The dreams came again.
It began with the silence—deafening, absolute. Then came the tremble beneath her feet. The sky cracked like shattered glass, and the world tilted as if some ancient force had finally stirred from sleep.
Arielle stood at the center of it all.
Her robes torn. Her hands lit with flames that didn't belong to any god she knew.
Around her, the temple burned—walls crumbling, spires crashing like dying stars.
Voices screamed. Not in pain.
In fear.
Because they were looking at her.
She wasn't healing anymore.
She was unmaking.
And her flame was singing her name.
She awoke gasping, drenched in sweat, the sheets tangled around her like bindings.
Her hands still trembled when she touched the scar on her chest—where the mark once pulsed during the first summoning.
But there had been no Riven.
No voice.
No shadow.
Just ruin.
And yet… the dreams felt more real than the sun on her face.
For days, they didn't stop.
Always the same.
The world ending.
The veil torn.
Her—alone.
Each morning, she trained harder. Each evening, she pretended not to feel the shift in her flame.
But deep down, she knew.
Something was coming.
And it had her name carved into it.
The night before her birthday, Maric came.
He knocked once on her door—firm, familiar.
When she opened it, her chest tightened.
He looked older. Tired. Like he had already seen what she hadn't yet survived.
"A walk?" he asked softly.
She nodded.
They strolled the temple gardens, where night blooms whispered against the moonlight. The silence between them wasn't awkward—it was the kind that held a lifetime of unspoken things.
"You've grown strong," he said after a while. "Stronger than any priestess I've known."
"I had no choice," she whispered.
"No," he said. "You had every choice. And you still chose the flame. That's what makes you different."
He stopped walking.
And pulled something from his robe.
A necklace.
Simple. Worn. A single crystal wrapped in silver wire.
"It was your mother's," he said. "I've kept it all these years. She wore it when she carried you to the sanctuary gates."
Arielle swallowed hard.
"I thought the Order said she was—"
"Gone, yes," Maric cut in gently. "But not before she made a choice."
He pressed the necklace into her palm.
"I'm giving this to you now because… tomorrow, everything changes."
She stared at him. "What do you mean?"
His voice dropped lower, grave.
"Whatever happens—whatever they say—you must follow your flame. Not theirs. Not even mine."
"Maric—"
"You are not just chosen, Arielle," he said. "You are destined. After tomorrow, you will be delivered to the Temple at the Northern Pole."
She blinked. "What? Why?"
"To close the veil," he said. "The one that's opened. The one that hungers."
Her throat went dry.
"Why me?"
He looked at her with something like grief and pride entwined.
"Because even if you touched darkness… your soul was never unclean. You're the only one who can survive standing between both sides."
He paused.
"And the only one who might save us all."
Later that night, she lay in bed with the necklace clutched against her chest.
And just before sleep took her, she overheard voices in the corridor outside her room—two senior priests speaking in hushed, brittle tones.
"…Is she ready?"
"She has no choice. The bond is dormant, but the prophecy is active."
"She doesn't know what she is."
"She doesn't need to. Not until the veil begins to split."
"And when it does?"
"She's not a priestess anymore. She's the weapon."
The world tilted beneath her again.
Arielle's eyes flew open.
Not because she was afraid.
But because the fire inside her was changing.
And her birthday was only hours away.
Arielle stood beneath the temple's eastern tower, the rising sun casting a halo of firelight across her face.
But she didn't feel warm.
Not truly.
Not since that night. Not since him.
She had dreamt of nothing. No visions. No riddle. No voice.
Just silence.
It should have been a relief.
It wasn't.
Her power felt... different. Too still. Like a river frozen under fragile ice. She could move it, feel it pulse through her veins, but it responded slower. Like something was off balance inside her. Like something was missing.
The wind shifted.
She closed her eyes.
And suddenly, her chest tightened.
Pain. Not hers.
It crashed through her without warning—a flash of heat, sharp and hollow, like mourning without a name. It made her stumble.
She caught the stone wall beside her, hand clutching her robes.
Then it was gone.
Her eyes flew open.
That wasn't her pain.
That was his.
No. Impossible. His incapable of any emotion .She had told him to leave. She had meant it. So why was she feeling this? Why now?
"You look pale," came a voice behind her.
She turned to see one of the sisters of the temple, concern on her face.
"I'm fine," Arielle said too quickly. "Just tired. The training sessions have been... intense."
The sister nodded. "Father Caelen says your trials must reflect the weight of your calling."
Arielle gave a strained smile, nodding politely. But inside, the words burned.
She made her way back to her chambers, her thoughts spinning. The feeling had been too real. Too visceral. And it hadn't come from inside her.
She sat before the altar in her room, the flickering candlelight brushing the edge of a forgotten scripture. One she hadn't dared open in years.
The Chronicle of Flamebound.
Her hand hovered over the leather-bound book.
She had read it once as a child—told it was myth. A demon who'd marked a holy vessel and become entwined with her soul. A bond that transcended flesh.
A bond that could destroy them both.
Arielle's fingers trembled.
She opened the book.
And began to read.
-The next day-
The temple bells sang for her.
Not for the gods.
Not for the heavens.
For her.
Today marked her ascension. Her birth. The anniversary of a life spared when her parents died… and the beginning of a destiny none of them could yet name.
Arielle stood before the altar, cloaked in ceremonial white and gold. Her flame flickered softly in her palm as chants echoed through the marble hall. Petals fell from the ceiling like rain.
Eyes were on her.
Whispers danced beneath the choir.
"She looks like her mother."
"She doesn't know yet."
"She's not ready."
And still she stood.
Poised. Composed.
Even as the back of her neck prickled.
Even as the flame in her chest pulsed once—hard.
Something's coming.
She glanced at Maric across the hall, where he stood behind the senior priests. His eyes met hers. He gave the smallest nod.
Then it happened.
The flame on the altar sputtered.
The petals caught fire in mid-air.
And the sky split open.
It came with a sound like thunder grinding through bone.
The temple shook.
The windows shattered inward. Screams filled the halls. Dark mist poured through the cracks in the sacred walls, howling like a beast denied blood for too long.
The flame was dying.
The holy fire itself—extinguishing.
"Protect the vessel!" a priest yelled. "Get her out! Now!"
Hands grabbed her.
They pushed her through the hall as statues collapsed behind them, stained glass crumbling like brittle wings. Her flame flickered, unstable, her magic confused and wild.
She wasn't ready. She couldn't stop this. Not now.
A door opened behind the altar—one not meant to exist.
A secret passage. A final fail-safe.
They ran.
The priesthood's finest surrounded her, holy blades drawn, chants on their tongues. The tunnel beneath the temple was carved with ancient symbols, glowing faintly as if trying to wake up.
Keep moving.
Keep breathing.
Survive.
The noise above was unbearable. Cries of war. Of slaughter. The veil had torn, and something unholy had answered it.
Then… it caught up.
The corridor behind them erupted in black wind. Something not of this world slithered through the cracks—moaning, shrieking, melting stone. A force of void—no face, only hunger.
It hit the first priest.
He dissolved with a scream.
Then the second.
Then a third.
Each one fell like a dying prayer.
Arielle stopped. "No—"
One final guardian stood in front of her—Maric.
He raised a golden shield as the force rushed toward them.
It struck.
The barrier cracked.
Maric turned to her, blood running down his mouth. "Run."
She didn't move.
The unholy wind surged forward—and wrapped around her.
It didn't tear her apart.
It clung to her. Crawled into her skin. Into her mind.
"This is where I die," she thought.
She screamed, fighting it with everything she had—but her light was fading.
Until—
He appeared.
The shadows stilled.
And the flame flared.
Riven stepped from the smoke—bare-chested, his coat torn, his silver eyes cold fire.
He didn't speak.
He didn't smile.
He raised one hand.
And obliterated the darkness.
With a wave of his palm, the unholy force screamed—and burst into ash. The walls trembled. The ground groaned.
Arielle gasped, breath stolen as he approached her—unholy, unreal.
"Still pretending not to need me?" he said, voice calm, cruelly amused.
Maric coughed, collapsing against the wall.
Arielle ran to him, catching his weight. Blood soaked his robes.
"Why did you tell me to run? Why—"
"Because… you must live," Maric rasped. "You must… reach the temple."
He looked at Riven, then back at her.
"Go with him."
She blinked. "What?"
"Go with him," he repeated. "Riven came to us. Weeks ago. He told us something was coming. Something… wrong. He told us it was after you. That you—there's something inside you. Something he couldn't explain."
"You believed him?" Arielle whispered.
"I didn't," Maric said, his hand trembling. "Not then. But everything you saw… everything you dreamed... came to pass."
She held his hand tighter.
He coughed again, eyes flickering. "The bond between you… it's unholy, yes. But it's real. And the only chance you have of breaking it—or mastering it—is at the temple in the North."
Her lips trembled. "What if I don't want this fate?"
Maric smiled faintly. "Then you'll burn, my child. But maybe… maybe you'll light the way."
His hand fell limp.
And her world shattered again.
Riven stood behind her.
Waiting.
Not kind.
Not cruel.
Just inevitable.
She rose, trembling.
Her robes soaked in blood and ash.
She didn't look at him.
Only whispered, "Let's go."
And the two of them walked into the cold night—one a flame touched by gods, the other a shadow no prayer could reach.
The beginning of a journey that would end in either salvation....Or Ruin!