The fire didn't burn me — it judged me.
One moment, there was only Nyra, trembling but alive, her eyes full of the fragile calm of aftermath. The next, there were two of her — one wrapped in the soft light of dawn, the other in the devouring blaze of the Flame.
And I couldn't tell which one was mine.
She stood before the shattered veil, her reflection walking free, her movements slow and deliberate, as if every step unmade the world. I could feel the weight of the magic radiating off her, heavy as heat before a storm.
"Nyra," I called, but the name felt wrong in my mouth.
Both of them turned toward me.
The one with the fire in her eyes smiled.
The other — my Nyra — looked terrified.
I moved to reach her, but the air thickened, shimmering between us. Power crackled through the ground, and I dropped to one knee as the Flame surged. I'd felt it before, in battle, in the first bond. But this was different — not shared power, but split. Divided. Dying and reborn at once.
The Flame didn't want to be contained in one vessel. It wanted both.
"Kael, stay back!" she shouted. Her voice broke on the edge of panic.
But I couldn't. I wouldn't.
I forced myself forward, through the searing air, through the pain that clawed at my veins. Every step felt like walking through my own past — the hunts, the oaths, the faces of the fallen. All of it weighed against me, and still I went.
The mirror-Nyra tilted her head, her voice a purr of smoke. "You think you can save her? She doesn't need saving. She's becoming."
"Becoming what?" I spat.
Her smile widened, sharp as glass. "What she was meant to be — what you were meant to serve."
The words hit deeper than they should have. I knew the pull of destiny, the sick seduction of power disguised as purpose. I'd felt it once before, the first time I saw her bleed light instead of red.
And I'd sworn I wouldn't let it consume her.
I drew my blade, its runes flickering weakly — the last of the hunter's mark glowing faintly against the rising inferno. The Flame inside her laughed — I swear it laughed — and the blade melted in my grip.
Then the world cracked.
A sound like thunder split the air, and the ground beneath us gave way. I caught her — the real Nyra — as the reflection vanished in the burst of fire and smoke. Her weight was solid, trembling. Her skin burned against mine, but I didn't let go.
Her eyes fluttered open, faint traces of gold swirling within the brown. "She's not gone," she whispered.
"I know."
"Then why aren't you afraid?"
I brushed my thumb along her jaw, smearing ash across her skin. "Because fear won't save you. But I will."
She almost smiled — and then the world shifted again.
The silver trees around us trembled, the horizon folding like fabric. The air was no longer silent. From the edges of the realm came a low hum — thousands of whispers merging into a single voice.
And it spoke her name.
The Flame's hunger had awakened something vast — something watching.
And I realized then that this wasn't the end of the war.
It was the beginning of one.