The world felt wrong before her eyes even opened.
A pressure clung to the air—thick, suffocating, like breath caught in a throat. Rasha stirred against the cold ground of the battlefield clearing, her limbs leaden, her breath shallow. The darkness hadn't lifted. Not from the sky above, nor from whatever tightened its grip around her chest.
She blinked slowly.
The heavens overhead were still cloaked in an oppressive, ash-black void—neither night nor the promise of dawn. The silence pressed in from all sides, unnatural and heavy. No breeze stirred. No distant rustle. Even the ground beneath her felt as if it had forgotten how to breathe.
It felt as if the world itself had been smothered.
Rasha sat up slowly, a dull ache pulsing through her limbs. Her surroundings blurred at the edges, but the battlefield was still there—scattered with twisted earth and blackened bodies.
Then came the sound.
Low, guttural. Not from any one direction, but from everywhere at once.
The corpses were weeping.
A soft, horrible keening—like air slipping through cracked lungs or the echo of a cry too old to end—rose around her. The sound wasn't loud. That somehow made it worse. It trembled beneath the surface, just enough to raise the hairs along her arms.
Rasha's breath caught. She looked to the side.
Talo stood not far from her.
But the look he gave her…
It wasn't relief. Or confusion. Or even anger.
It was disgust.
His mouth was curled in a sneer, his eyes hollow and burning. And just behind him, Sybil trembled—shoulders tense, her tiny hands balled into fists at her sides. She said nothing.
And yet, everything about her said fear.
Snuggles was in front of her, growling low, his stance wide and defensive. Protecting Sybil—from Rasha.
Rasha took a slow step forward, the dread tightening around her like a noose.
"Talo…?" she called out, her voice a strained whisper.
He didn't answer—not at first. His gaze was locked on her, unmoving, unreadable.
Sybil stood half-shielded behind him, her small frame trembling. Her eyes—usually so full of light—looked glassy, rimmed with fear. They didn't meet Rasha's.
Snuggles growled low at her side, fur bristling, body tense—not in defense of her, but in defense from her. He stood in front of Sybil now, tail stiff, ears back.
Rasha's breath hitched.
"I… it's me," she tried again, forcing a smile that didn't feel real on her face. "What's going on?"
But no one moved.
No one blinked.
The battlefield around them groaned—soft cries rising from the corpses as if the dead themselves grieved her presence.
It was like standing in a world that had already decided she no longer belonged.
And the silence?
It wasn't just quiet.
It was judgment.
"Talo, say something," she begged—barely more than a whisper now.
Still nothing.
Then—his eyes narrowed.
His voice, when it came, was not the voice she knew. It was cold. Hollow. Like something inside him had cracked and fallen in.
"You're not her," he said.
Rasha blinked, confusion folding into hurt. "What?"
Sybil clutched Snuggles tighter. She didn't speak, but her tears gave her answer.
Talo's hands balled into fists, golden sparks flickering at his palms.
"You were supposed to protect us. But you… you enjoyed it."
Rasha's legs buckled slightly. "No," she whispered. "No, that's not—"
"The flame chose you," Talo continued, "but maybe it chose wrong."
The words didn't strike like lightning. They fell like stones, stacking one on top of the other, until they built a wall she could no longer see over.
She wasn't just alone.
She was the reason she was alone.
Every word landed like a blow she couldn't defend against. She reached out, but no one reached back. Her hands hung there—empty.
Sybil took a step back.
Snuggles growled louder.
Rasha could feel the yellow flame gathering—divine and damning.
Talo's hand lifted.
Rasha froze, not because of the motion, but because of the look in his eyes—no longer hollow with fear or fury, but sharpened with purpose. He wasn't doubting her anymore.
He had judged her.
A flicker of golden light ignited in his palm, coiling upward like judgment summoned from the marrow. The yellow flame—Yin. Not just power, but burden. And in his grip, it was no longer a shield.
It was a verdict.
Rasha staggered back a step, her breath catching in her throat. "Talo, please—"
He didn't speak.
In that breath before it struck, she saw her own reflection in his eyes.
Not Rasha.
Not the girl he'd walked through ruin with.
Not the flame-wielder who fought to survive.
Just a stranger made of sorrow and ash.
She didn't scream.
She didn't run.
He hurled the flame.
It struck her chest with searing force—
And the dream shattered.