They didn't fall from the sky.
They dropped like executions.
Three black-robed Flamecallers, fire trailing behind them in spirals, descended from the high cliffs above. The wind carried their arrival, but their fire carried silence.
When they landed, the earth didn't crack.
It bowed.
Taren stepped back.
Ming did not.
Her flame mark pulsed once, like a second heartbeat under her skin. She kept her arms down. Her hands open. Her eyes steady.
The lead Flamecaller was masked, not by iron like the Elders, but by flame itself — a veil of fire that didn't flicker. His voice came through it like heat through glass.
"You were told to return."
Ming didn't reply.
"You didn't."
No answer.
"You burned a handler," he said, "and disobeyed your order of silence. That flame in you is not sanctioned. Not tested. Not safe."
She exhaled, once. The wind shifted toward her.
"I didn't ask for it," she said.
"You don't have to ask to be dangerous."
Behind him, the second Flamecaller raised both hands. Blue fire curled into the sky — not bright, but deep, heavy, vibrating with power.
The third Flamecaller stepped sideways. A blade of hardened flame extended from her wrist — curved, humming, alive.
"You were a student," the lead said. "Now you are an anomaly."
Ming stepped forward.
"I'm not your mistake."
"No," he said. "You're a warning."
They moved at once.
The ground burst beneath them as fire exploded from their legs. Taren shouted her name — but the sound was drowned by heat.
The blue flame came first, aimed at her chest.
Ming moved.
She didn't dodge.
She turned.
And the flame turned with her.
It curled mid-air, reversed, and snapped toward the second Flamecaller who had cast it.
He dropped, arms crossed to block — but too slow.
The flame struck him across the shoulder, exploding in a blast of white sparks that ripped the rune lining from his robe.
The other two circled.
The woman with the blade charged low, cutting in an arc meant to sever not flesh — but flow. She aimed for Ming's flame vein.
Taren shouted something.
Ming didn't hear.
Her breath deepened.
And for the first time… she let it in.
The second flame.
The one that had whispered.
It didn't roar.
It opened.
Like a flood that had been waiting for the right key.
Her body didn't catch fire.
The air around her did.
A ring of gold and white heat shimmered into existence, glowing with layered flame symbols none of them recognized.
The lead Flamecaller tried to retreat.
He didn't make it.
The blast was not an explosion.
It was a refusal.
The flame didn't burn out.
It pushed out.
Everything — dust, stone, heat, sound — vanished in a circular wave.
Taren hit the ground, arm raised against the heat.
When he looked up, the world was quiet.
The three Flamecallers were down.
Still breathing.
But unmoving.
Ming stood alone.
Her eyes no longer glowed gold.
They were silver-white.
And her mark had changed.
It was no longer just a flame.
It was a split flame — mirrored, like two sides of the same spark.
She looked at her hands.
No burns.
No ash.
Just silence.
She turned to Taren.
His mouth opened.
He couldn't speak.
She walked to the nearest Flamecaller and crouched.
He was still alive.
Eyes closed. Barely conscious.
She touched his chest — not gently.
And flame symbols flickered across his robes.
She whispered.
"Next time you come, come knowing what I am."
She stood.
Turned.
Taren followed without question.
When they reached the edge of the gorge, he finally spoke.
"You could've killed them."
"I know."
"But you didn't."
"No."
"Why?"
She looked back toward the ruin behind them — the scorched crater, the half-melted ground.
And her voice, when it came, was low and steady.
"Because I'm not finished becoming."
That night, they climbed beyond the border cliffs. Past the floating roots of the Varn plateau. Beyond the outer torches.
To the edge of the sky.
They stood together, overlooking the stars below. Not above.
Below.
Because the world was upside-down now.
And so was she.
Taren sat down. He looked at her again.
"What are you planning?"
She didn't answer right away.
Then said, "They tried to erase something once. Something powerful."
"You?"
"No," she said. "Something inside the fire."
"And it chose you?"
"No," she said again.
"I chose it."
And behind her eyes, the second flame breathed.