through the fog like a bell.
Raine snapped her eyes open. Just ahead on the path, her mother was standing with her hands at her sides, her face pale with worry. The older woman's eyes scanned her daughter up and down as though expecting her to fall apart right there.
"Where did you go so early this morning?" her mother asked. Her tone was sharp, but underneath it trembled something softer, almost fearful. It was as though she already knew the answer but still wanted Raine to deny it.
Raine swallowed hard, her throat tight. For a long moment she wanted to say nothing, to brush it off with an excuse. But she was too tired, too shaken to pretend.
"Mama…" Her voice wavered. "An old woman was in my room this morning."
Her mother's face went blank.
"She—she told me things," Raine continued, the words spilling out despite her trembling lips. "Things about a place called Darph. She said it was burning, that it needed an heir. And then… she disappeared."
Silence.
The path between them felt heavy, as though the world itself had stopped to listen.
"Wait." Her mother's voice cracked sharply in the stillness. "What?"
Raine's heart pounded faster. "It's true, Mama. I swear. I saw her sitting right beside my bed. I spoke to her, and then she vanished before my eyes."
Her mother's breathing quickened. She shook her head slowly, as if refusing to accept it. "An old woman… Darph…"
Her eyes softened, her lips parting in a whisper. "Your father's homeland…"
The words froze Raine in place.
"Yes, Mama," she said quickly. "That's what the Guardian told me too. He said Darph is burning. That it's… mine. That my blood belongs to it."
Her mother's eyes flicked back to her, wide and stricken. "An old woman, you said?"
Raine nodded. "Yes. Do you know her?"
Her mother's voice trembled. "Did she have… red hair?"
Raine's breath caught. "Yes! Mama, yes! Her hair had streaks of red in it, mixed with silver. Do you know her? Please, tell me!"
For the first time, hope flickered in her chest. Maybe, after everything, she wasn't as alone in this as she thought.
Her mother's gaze drifted, distant, as though she were seeing something from years ago. She pressed a hand to her lips, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I met her… years ago. With your father. We hadn't married then."
Raine gasped. "You saw her too?"
Her mother nodded, though her eyes were still far away. "Yes. At that time, I didn't know about your father's secret. I didn't know where he truly came from. But she… she spoke of Darph as well. She spoke of fire and of a bloodline. Her words were so strange. I thought she was mad. Just an old woman rambling about nonsense I couldn't understand."
Raine's breath quickened. "But she wasn't mad, was she? She's real, Mama. She's real!"
Her mother looked at her then, her eyes brimming with worry. "If she appeared to you now, after all these years… it means the past we tried to bury has finally risen. Your father's world has come looking for you."
Raine's chest tightened painfully. She shook her head. "No. Mama, I don't want it. I don't want any of this. The Guardian, the old woman, Darph—I don't care about it. I just want to live here. With you. Like before."
Her mother reached forward, taking her trembling hand in both of hers. "Child… I wanted the same for you. I wanted you safe, far from the fire your father carried in his blood. I thought if I raised you here, quietly, you could be free of it. But the fire… it doesn't vanish. It always finds a way."
Raine felt tears sting her eyes. She pulled her hand back, shaking her head violently. "No! Why me? Why did he have to pass this to me? Why couldn't I just be… normal?"
Her mother's voice softened, breaking with sorrow. "Because you were never meant to be ordinary, Raine. You were born of fire and mortal flesh. Both realms claim you, whether you want them or not."
Raine's vision blurred with hot tears. She wanted to scream, to run again, to push away everything that bound her to Darph. Yet deep down, her mother's words and the old woman's warning pressed into her bones, refusing to be ignored.
She remembered the way the Guardian had looked at her in the forest, steady, calm, as though her denial didn't matter at all. She remembered the vision—the younger Guardian smiling, looking at someone through her eyes. Someone who was not her but somehow was.
A tremor ran through her body.
"Mama," she whispered, her voice small, "what was she? That woman. Who was she to Father?"
Her mother shook her head slowly. "I don't know. She appeared once, uninvited, and spoke in riddles about flames and inheritance. Your father listened to her quietly, but when I asked afterward, he only said she was an old flamekeeper—someone who watched over the bloodline of Darph. He never explained more."
Raine's throat tightened. A flamekeeper. The word felt ancient, heavy, like it belonged to a world she didn't yet understand.
Her mother reached out and cupped her face gently, forcing Raine to meet her gaze. "Listen to me, child. Whatever she said, whatever the Guardian tells you, remember this—you are still my daughter. You are not only Darph's. You are mine."
Raine's chest broke then. She fell into her mother's embrace, clinging to her tightly as though letting go would send her hurtling into flames she could not control. Her mother's hands stroked her hair gently, but even her warmth couldn't push away the chill coiled in Raine's heart.
The old woman's eyes still haunted her. The Guardian's warning echoed in her head. Darph burned, and the fire in her veins was no longer a secret.
And Raine could no longer pretend she could run from it.