The wind whispered through the trees like an ancient voice trying to speak forgotten truths. The air, crisp with the breath of early autumn, carried the faint scent of ash—remnants of the village fire two nights past. Emberlyn stood at the edge of the forest, her fingers brushing the bark of an old pine as her eyes scanned the canopy. Birds called high above, indifferent to the weight of memories pressing on her shoulders.
She had not slept. The visions were growing worse.
Each night brought her closer to that battlefield—one not of this life, but another. Flames devoured the horizon, metal clashed against bone, and her war cry echoed louder than thunder. She had fought and died a warrior once, and now her soul churned to remember.
But this morning was different. The dreams had not ended when she awoke. Instead, they lingered, pulsing behind her eyes like embers refusing to die out.
A twig snapped behind her.
Emberlyn turned swiftly, hand brushing the dagger at her hip. It was only Kael, his dark hair damp from morning dew, a bow slung across his back. His eyes were sharp, but beneath them was concern.
"You're out early," he said.
"I couldn't sleep."
Kael studied her, then nodded. "The Elder sent word. There's movement near the ruins east of here. Smoke. Tracks. Something unnatural."
Emberlyn's brow furrowed. "The ruins of Velmara?"
He nodded grimly.
Velmara. A place once whispered of in bedtime warnings, now a ruin buried beneath centuries of silence. It had been a sacred site to the old warriors—a place where blood rituals were performed, where destinies were written in flame. Her past self, Seris of the Crimson Vow, had once stood atop its highest altar. The memory came unbidden: the weight of a sword, the chanting of her sisters, the taste of iron and loyalty.
"Then we go," Emberlyn said.
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The journey to Velmara took most of the day. The deeper they went, the more the forest changed. Moss-covered stones bore faint, forgotten runes. The trees bent closer, whispering secrets only the wind could interpret.
As dusk bled into night, they reached the outer perimeter of the ruins. What once had been mighty archways were now broken fangs of stone. Vines choked the crumbling columns, and in the center of it all stood a cracked obsidian altar, pulsing faintly with a dull red glow.
Emberlyn approached it with reverence and dread.
"This place… it remembers," she whispered.
Kael stayed behind her, bow at the ready. "There's something else here. I feel it too."
The altar shimmered. Not in light—but in memory.
Without thinking, Emberlyn reached out and touched the stone. A jolt of power surged through her body. Her knees buckled.
Suddenly, she was elsewhere.
The battlefield of the past.
Ash fell like snow. Fire rolled across the sky. And she stood in armor of dark silver, a crimson sash fluttering behind her. Seris. She remembered. Her name, her purpose, her oath.
They had betrayed her. The Circle. They feared her power and the prophecy written in her bloodline. That night, they led her to the altar under the guise of honor. Instead, they bound her, stole her soul's flame, and sealed it within the ruins of Velmara.
Now, her reincarnated self stood at the threshold of that prison.
Emberlyn opened her eyes. The altar glowed brighter. And something had awakened.
From the shadows of the trees emerged a figure—cloaked in black, face hidden beneath a bone-carved mask. His presence chilled the air.
"You return," he said, voice echoing unnaturally. "As foretold."
Kael stepped forward, arrow notched. "Who are you?"
The masked figure ignored him. "The Flame-Bound returns, as blood remembers."
Emberlyn's voice rang clear. "You were there that night. You bound me."
"I was the keeper of balance," the figure said. "But balance has long since shattered."
The air crackled. The forest held its breath.
And then, without warning, the figure raised a hand. Shadows burst from the earth, forming monstrous shapes—wolves with smoke-skin and red eyes, clawed creatures born of nightmare.
Kael fired, and the battle began.
Emberlyn called the flame.
It surged through her like an old friend. Her palm ignited in golden fire, and with a shout, she sent it hurtling toward the shadow-beasts. She moved with muscle memory not of this life—fluid, precise, devastating.
Kael fought beside her, arrow after arrow piercing phantom hearts.
When the smoke finally cleared, the masked figure was gone. Only the altar remained, now cracked and bleeding molten light.
Emberlyn dropped to her knees, chest heaving.
Kael approached. "What just happened?"
She looked up at him, eyes glowing faintly with gold. "My past is coming for me. And it won't stop until I remember everything."
The wind returned, softer now, as if in mourning.
The warrior had awakened.
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