Warmth.
Not the burning kind. Not fire or fury.This was something gentler — the scent of lavender, soft cloth against her skin, voices whispering like wind through leaves.
Ariya stirred.
She was lying on a bed of moss and silk, sunlight dappling across her face through a ceiling made of woven vines and stained glass. The walls glowed faintly with bioluminescent runes carved into wood. There were no weapons here. No maps. No war.
Only peace.
Only healing.
A woman sat beside her. Silver braids. Eyes like polished amber.
"You live," the woman said softly, offering a drink from a wooden cup. "You nearly didn't."
Ariya blinked. Her body ached in places she hadn't known existed. But the mark on her shoulder—She sat up too fast, gasping. The pain stabbed through her ribs.
"Easy," the woman said. "The fire in you has calmed… but it hasn't gone quiet."
Ariya looked around. "Where… am I?"
"Serelun," the woman answered. "The Last Village."
"Last?" Ariya echoed.
"Hidden from maps. Guarded by enchantment. We have no army. No king. Only memory."
The woman stood slowly, her voice like poetry. "And for generations, we have remembered the prophecy of the Flameborn."She turned to face Ariya, bowing her head.
"You are the first one to carry the mark since the world broke. Welcome, child of fire."
Kael burst through the doorway moments later, followed by Lyra and Jax. Their faces were flushed with relief.Kael knelt beside her, checking her pulse again even though he didn't need to.
"Don't scare us like that again."
"I scared myself," Ariya whispered.
Jax immediately dropped a bundle of flowers and fruit in her lap. "These are from the kids in the village. I may have told them you were a warrior queen risen from ashes."
Lyra smirked. "He's been showing off. They now believe he's your royal consort."
"Absolutely not," Kael growled.
"Relax," Jax grinned. "They also think you're her personal blade."
Ariya laughed weakly, and for a moment, the ache in her chest didn't hurt.
Later that night, after the others had gone, the elder woman returned. She carried with her a small, cloth-wrapped bundle.
"You should see this."
Inside was a piece of old parchment — ancient, cracked, glowing faintly.
Ariya unrolled it slowly.
It was a drawing. A mural, maybe.
On it stood a figure of flame — a woman with a burning mark on her shoulder. Her hands held light in one palm… and darkness in the other.
Opposite her stood a man cloaked in shadow, silver in his eyes, fire curling at his feet.
"This was carved long before your time," the woman whispered. "A tale of balance. A fire bearer. And a prince of night."
Ariya's fingers brushed the figure's flame-marked skin.
It looked exactly like hers.
That night, she dreamed again.
But this time, there was no battlefield.
Only a temple.
Stone. Carved. Waiting.
And a voice in the dark that whispered:
"Come find me."