The smell of ash lingered in the air as dawn broke over the smoldering remains of Coldmoor. The once-mighty fortress now stood hollow, its towers skeletal and blackened. Lyria sat beside the children they had rescued, wrapping a blanket around a trembling boy whose eyes refused to blink. He hadn't spoken since the fire.
"They're in shock," Marella said quietly beside her, her arm scratched and wrapped in bandages. "Some of them saw their families..."
Lyria didn't want to hear the rest. She already saw too much in their eyes—emptiness, confusion, and fear.
"We need to move them to the hidden valley," Marella continued. "It's safer than this ruin."
Lyria nodded, but her attention was elsewhere. In the shifting smoke, she thought she saw a shadow—one too large to be a bird, too fast to be a soldier. But when she blinked, it was gone.
---
Back in the rebels' temporary camp within the forest, the mood was tense. Emberlight flickered over huddled faces as murmurs filled the air.
"They were waiting for us at the gates," snapped Brek, one of the rebel scouts. "How did they know?"
Lyria's breath caught. "You think someone warned them?"
"There's no other way," Brek growled. "The Empire doesn't make mistakes. Someone fed them our route, our plans. There's a traitor among us."
Marella clenched her fists. "We can't start turning on each other—"
"We already are," Brek snapped.
The council meeting ended in bitter silence. No names were said aloud, but eyes darted from face to face. Lyria walked out, the firelight making her shadow stretch long and thin behind her.
---
That night, as Lyria stared at the stars through a canopy of blackened branches, the flame mark on her arm began to burn—not painfully, but insistently. The world dimmed around her, and she found herself once again in the strange in-between place of flame and whispers.
A tall figure stood before her this time—not the fire spirit from before, but someone cloaked in red, with a face hidden by gold embroidery.
"You awaken, Flamebound," the figure said. "But do you understand what burns inside you?"
"I never asked for this," Lyria replied, though her voice felt distant.
"Power never waits for permission. Your spark can lead or consume. Choose your path before the flame chooses for you."
The vision ended with a sudden snap. She gasped, sitting upright in the dark. Her breath came in sharp bursts.
And just outside her tent, someone moved.
---
Lyria crept to the edge of her tent and peeked out. A figure was heading toward the edge of camp, hooded and cautious. She followed, silent as the wind.
Through the trees, the figure knelt and pulled out a small metal device. A communicator. Imperial-made.
Lyria's heart thudded like a drum.
Before she could act, the figure snapped it shut, turned—and vanished into the shadows.
---
The next morning, the children were relocated safely. But Lyria said nothing of what she saw. Not yet.
She needed proof. She needed time.
But one thing was clear:
The fire that destroyed Coldmoor wasn't the only threat they faced.
A greater blaze was coming—and it was already inside their circle.
--------To be continued....