The ruins breathed at night.
Not literally, of course. But when the wind slipped through the broken archways and whispered across the moss-eaten stones, it sounded like a chorus of voices—half-remembered, half-mourned. I sat cross-legged near the fire, watching the flames twist in patterns that reminded me of a time I couldn't quite place.
Kael watched me from across the camp.
"You're not sleeping," he said, sharpening his blade with slow, deliberate strokes.
"Neither are you," I replied, tracing the spiral brand on my wrist with a fingertip. It pulsed faintly, as if stirred by the ruins themselves.
He grunted, sheathing his sword. "You're not human."
I smiled, though there was no humor in it. "Aren't I? What defines a human, Kael? Breath? Blood? The weight of regret?"
He didn't answer. The fire crackled, casting shadows that danced like ghosts on the cracked mosaics beneath us.
Somewhere beyond the cliffs, the wyvern's corpse smoldered. Its death had awakened something older than the beast itself—a tremor in the earth, a whisper in the air. I felt it in my bones, in the way the brand on my soul hummed like a tuning fork struck by time itself.
We found the fissure at dawn.
Hidden beneath a collapsed column and veiled by creeping ivy, it yawned open like a wound. The air around it shimmered, warped by heat that didn't exist. Kael's hand hovered near his sword hilt.
"This isn't natural," he muttered.
"No," I agreed, stepping forward. "It's old ."
The ivy recoiled as I touched it, as though recognizing me. Beyond the fissure lay a staircase descending into darkness, its steps worn smooth by feet long turned to dust. The walls glowed faintly, etched with the same spiral markings as my brand.
Kael lit a torch, its flame guttering as if afraid. "You've seen this before."
"A long time ago," I admitted. "Before your people learned to write."
We descended.
The chamber was vast, its ceiling lost to shadow. At its heart stood a pedestal, and atop it, a mirror—not glass, but a pool of liquid fire suspended in midair, its surface rippling with memories not my own.
Kael froze. "What is that?"
I didn't answer. My breath hitched as the fire pulled me in.
Suddenly, I was elsewhere.
A throne room bathed in crimson light. A woman in robes of ash stood before a circle of cultists, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes. Chains bound her wrists, but her gaze burned with defiance. Behind her, a boy—no older than sixteen—watched, his face twisted with anguish.
My apprentice.
The cultists chanted, their voices overlapping like waves. "The Flamebound Soul… the seal… the rift…"
Then pain. White-hot, searing through my skull. The woman screamed—not in terror, but rage—as the spiral brand was seared into her flesh. The boy reached for her, but the flames swallowed him whole.
The vision shattered.
I collapsed to my knees, gasping. The chamber's cold stone bit into my palms.
Kael caught my arm. "Lirea!"
I wrenched free, my heart hammering. "It wasn't a memory," I whispered. "It was a warning."
The pool stilled, reflecting not my face, but the woman in the vision—the one who bore my eyes, my scars, my curse.
"She was me," I murmured. "Or… I am her."
Kael stepped closer, his voice low. "What did they do to you?"
"They made me a prison," I said, rising unsteadily. "For something far worse than demons."
The mirror rippled again, revealing words carved into its frame. I traced them with trembling fingers, translating the ancient script aloud:
"To the Flamebound Soul, bound in ash and starlight:
When the rift awakens, so too shall the end."
Silence fell.
Kael swore under his breath. "You're part of this, aren't you? The cult, the demons, the war…"
I turned to him, my smile brittle. "I'm not part of it, Kael. I am it."
We returned to the surface as the sun climbed higher, its light harsh against the cool dusk of the ruins. The others waited, their faces wary, curious.
Sylvi, the halfling archer, narrowed her eyes at me. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
I glanced at Kael. He didn't correct her.
Later, as we packed our gear, he pulled me aside. "Why tell me all this?"
I hesitated, then reached into my satchel, withdrawing a charred pendant—its chain broken, its gemstone cracked. I'd found it in the ruins, buried beside a child's skeleton.
"The boy in the vision," I said softly. "He called me 'Master.'"
Kael's jaw tightened. "And now?"
"Now," I murmured, slipping the pendant into my pocket, "I have to find out what I did to deserve his hate."
That night, as the stars bloomed overhead, I stood alone at the cliff's edge. The wind carried the scent of burning incense again, though no censer burned.
A voice—soft as ash—whispered in my mind:
"You were never cursed. You were chosen."
I closed my eyes, letting the weight of it settle.
Not a curse. A seal.
And somewhere, someone was trying to break it.