Aaranya's POV
Mornings and I have never been friends.
In fact, if mornings were a person, I'd probably slap them across the face with a frying pan.
The soft buzz of the vacuum cleaner from the living room hit first, then the sun stabbed through my curtains like it had a personal vendetta. I groaned, rolled over, and slapped at my phone until I finally opened one blurry eye.
7:41 AM.
My brain snapped out of sleep mode like someone dumped a bucket of ice water on it.
Rosy. Football class. Seven sharp. Dead. I'm so dead.
I flung the covers off, smashed my knee on the dresser (because of course), cursed like a pirate, and stumbled into the bathroom. Shower. Clothes. Hair. Chaos. Somehow, ten minutes later, I emerged like a half-dressed hurricane in pink and black, still tying my hair while hopping toward the front door.
Downstairs, the usual soundtrack played—my mom and younger brother arguing over god-knows-what. I tossed out a rushed "Good morning!" that no one acknowledged.
My niece, Rosy, sat silently on the couch, already dressed, cradling her football. She was five, adorably bossy, and entirely too aware of her power over me. Daughter of my older sister, who now lived abroad. Since she left, Rosy had basically become mine.
"Aaru Massi, you're late," she said, pouting in her bright yellow cleats.
"I know, I know," I sighed. "Two scoops of ice cream later, okay?"
Her pout softened. "Strawberry and chocolate."
I smiled. "Deal."
We held hands as we walked toward the nearby field. Rosy skipped beside me, chattering about passing drills and how the boys on her team never passed the ball because she was "too fast and too pretty." I wanted to bottle that confidence and inject it directly into my bloodstream.
After dropping her off and promising to watch her final goal (which I fully planned to fake if needed), I headed to the nearby public park. I had taken the day off work—not out of luxury, but because I had a gynecologist appointment later. Health comes first. Even when the rest of your life feels like it's burning in slow motion.
Jogging wasn't something I did often, but I'd been on edge all week. Restless. Heavy. Like the universe had tilted slightly off balance and only I could feel it. And then there were the dreams...
Dreams that didn't feel like dreams.
Flickering flames. Cities in ruin. Whispered words in languages I didn't recognize but somehow understood.
And always—a girl with golden eyes, standing in the heart of war, drenched in blood and fire.
Every morning, I woke up breathless. More confused.
More... hollow.
Jogging was supposed to help. It didn't.
Then—
"Heyyyyy AAARAAANNYYAAA!!"
Nope. Not today.
I groaned as I turned to see Rick, our neighborhood drama king, running toward me like he was in a shampoo commercial in slow motion.
"Aaru, hey, you busy tomorrow night?"
"Emotionally? Always. Why?"
"Need you to babysit Steve."
"Absolutely not."
"But he adores you!"
"That gremlin punched Rosy and said she runs like a cow."
"He's passionate!"
"He cut her hair, Rick."
Rick sighed dramatically. "I've got a date with Diana. You'd be saving a future marriage."
"Rick, your last 'future marriage' ended in court."
"And I'm learning from it!"
I rolled my eyes so hard they nearly relocated. "Not happening."
I jogged off before he could launch into his tragic love monologue or offer bribes. The trees rustled overhead, and I focused on the sound of my breath, letting the rhythm calm the chaos in my head.
But peace? Not today.
It started small. A chill in the wind. A sudden silence.
No birds.
No buzzing insects.
No rustling leaves.
Then I saw it—across the pond, between two ancient trees.
A figure. Massive. Feathered. Unreal.
It radiated both heat and cold. Like fire and frost had merged into one terrifying, majestic form.
And its eyes—piercing, glowing gold like twin suns—locked onto mine.
I couldn't breathe.
The creature didn't blink. Didn't flinch. It just... watched me.
My heart hammered in my chest. I blinked.
It was gone.
Just—vanished. Like it had never been there.
"What the...?"
I stumbled a step back, scanning the space for signs of it, for anything—but I was completely alone.
I shook my head, tried to laugh it off. Jogged forward.
Maybe I was losing it. Maybe my dreams were finally leaking into daylight.
But then my skin started to burn.
A tingling spread up my right arm. Not painful, exactly—more like fire beneath the skin.
I yanked up my sleeve.
There it was—faint, spiraling, almost ancient. A mark, like a scar made of light. A burn, pulsing softly under my skin like fading embers.
And then I heard it.
Not in my ears. Not outside.
Inside. In my bones. My blood. My memory.
"Flameborn."
I staggered. My vision blurred. For a second, I swore I was somewhere else—another sky, another forest, voices chanting, gold fire—
And then I snapped back.
Heart racing. Mark still glowing.
I wasn't dreaming anymore.
This was real.