The forest path was silent, unnaturally so.
Birdsong had vanished. The wind held its breath. Even the snow fell soundlessly, layering the branches like veils.
Elira walked fast, keeping Tovin close.
She hadn't told him where they were going. Partly because she wasn't sure herself. The direction had pulled at her bones — an ache that wasn't entirely hers.
But she knew this much:
She had to return to the coven.
Not for protection. Not for welcome.
But for truth.
Tovin broke the silence.
"Are we being followed?"
Elira didn't answer. But her magic prickled sharply — like something was threading itself through the trees behind them.
Not just watching.
Hunting.
They were a half-day from the stone gate that marked the coven's outer lands when the world shifted.
No sound, no flash — just sudden wrongness in her breath.
Elira staggered, grabbing a tree.
Her knees buckled.
And then—
The memory hit.
Flame.
Not red — blue.
A circle of witches chanting. Her mother's face, younger, wild with power. A knife pressed to Elira's palm. A name carved into ash — her own.
And then—
A tall figure in the dark. Cloaked. Pale eyes watching from behind the fire.
He stepped forward.
Spoke her name like he'd known it before she was born.
"Elira. You are the first key. You will never be allowed to die."
Then the seal.
Not drawn — burned into her chest by her own mother's hand.
She screamed.
"Elira!"
Tovin's voice dragged her back.
She was on her knees in the snow, breath heaving, skin slick with cold sweat.
She touched her chest.
No mark.
But she'd felt it.
Burning. Binding.
Her mother had cursed her by name.
She stood slowly, dizzy.
Tovin watched her with wide eyes. "What did you see?"
"I remembered something I wasn't meant to," she said quietly. "And someone I shouldn't."
*
Before she could explain more, the forest cracked — branches snapping unnaturally, air twisting with a sick metallic scent.
They weren't alone.
Three shapes stepped from the trees.
Hooded. White-robed. One bore a torch that didn't flicker, despite the wind.
The Order of the Pale Flame.
"Step forward, Elira of the Ash Circle," the tallest commanded.
Elira raised her hand. Power coiled, but something in her still trembled.
The lead envoy stepped closer.
"We come in judgment."
*
Before Elira could respond—
A silver blade flashed through the snow.
The torch dropped. A gasp — then silence.
Caelum stood behind the envoy, hand bloody, expression colder than night.
The remaining two Pale Flame hunters stepped back instinctively.
"She is not yours," Caelum said.
Elira stared at him.
"You followed us."
"No," he said, meeting her eyes. "I was already walking your path."
Then, without looking at the envoys: "Run. Now."
They fled.
"You killed him," Elira said quietly.
Caelum's gaze didn't waver. "He would've marked you."
"So what? You care now?"
He stepped closer. Snow crunched.
"I care," he said slowly, "that you still don't know what you are."
She didn't respond.
He continued. "You're going to the Ash Circle."
"Yes."
"They won't give you answers willingly."
"Then I'll take them."
A flicker of amusement touched his mouth.
She turned away, fire boiling just under her skin.
And Caelum — quiet, deadly, loyal to shadows — followed.
Veildusk — Later That Night
The village was half in ruin. The chapel had burned. The inn roof had collapsed. Half the people had fled.
A woman in gold-and-white robes stepped into the main square.
Her eyes scanned the window where the third seal still glowed faintly.
Behind her, Pale Flame knights stood in perfect silence.
She touched the frost.
Then whispered, "So. The key still lives."