The world was quiet when she opened her eyes.
Too quiet.
The kind of silence that presses against your heartbeat until you start to hear it too loudly.
Elara sat beside the dying embers of the fire.
Lucien hadn't moved in hours. His body lay still, his skin pale as winter light.
He was breathing — barely — but each breath sounded like a war he was losing.
She reached out, fingers trembling. The mark on her wrist pulsed faintly — glowing in rhythm with his.
Their connection wasn't fading.
It was… growing.
"You shouldn't have done that," she whispered. "You burned half your life away."
Lucien didn't answer. His lips moved faintly — maybe a dream, maybe a memory.
And for the first time, she felt it — his memories sliding through her mind like whispers carried by smoke.
Flashes.
A boy standing in a burning city. Screams.
A woman's voice — soft, desperate. "Lucien, run."
Then — fire. Endless, blinding fire.
Elara gasped and stumbled back, clutching her head. The mark on her wrist burned, alive.
"Stop…" she hissed.
"You're seeing it," Lucien's voice was weak, but it cut through the air.
"Seeing what?"
"The Genome never dies. It remembers… through you."
He sat up slowly, eyes still dim but focused on her. "Now you carry part of it — part of me."
Her breath caught. "That's not fair."
He almost smiled. "Nothing about me ever was."
The firelight flickered between them, painting their faces in gold and shadow.
Elara looked away, unable to hold his gaze for too long. There was too much inside it — sorrow, danger, and something else. Something she wasn't ready to name.
"You said it kills something inside you each time you use it."
"Yes."
"Then why save me twice?"
Lucien's eyes darkened.
"Because you looked at me… like I was still human."
Silence again. But it wasn't empty this time. It was heavy — thick with things neither of them wanted to admit.
She touched the mark again, tracing the glowing lines. "It's changing, isn't it?"
"Yes," he said quietly. "Soon, it won't just be on your skin."
"Then what happens?"
He looked at her, and there was no softness left in his voice.
"Then you'll start to remember my fire the way I do — with pain."
A gust of wind blew through the ruins, scattering ashes around them.
One of the crimson hunter's blades lay half-buried in the dirt. Elara's reflection shimmered on it — but for a heartbeat, it wasn't her face she saw.
It was his.
Lucien's.
With eyes of gold, whispering something she couldn't quite hear.
She turned sharply. "Did you—?"
He shook his head slowly. "No. That was you."
Elara's pulse raced. "What's happening to me?"
Lucien stood, his shadow falling across her face. "You're remembering fire, Elara. The same way I did."
He paused, voice softer now. "And once you do, there's no going back."
The sky outside cracked with thunder, and for the first time since the fire died, Elara felt warmth crawling beneath her skin again.
Not from the embers —
but from within.