The cold bit deep as Aelira stepped barefoot into the ritual circle, each step sinking into the snow-dusted earth. Torches burned blue around her, their flames crackling with unnatural silence. Above, the moon hung swollen and red, a blood-moon—a rare celestial omen said to awaken old powers and old debts.
Her breath trembled as she exhaled, the red robe she wore clinging to her damp skin, the sigil beneath her collarbone pulsing.
Around the circle, the High Council watched from beneath dark hoods—seven witches of ancient lineage, their eyes gleaming like polished obsidian. In the center stood Mother Vyra, staff in hand, her gold gaze never leaving Aelira.
"You come before the Blood Rite," Vyra said, her voice rising above the hum of magic, "to prove your loyalty to the Coven and renounce what lingers in your soul."
Or to be silenced, Aelira thought.
The wind stirred. From the trees, Kaeln watched.
She hadn't told him. She hadn't dared.
Nessa stood among the young initiates behind the circle, her eyes wide with worry. Aelira met her gaze for only a second before the drumbeat began.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
With each beat, her heart raced faster, and the circle lit up with crimson runes beneath her feet.
Mother Vyra raised her staff. "Let the blood speak."
Aelira closed her eyes.
---
She was standing in fire again.
But this time, she wasn't burning. Not yet.
Witches chanted in a forgotten tongue, robes whipping in the wind, torches spiraling in their hands. The ground beneath her feet cracked, glowing with the same mark on her chest.
Saelwyn.
That name burst into her thoughts like a scream.
She remembered it now. She remembered herself.
And she remembered Kaeln's hand lighting the pyre.
Aelira opened her eyes with a gasp.
She was still in the circle. Still alive.
But the flames from the torches bent toward her. The sigil on her chest glowed bright as a star.
The witches stepped back.
Mother Vyra narrowed her eyes.
"What did you see?" she asked.
"The truth," Aelira said quietly. "And a lie you've buried."
Gasps erupted.
Mother Vyra's staff slammed the earth. Magic rippled through the air.
"You dare speak riddles before the council?"
"I speak what is mine."
The torches flared.
Aelira looked to the trees. Kaeln had vanished.
The ritual wasn't meant to test her loyalty. It was meant to trigger her memories.
To see if she remembered who she was.
And now they knew.
---
That night, they locked her in the Hollow Cell beneath the Bloodroot House.
Stone walls. Iron runes carved into the corners. The cell was warded, meant to dampen power, confuse thought, weaken will.
But it did none of those things to her.
Not anymore.
The mark on her skin burned hotter, and for the first time, she didn't fear it.
She embraced it.
---
Outside, in the council hall, the witches whispered.
"She is waking."
"We must end her before she fully returns."
"Saelwyn's soul should not have passed the veil."
Mother Vyra said nothing for a long time.
Then: "Let her awaken. Let her remember. And then let her choose."
"Choose what?"
Vyra smiled, but there was no warmth in it.
"Whether she burns again. Or burns us all."
---
In the dark, Aelira whispered to herself.
Not in fear. But in ancient tongue.
A spell not taught.
A name not forgotten.
Her own.
Saelwyn.
The mark blazed beneath her skin, and the stones began to hum.
Somewhere, far from the cell, Kaeln looked to the red moon and whispered, "She's coming back."
The forest shivered.
And the war began.