The wind was still when Liora awoke.
No flame. No mist. No whispers.
Only silence.
It took her a moment to realize she was lying in Kael's arms. His heartbeat was a drum against her ear, steady and warm, like an anchor in the tide of confusion that still swirled through her.
Her memories of the Ashdream were scattered fragments—echoes of flame, a forest of mist, a voice made of sorrow. A silver-eyed figure. The ember.
And that final choice she never truly understood.
"I'm here," he said quietly, as if sensing the flicker of consciousness returning to her. "You're safe."
She nodded against his chest, though the word safe now felt vague and temporary. There was something inside her that hadn't been there before—something coiled and waiting. A fire that pulsed not in her veins but somewhere deeper.
They didn't speak for a long while. The others gave them space. Even Seran stood apart, watching the horizon where the mountains loomed like forgotten gods, their peaks draped in cloud.
When Liora finally stood on her own, Kael didn't stop her. He simply stayed close, his hand lingering near hers, ready if she faltered.
Wren approached then, offering a small strip of dried fruit as though the entire world had not shifted overnight. "You lived," he said with a half-smile. "Didn't expect that."
She accepted the fruit, chewing slowly. Her mouth was dry. "Neither did I."
He studied her. "Did it speak to you?"
Liora frowned. "What?"
"The Ashdream," Wren said. "It's a living thing. A memory made real. It's different for everyone. But the flame—it always asks the same question: what are you willing to burn to become who you're meant to be?"
She didn't answer. Not yet. She wasn't ready to speak aloud the things she saw. The burning children. The mirror of her father. The cinders that whispered her name.
Instead, she asked, "What comes next?"
Wren looked to Kael, who straightened. "We follow the river east," Kael said. "There's a ruin beyond the peaks. Seran believes it's connected to the old flamekeepers."
Seran nodded. "The Ruins of Solen-Mar. The name's been half-lost in history, but the ashborn—what few remain—consider it sacred. If the fire in your daughter has awakened, we may find answers there."
"Or more questions," Wren added. "Either way, sounds like fun."
The journey resumed under a sky thick with rolling clouds.
The terrain shifted with every mile. The craggy cliffs of the valley gave way to pale green meadows, speckled with sharp, silver-stalked flowers that shimmered like polished glass. The wind carried the scent of cold iron and distant rain.
The river became their guide, winding like a serpent through the lowlands. Liora walked at the front now, no longer just the girl who needed protecting, but something new. Kael watched her from behind, a shadow of worry flickering in his gaze.
There was strength in her stride. But also weight.
They crossed a shallow gorge before noon, its edges crumbling with each step. At one point, the path gave way beneath Liora, and Kael barely managed to catch her wrist before she tumbled into the chasm below.
Their eyes met as he pulled her up—hers wide with surprise, his with something closer to fear. She laughed softly, almost bitterly.
"You said I'd be safe," she whispered.
He didn't respond.
By dusk, they reached an outcrop overlooking a forest that stretched toward the mountains. From their vantage, the trees looked like ripples of ink. In the fading light, birds shrieked and fled. The forest was quiet in a way that wasn't natural.
Kael knelt, his fingers brushing old stone etched with faded symbols. "Someone's been here."
Seran joined him, examining the marks. "Ward runes. Ancient. Broken. They were meant to keep something out."
"Or keep something in," Wren muttered.
Liora didn't look at the stones. Her eyes were fixed on the forest below. "There's something watching us," she said.
Kael turned to her sharply. "You see it?"
"No. I feel it. Like in the dream."
Her words cast a pall over the camp. Even the fire that night seemed reluctant to burn, and the wind whispered too many names.
That night, sleep came slowly.
Kael sat alone at the edge of camp, staring into the flickering flame. He turned a small silver pendant over in his fingers—old, tarnished, shaped like a star within a circle. It had once belonged to someone he'd loved. Someone he lost.
The stars overhead were distant, half-hidden behind veils of cloud. He remembered when he first arrived in this world, how he stared at the night sky and tried to make sense of constellations that meant nothing.
And now, years later, the same sky hung above him, and his daughter—his daughter who wasn't truly his, but was more his than blood—had returned from a place that shouldn't exist.
"What happens when she burns too bright?" he whispered.
"She won't," came Seran's voice behind him. "Not unless she's alone."
Kael looked up.
"That's the mistake they all made before. Power without tether. Flame without purpose. If you stand with her, if you teach her balance… she might survive it."
Kael's eyes returned to the fire. "And if I fail?"
Seran placed a hand on his shoulder. "Then we all burn."
The next morning, they entered the forest.
It swallowed them whole.
The trees rose high, ancient things with bark like petrified bone. The light dimmed to a dusky grey, filtered through twisted branches. Roots snaked along the ground like veins, and here and there, Kael spotted ruins overtaken by moss—crumbling statues, toppled stones, half-buried altars.
Every sound echoed. Every shadow lingered too long.
They moved in silence, the only sound the crunch of leaves beneath their boots and the occasional murmur of distant birds—though no birds were seen. Liora's fingers occasionally sparked with fire, brief flares of unease that died just as quickly.
They passed a crumbling pillar etched with familiar sigils. Kael touched it, feeling the echo of warmth in the stone.
"What is this place?" Liora asked.
Seran ran his hand across another relic. "A song once filled these woods," he said softly. "A song of fire and sacrifice. This was a place of worship. Of sorrow. The flamebearers who came before… they sang here before the fall."
"And now?" she asked.
"Now the forest listens," Seran replied. "But it does not sing back."
At midday, they came to a clearing—and what lay in its center froze them in their tracks.
A shrine. Broken. Overgrown. And in front of it, a body.
The figure was cloaked, slumped forward on the steps. Long-dead, yet uncorrupted. As if the forest itself refused to let it rot.
Kael stepped forward cautiously, drawing his sword. Wren followed, eyes sharp, hand on his dagger. Seran muttered a prayer to the old flame.
Liora stayed back, her hands trembling.
The figure's hood fell back as Kael approached.
It wasn't human.
Its skin was grey ash. Its eyes open—but hollow, glassy. A glyph was carved into its forehead, and beneath its robes, the chest had been torn open, revealing a burned-out core where a heart should be.
"What... is it?" Kael whispered.
Seran knelt beside the body. "Ashborn."
Liora gasped. "Like me?"
"No," Seran said. "Older. Twisted. Something corrupted it."
Kael stood slowly, heart heavy. "Then we need to know what did."
And from the trees behind them, something began to hum.
A low, warbling sound. Not quite a voice. Not quite a song.
Wren spun, blade drawn. "We're not alone."
The forest, at last, began to stir.