Aelira walked through the forest with fire humming in her blood.
Not literal fire—though her skin still pulsed where the mark burned beneath it—but something more ancient. A knowing. A power awakening cell by cell. Every step she took forward, the forest responded. Leaves turned subtly. Shadows pulled back. Roots shifted from her path.
She wasn't just a girl anymore.
She was becoming Saelwyn.
And yet… not quite.
She was both. The girl who'd grown up hidden in the woods, and the witch who once commanded flame and fate.
It was time to find out what that meant.
---
The path led her to a stone well—covered in moss, ringed by fallen petals of long-dead flowers. It pulsed with magic. Not all of it felt kind.
Aelira stepped closer, peering into the shadowed water. Her reflection flickered.
At first, she saw only herself—pale skin, silver-struck eyes, hair wild with leaves. But then the image blurred… and became her as Saelwyn: adorned in ritual robes, her eyes burning gold, standing in front of the Eldercircle with defiance in her voice and sorrow in her bones.
A memory rose up from the well, unbidden:
"You cannot bind fire without it turning to ash," Saelwyn had said once, her voice echoing across sacred stone.
"But you can choose what to burn."
Aelira recoiled as the vision faded.
Her fingertips itched. The sigil on her shoulder warmed.
"I don't know what I'm doing," she whispered.
The wind rustled in reply—and then a new voice answered.
"Then it's time to remember what we taught you."
Aelira spun.
Three women stood at the edge of the clearing.
Cloaked. Hooded. Timeless.
Each one shimmered faintly, like echoes too old for the waking world.
Her heart seized. "The coven…"
One stepped forward, her face partially visible beneath a veil of gray light. "We were once your sisters. The Eldercircle. You called us by name."
The second nodded. "You were our flamebearer. Our last fireborn."
The third looked sorrowful. "And we failed you when it mattered most."
Aelira took a step back. "I don't remember everything."
"You will," said the first.
"But I don't know who to trust."
The second witch's expression turned cold. "Neither did Saelwyn. That was her mistake."
The third reached out her hand. "You are not her alone, Aelira. You are you. But you carry her strength. And the storm is rising."
Aelira felt her knees go weak.
"What storm?"
They all turned, looking northeast.
Where the trees thickened. Where the magic ran sharp and cruel.
Where the veil between realms was thinnest.
"The Shadowbinders stir," one of them whispered.
"And he is not the only one who remembers you."
Aelira's breath caught. "Kaeln…"
"No," the first said. "Worse."
A long silence passed before one of them broke it.
"You must prepare. Reclaim what was lost. The Ember Grimoire lies buried beneath the ash tree. You'll know it by the roots—it bleeds when touched."
Aelira's voice cracked. "Why me?"
"You were the strongest of us," they said in unison.
And then they were gone—dissolving into mist as if they had never stood there.
---
Alone once more, Aelira turned slowly toward the northeast.
Wherever the ash tree waited… it called her.
She took one step forward—and the sigil on her arm flared brightly, burning through her sleeve.
This time, she didn't wince.
This time, she didn't flinch.
She pressed her palm to it and whispered, "I'm ready."
And the forest responded—not with silence, but with a soft crack of splitting bark.
Somewhere ahead, the roots of the ash tree began to bleed.
---
Meanwhile...
Kaeln stood at the edge of the ruined stone circle.
The same one that had once held Saelwyn in chains of fire.
His jaw was clenched. His hand was pressed against the ancient stone where she'd fallen.
He had felt her awakening.
And it terrified him.
Because once she remembered everything—every lie, every sacrifice, every broken oath—she might not only reject him…
She might destroy him.
> "Forgive me," he whispered again, but there was no wind left to carry his words.
Only fire, waiting.
And footsteps rising from the east.