The morning after the storm, Thornwick did not feel the same.
Lyrielle noticed it the moment she stepped outside.
The air was heavy—not with rain, but with something sharper. Suspicion clung to the village like fog, seeping into every crack between people, every glance that lingered just a little too long.
She pulled her cloak tighter around herself and started down the narrow dirt path toward the well.
Usually, mornings were quiet. Predictable. Women gathered with buckets, exchanging gossip. Farmers passed with carts, nodding politely. Children ran barefoot through puddles left behind by the rain.
Today, conversations stopped when she appeared.
A woman at the well stiffened, fingers tightening around the rope. Two men near the bakery fell silent, their eyes following Lyrielle as she walked past. Even the children—normally loud and careless—were nowhere to be seen.
Her chest tightened.
I'm imagining it, she told herself. I always imagine it.
But the weight of their stares followed her like a shadow.
At the well, Lyrielle reached for the rope. The woman beside her flinched.
It was a small thing. Almost unnoticeable.
But it shattered something fragile inside Lyrielle.
"I won't hurt you," she said quietly, the words leaving her mouth before she could stop them.
The woman startled, color draining from her face. "I—I didn't say—"
"I know," Lyrielle replied, forcing a weak smile. "I just—"
The woman grabbed her bucket and hurried away, water sloshing over the rim as she fled.
Lyrielle stood frozen, fingers still wrapped around the rope.
The well creaked softly in the silence.
When she returned home, her Grandmother was already awake.
She sat at the small wooden table, hands folded tightly around a chipped cup of tea she hadn't touched. Her sharp eyes lifted the moment Lyrielle entered, scanning her from head to toe.
"You felt it," her Grandmother said.
Lyrielle nodded. "They're afraid of me."
Her Grandmother closed her eyes slowly. "Fear spreads faster than fire."
Lyrielle swallowed. "What did I do?"
"Nothing," her Grandmother said firmly. "But fear doesn't need truth to grow."
Lyrielle wanted to believe that. She truly did.
But the rest of the day only confirmed what she already knew.
By midday, whispers followed her openly. By evening, doors closed when she approached. When she passed the tavern, voices rose just enough for her to hear fragments.
"—storm wasn't natural—"
"—saw flames in the rain—"
"—that girl—"
She walked faster, heart pounding.
That night, she dreamed again.
This time, the dream did not feel distant or hazy. It felt close.
She stood barefoot on black stone, heat radiating up through her feet without burning her. The sky above was not a sky at all, but a vast abyss of fire and shadow, swirling endlessly.
And he stood before her.
Tall. Impossibly so.
Wings unfurled behind him, dark as midnight edged with embers. His presence pressed down on her, heavy and undeniable, making it hard to breathe.
Golden eyes locked onto hers.
"You felt it," he said.
His voice was deep, resonant, vibrating through her bones rather than her ears.
Lyrielle tried to speak, but no sound came out.
"You're waking up," he continued, stepping closer. Each step sent ripples through the stone beneath them. "And the world will not forgive you for it."
Fear coiled in her chest—but beneath it, something else stirred.
Recognition.
"Who are you?" she finally managed to ask.
His gaze softened—not kindly, but possessively.
"Someone who has been waiting," he replied.
She woke gasping, her body burning as if she'd been standing too close to a furnace.
Her Grandmother was already at her bedside.
"You dreamed again," the old woman said quietly.
Lyrielle pushed herself upright, shaking. "I saw him."
Her Grandmother stiffened. "Saw who?"
"I don't know," Lyrielle whispered. "But he knew me."
Silence stretched between them.
Then her Grandmother stood abruptly and crossed the room, opening an old chest Lyrielle had never been allowed to touch. She rummaged through it with shaking hands before pulling out a small leather-bound book, its pages yellowed and cracked with age.
"I hoped we had more time," she said hoarsely.
Lyrielle stared at the book. "More time for what?"
"For lies," her Grandmother replied.
She sat down heavily and opened the book, revealing symbols that made Lyrielle's head ache just to look at them.
"You were never meant to stay hidden forever," her Grandmother said. "Only long enough to grow strong."
Lyrielle's breath caught. "Hidden from what?"
Her Grandmother looked up at her, eyes filled with something close to grief.
"From him."
Before Lyrielle could ask another question, a scream pierced the night.
It came from the village square.
They rushed outside to find chaos waiting.
A crowd had gathered, torches blazing, voices overlapping in panic and anger. At the center stood a man Lyrielle recognized—one of the farmers—his arm twisted at an unnatural angle, skin blackened as if burned.
"She did this!" someone shouted.
Lyrielle froze.
"That witch girl!"
Her Grandmother stepped in front of her instantly. "This is madness," she snapped. "The girl was here all night."
"No," another voice yelled. "I saw her near the fields yesterday!"
Fear turned ugly.
Torches lifted higher.
Lyrielle's heart thundered in her chest as the air around her grew warm—too warm. The seal inside her strained, cracking under the weight of terror and rage.
"I didn't do anything," Lyrielle said, her voice shaking. "I swear."
But fire licked at her fingertips.
Someone screamed.
Flames burst outward—not wild, not consuming, but powerful. The torches were ripped from villagers' hands, extinguished midair as if swallowed by an invisible force.
The ground trembled.
Lyrielle dropped to her knees, clutching her head as pain exploded behind her eyes.
"Stop!" her Grandmother cried. "Lyrielle, stop!"
Lyrielle sobbed, trying to pull the power back, but it was too much. Too sudden.
And then—
The fire vanished.
Silence crashed down over the square.
Every eye turned to Lyrielle.
Horror. Awe. Hatred.
She looked up slowly, tears streaking her face, violet light fading from her skin.
"I told you," someone whispered. "She's cursed."
Her Grandmother grabbed her arm. "We're leaving. Now."
They didn't wait for permission.
They fled into the forest as shouts erupted behind them.
Behind the veil of realms, Kaelith felt it all.
The fear. The pain. The release.
He stood at the edge of the infernal gate, wings spreading wide as hellfire roared in response.
"She's breaking," he murmured.
The demon lords watched in silence as ancient runes ignited beneath Kaelith's feet.
"For years, I waited," he continued softly. "Now the world has pushed her too far."
He raised a clawed hand.
"Prepare the crossing."
Back in the forest, Lyrielle stumbled, tears blinding her as branches tore at her clothes.
"I didn't mean to," she sobbed. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone."
Her Grandmother pulled her close, breath ragged. "I know, child. I know."
But the forest was no longer silent.
Something watched them from the shadows.
Something ancient.
Something waiting.
And far above them, unseen by mortal eyes, the sky darkened—not with storm clouds, but with destiny.
Lyrielle did not know it yet.
But this was the night her life ended.
And her legend began.