Chapter 6: The Fire Between Us
The walls of the hut glowed amber in the firelight, shadows dancing across the woven wood. The flickering made everything feel dreamlike — soft around the edges, yet pulsing with something unspoken.
Avrielle stirred on the straw-lined mat they'd given her. Her body ached in strange places, her mind still heavy from whatever had knocked her out. But she was awake now. Alert. Scared, yes — but not alone.
Somewhere, Ian was out there. Alive. He had to be.
The wooden flap of her hut creaked open. A young girl peeked in — no older than twelve, with jet-black hair in braids and eyes too serious for her age.
"You may come," she said softly. "He waits."
Avrielle's heart thudded. "Ian?"
The girl didn't answer. She just gestured with a small hand and turned.
Avrielle rushed out barefoot, stumbling slightly, following the girl across the village. She passed villagers tending fires, muttering prayers, grinding herbs. Some of them glanced at her — not unkindly, but curiously. As though she was part of a prophecy they were watching unfold.
They reached another hut — larger, with a faint smell of smoke and sandalwood wafting from it. The girl stepped aside and pulled the flap open.
And there he was.
"Ian!" Avrielle gasped, her voice cracking.
He looked up from the mat, eyes wide and alive.
"Avi!"
She ran inside before he could stand and flung her arms around him. The air left his lungs as she collided with him, arms tight around his neck, her face buried in his shoulder.
"I thought— I thought—" she choked, "God, I thought something happened to you!"
"I'm fine," he whispered, holding her just as tightly. "I'm fine now."
Neither moved for a long moment. They just stayed there, wrapped around each other like the world outside couldn't touch them.
"I couldn't stop thinking about you," she said into his chest. "All I could hear was your voice as they pulled me away."
Ian leaned back slightly to look at her. His hair was a mess, face smudged, but his eyes — those clear, deep-set eyes — were still his. Still full of fire.
"I'm so glad you're okay," he said. "I've been going crazy not knowing where you were."
"Where are we?"
"I don't know," he muttered. "Some kind of hidden village. They speak English, but they're... strange. Like they live by old rules. They say we're safe, but—"
"Something feels wrong."
He nodded. "Exactly."
Avrielle sat down beside him, still holding onto his hand. "They said we were chosen... that the forest brought us here."
Ian's jaw tightened. "Yeah. I heard the same. I've been trying to find a way to ask more, but they just smile and walk away. It's like they're preparing something."
They fell into silence, the kind filled with questions neither of them knew how to ask. Outside, drums began to beat — slow and rhythmic, like the heartbeat of the earth itself.
"They've been building something in the center of the village," Ian said. "I saw logs being stacked, cloth dyed... like they're preparing for a festival."
"Or a ritual," Avrielle said quietly.
Their eyes met.
"What do they want from us?" she whispered.
Ian swallowed. "I don't know. But we stay together. No matter what."
She nodded and leaned against him, their bodies folded into one another like puzzle pieces. "You think anyone's looking for us?"
"I hope so. But this place... it's remote. Hidden. I don't think it's on any map."
The door flap moved again — not opened, just slightly lifted by the wind. A brief gust brought the sound of chanting. Voices, low and layered, weaving together like ancient song.
Ian's hand found hers again.
"I'm scared," she admitted, voice trembling.
"Me too," he said softly. "But I won't let anything happen to you."
They stayed there until the fire outside dimmed and the chants faded. Someone brought them food — roots, broth, and berries on clay plates. They ate in silence, still holding hands, still watching the door.
That night, they lay on the mat, side by side, close but not touching. The silence between them was gentle, protective.
"Ian?" Avrielle whispered.
"Yeah?"
"If we'd just stayed home... none of this would've happened."
"I know," he said. "But I don't regret it."
She turned her face toward him in the dark. "You don't?"
"No. We needed to breathe. This... this wasn't what we planned. But I'd still choose that night again, knowing you'd be beside me."
Her breath hitched. "Me too."
He reached over and squeezed her hand.
"We'll get out of this," he whispered. "I promise."
Outside, the drums began again — softer now, slower. Like a lullaby.
Inside the hut, two teenagers held onto each other in the dark — not lovers, not warriors, just two souls tangled in something far beyond their understanding.
And far across the village, in the central clearing, the villagers gathered around a great wooden structure. Flowers were braided into its corners. Symbols were carved deep into its beams. Candles were lit and passed hand to hand.
At the front stood the old woman with kohl-lined eyes, chanting under her breath.
"It is almost time," she murmured to the flames. "The bond will form. The seeds will grow. And the hollow shall be filled once more."
She looked up at the moon and smiled.
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