I'd seen magic before — twisted things born from greed and desperation — but never like this.
The air around her shimmered, heavy with power and grief. The ground still smoked from what she'd unleashed, yet she knelt there, calm in the ruin, eyes lit with something older than any fire I'd known.
Nyra wasn't just wielding the Flame now. She was the Flame.
And I was bound to her by the oath I'd made long before she ever knew my name.
The bond burned beneath my skin, threads of light cutting through my veins, feeding me pieces of what she felt — exhaustion, hunger, the pulse of something ancient and endless. It should have killed me. Maybe it still would. But I couldn't look away.
She turned her head slightly, as if hearing thoughts I hadn't spoken. "You shouldn't have stayed."
"I told you," I said, my voice rough. "I don't break my vows."
Her laugh was soft, bitter. "That's what you think this is? Duty?"
The earth trembled again — not from her, not entirely. The veil above us was shifting, its edges pulling wider. Faint shapes moved in the gaps, half-formed and hungry.
Something in me remembered the stories — the first bearers of the Forsaken Flame, the ones who burned so bright they scorched the gods themselves. They'd called it a gift. They hadn't lived long enough to regret it.
Nyra rose slowly. Her movements were different now — less human, more elemental, as if every motion drew the air toward her.
When her gaze found mine, it held both recognition and distance.
"Kael," she said softly. "It's not done. The Flame's memory isn't just waking. It's calling."
And before I could ask what she meant, the wind shifted — carrying voices that weren't ours.
Whispers in an old tongue rolled across the barren field, and I felt the mark on my chest sear with heat.
The bond pulsed once. Then twice.
And for a heartbeat, I saw through her eyes — into the hollow sky, where fire and shadow danced in the shapes of what was coming.