Talo slowly opened his eyes.
Everything ached—his ribs, his back, his shoulders—but the pain was real, and real meant alive. He shifted slightly and found her beside him, her body curled into his side like something fragile and still burning.
His voice rasped, soft and hoarse, but warm.
"Some guardian I am… you keep saving me."
Rasha stirred next.
She blinked slowly, disoriented for just a moment—until his voice grounded her. Her eyes widened, then filled with relief so heavy it nearly broke her. She reached for his hand, gripping it tight.
He was here.
He was breathing.
She said nothing at first. Just let the warmth of his skin tell her everything she needed to know.
Talo looked at her, the smallest smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
"You saved me… just in time."
His voice carried no awe for the miraculous—just quiet wonder that she'd reached him when no one else could have. Not from death, but from the brink—far past what anyone else could've pulled him back from.
Their eyes met, and for a moment, time softened.
Rasha finally spoke—soft, fierce, and still half in a daze.
"Of course I saved you. I'd kill anyone who tries to hurt someone I… love."
The word slipped free like breath.
Not shouted.
Not emphasized.
But real.
The moment shattered.
Her breath caught.
She said kill, not protect.
She said love.
The weight of it struck her like a blow—every choice, every flame, every scream—rushing back all at once. Her body trembled, her hands cold despite the fire still etched on her skin.
She looked up.
The battlefield stretched around them—scorched earth, lifeless bodies, and charred remnants of what she'd done. Her face twisted in disbelief… then shame. Then horror.
Her markings flickered.
Then dimmed.
And before she collapsed beside him, falling unconscious, she whispered—
"What have I done?"
Rasha's body lay still beside Talo, but her spirit had already crossed the threshold.
Not into shadow.
Not into flame.
But into something far older—vast, sacred, and alive.
She opened her eyes into a world suspended beyond time. The sky here held no sun, yet everything glowed with a soft, source-less light. A strange calmness clung to the air, thick with meaning. Fields stretched out in the distance—some lush with golden grasses that moved without wind, others painted with colors she didn't recognize. Trees shimmered with crystalline leaves. A breeze passed now and then, carrying whispers too old to understand.
It was a world not made, but remembered.
She stood at the edge of a region faintly aglow with warmth—embers traced faint runes along the edges of stone, and beneath her feet, the ground pulsed with soft heat. The land itself seemed to recognize her presence. This, she realized, was not the whole Spirit Realm—only the place where the Fire Spirit lingered. Far beyond her, she could sense other domains—cooler, lighter, deeper, stranger—each echoing with their own rhythm.
And then the Fire Spirit appeared.
She did not arrive in parts, nor as a flickering voice or vague silhouette. She stepped into view fully formed—tall, commanding, graceful. A woman-shaped spirit cloaked in flowing silks of molten crimson and gold. Her skin glowed like sun-kissed copper, eyes deep as ancient hearths. Fire shimmered in her hair—not as destruction, but as vitality.
She approached Rasha, every step silent but solid.
"Welcome to our domain, Rasha. It's great to finally meet you face to face."
She simply stood beside Rasha, not towering or looming, but present—quietly powerful. The silence between them was thick, not empty, but full of weight and meaning.
Rasha broke the silence finally, her voice still small from the shock of it all.
"I didn't know you could do any of that."
The Fire Spirit tilted her head, eyes aglow with quiet pride.
"That's because it wasn't me."
Rasha looked up, confused.
"The Onibi—those blue flames, they may look like fire but they are spirits—that wasn't me," the spirit continued. "That was you, Rasha."
"But… I thought—"
"You believed your power came from me. That you were a vessel, carrying what I allowed. And you were, for a time. But the truth is simpler, and far more powerful."
She stepped closer.
"You have always had strong spiritual magic. What you did out there… was not something I could teach or command. It had to awaken. It had to be you."
Rasha's breath caught.
The Fire Spirit's voice softened.
"Only now—only once your connection to your spirit magic answered on its own—can we truly stand as one."
A quiet stillness settled over the realm.
Rasha wasn't just connected anymore.
She was claimed, and claiming in return.
She hadn't borrowed power.
She had become it.
The Fire Spirit's expression grew somber as she stepped closer.
"I did not think we would meet here for many years," she said softly. "But the Forsaken Realm's influence is strong… and heartbreak, stronger still."
Her gaze didn't waver.
"It forced your hand. Pulled from you a power meant to awaken gently—through harmony, not pain. But instead…" she paused, her voice laced with both sorrow and reverence, "you channeled Spirit magic touched by grief. Touched by rage. And in doing so, you summoned the Onibi."
Rasha furrowed her brow.
"The Onibi?"
The Fire Spirit nodded, slowly.
"They are spirits of sorrow and wandering. Born from suffering that clings too tightly to the living. In the human world, they appear as blue flame."
She took another step, her voice quieter now.
"They answer only to those with great spiritual power dark enough to call them—and strong enough to command them. It is rare… for one so young to summon them in full. Rarer still to survive it."
She looked into Rasha's eyes.
"And yet… they came for you. Because your grief was true. Your heart was open. And because, in that moment… they saw you not as your pure self, but with your grief and anger darkened by the Forsaken Realm."
The Fire Spirit paused.
"That dark magic will stick with you going forward," she said gently, "but it is not without its merits. With the way your blades are forged, you will be able to take in most of the darkness that comes with it. But be wary—never take in so much that you shatter that blade, or you will be consumed by it."
She stepped a little closer, her tone shifting.
"So long as you don't reach that point, having light touched by darkness may grant you something even more rare: balance. Slowly, you will learn to sense all spirits—not just me and the souls you touch. That path will take time. Practice. But what you've accomplished already… it will echo through the world. You and this world will evolve together."
She offered the smallest smile.
"Just be sure to guide it in the right direction—starting with getting us out of here."
Then, she chuckled.
It was a soft, knowing sound—almost mischievous in its warmth. And for a fleeting moment, it reminded Rasha of someone else. Someone who laughed like that even when the world was falling apart. Someone who smiled even through tears.
Her lips parted before she realized the word forming on them, voice breaking the stillness, soft but earnest.
"Sybil… what is she?"
Her eyes lingered on the memory of Sybil's laughter, her strange certainty, her unbearable brightness.
The Fire Spirit's expression deepened with solemnity.
"She's an Oracle."
Rasha blinked.
"An Oracle?"
The spirit nodded.
"Oracles are not born with their power… they are carved by it. Shaped in childhood by the weight of tragedy. The deeper the wound, the clearer the vision. The more unbearable the suffering… the more powerful the sight."
She turned, staring into the luminous horizon of the Spirit Realm.
"Judging by her strength—by how deeply she sees—Sybil was not meant to survive. She should have died at birth, alongside her mother."
A silence passed between them.
"Oracles are known to live gloom-filled lives, destined to witness tragedy after tragedy. But Sybil... had no one to shield her from it. No parents. No guidance. No civilization. Every decision she made was a potential tragedy—and every one of those, she survived."
"And over time," the spirit continued, "the curse of the Oracle became her gift. In all my lifetimes, I have never heard of one who trained themselves to focus their sight."
A quiet passed between them—full of reverence and ache.
"She called us her family," Rasha whispered.
"She meant it," the Fire Spirit said. "Even before you knew her… even before you chose her—she had already chosen you."
"And I believe," she added softly, "that has much to do with why she's still able to smile. Her ability to focus her visions… her idea to anchor them around the concept of parents—of love—was pure genius."
"She told you she falls asleep to the fun times you've shared—and to the future she's seen waiting. I have seen Oracles give their lives for a moment of joy. But Sybil? She sleeps to visions of joy that stretch across lifetimes. And that… may be what shaped her."