The village ruins smoldered for days.
After rescuing the survivors — three children, an old healer, and two injured farmers — Ariya and her team stayed behind to bury the dead and help rebuild what little could be salvaged. Her flames warmed cold nights. Lyra summoned breezes to keep smoke from choking the sick. Jax cheered up the children with firecrackers and stories (some of which involved him saving the world, single-handedly, on a flying yak).
But something wasn't right.
Not in the village… and not in Ariya.
The mark on her shoulder had changed.
It now burned faintly at all hours, pulsing when no magic was being used. She hadn't told the others — not yet. But she felt it in her bones: something had followed her back from the Vale.
They returned to Serelun Sanctuary a few days later.
Kael noticed the shift immediately. The moment Ariya stepped through the archway, the torches lining the walls flared — bright and wild, reacting only to her.
"That never happened before," he murmured.
"Neither did walking into an ambush and surviving," she replied, trying to smile.
But her eyes were hollow. She hadn't slept. Not really.
And when she did, the dreams came:
A girl on fire, screaming in an empty room.A cold voice whispering, "You can't save them all."
That night, the storm hit.
It came without warning — violent winds and blinding rain. Lightning struck just beyond the sanctuary walls. The ground trembled. Ariya jolted awake, heart racing.
In the distance… a figure.
She blinked hard. No, not one. Three.
Shadows moving through the storm. Hooded. Silent.
She rushed out, flames already crackling from her fingertips.
Kael was just behind her, blades drawn. Lyra hovered to her left, eyes scanning the tree line.
Jax stumbled out with a roasted sweet potato in one hand and a sword in the other. "Are we under attack or is this some really dramatic weather?"
Ariya didn't laugh.
Neither did the figures.
They stepped from the mist like ghosts — faces pale, eyes glowing faintly silver.
"Flamebearer," one rasped, voice inhuman. "The prince sends his regards."
Then they attacked.
The battle was brutal.
Kael warped through the trees, cutting one of them down — but it reformed, black smoke crawling back into shape.
Lyra's wind shields shattered on impact. Even Jax's explosions only scattered them temporarily.
Ariya realized quickly: they weren't real. Or not fully.
They were constructs — dream-forged, magic-born. Sent not to kill… but to test. To torment.
She summoned her full power.
Flames erupted from her body in a wave, clearing the ground for twenty paces. One figure burst like ash. Another staggered back, howling.
"You're not welcome here!" she roared.
Her voice echoed through the woods like thunder.
When the last figure melted into smoke, silence returned.
Kael stood nearby, breathing hard, blood on his cheek. Lyra limped, one arm burned. Jax had singed eyebrows but was otherwise fine.
"What the hell was that?" he gasped.
Ariya's mark pulsed again, hotter now.
"A message," she said quietly.
Then, with a flick of her hand, she opened her palm.
Etched across the center — faint but unmistakable — was a second symbol. Intertwined with her flame. Cold, like frost. Shadowed.
Kael saw it and went still.
"That's not yours."
"I think," Ariya whispered, "it's his."
Far away, Ruvan stood before his throne, fingers tracing a carved sigil on his forearm. His general waited behind him.
"She survived the second test," the man said.
"Barely," Ruvan murmured, a faint curl to his lips. "And now… she carries me with her."
He turned to the mirror.
In it, for just a moment, her reflection appeared.
Then it shattered.