The wind outside howled like a warning, rattling the windows of the bookshop as Elira stepped through the front door. Morning light barely touched the shelves; it was the kind of grey that swallowed color, shadowing everything in the world.
Ash was already there.
He stood at the far end of the aisle, head bowed, fingers brushing over the spine of a leather-bound tome. When he looked up, his expression was unreadable — a fragile balance between relief and fear.
"I got something," Elira said, holding out the second journal wrapped in its cloth. "It was left at my door last night."
Ash's jaw tightened as he took it from her, his thumb running along the burn marks. "I've seen this one before," he murmured. "In a dream. Or maybe... a memory."
"There's more," Elira said quietly. "It said the fire between us — it's not love. It's fate."
Ash didn't look surprised. Only tired.
"I know," he said. "I didn't want to tell you like this. But I've always known we were tied together by something bigger than choice."
Elira sat on the steps by the back counter. "You keep saying that. That we've done this before. But what does that mean? That this is some... cycle we're caught in?"
Ash crouched beside her, resting the journal on his knees. "There's a reason we forgot. Someone tried to break the cycle. But fire doesn't forget, Elira. It brands what it touches."
He opened the old journal. The ink was darker, more urgent. Each word looked carved into the page.
> The Fireborne are waking. One by one. And the watchers are watching still. Protect the girl. She remembers too much.
"The Fireborne?" Elira repeated.
Ash nodded. "That's what they called us. Children born during the Emberfall — the night when the old sky burned. We were marked. Not by scars, but by memory. Power. Some called it prophecy."
Elira's mind reeled. "You're saying... we were part of something supernatural?"
"More than that," Ash said. "We were supposed to finish what our mothers started. But someone didn't want that."
She stood abruptly, pacing. "This is too much. I just wanted to run a bookshop. I wanted quiet."
"You don't get quiet," Ash said gently. "Not anymore. You get truth."
The shop bell rang.
Both of them froze.
A woman stood in the doorway. Tall. Raven-haired. Eyes like glass. She wore no coat despite the cold. In her gloved hand, she held a silver envelope.
"Elira Vale?" the woman asked.
Elira stepped forward slowly. "Yes?"
The woman smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Then I've found the right one. This is for you."
She placed the envelope on the counter and turned, disappearing into the morning fog without another word.
Elira stared at the envelope. Her name was written in the same curling ink as the journal.
With trembling fingers, she opened it.
Inside: a single line.
> They burned me to keep you quiet. But fire speaks, Elira. It always speaks.
There was no signature.
Ash stepped beside her, reading over her shoulder.
"That handwriting…" he whispered.
Elira's lips parted. "It's hers."
They stood in silence, the letter between them. Outside, the wind carried ash across the pavement like snow.
Whatever had begun in the past was no longer content to stay buried.
And now, it was reaching for them both.