The first light of morning spilled through the paper screens, scattering soft gold across the room. Aanha sat by the open window, staring at the pendant in her palm.
She hadn't slept much since the dream. The woman's voice still whispered in the back of her mind — "My light and my night…" — and the pendant would warm whenever she remembered those words.
Sai's voice broke through the quiet.
Sai: "You're up early."
He stepped into the courtyard, dew clinging to his hair, eyes sharp despite the exhaustion lining his face. Aanha followed him out, clutching the pendant like a tether to reality.
Granny had said nothing when she'd first seen it, only muttered a few words under her breath and tied the thread around Aanha's neck herself and brushed the pendant lightly with her fingertip. The glow dimmed, as if soothed.
It wasn't just any trinket — the smooth, rune-carved stone she'd touched in the shrine had changed shape overnight, as if molded by her flame. Now it hung from a silver thread, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat beneath her skin.
Granny was already there, tending to her glowing herb garden. The air was rich with the scent of mint and ozone from the runestones buried beneath the soil.
Granny (quiet but firm): "So it's finally awakened… I thought this day would come."
Aanha frowned. "You know what this is?"
Granny (nodding slowly): "I do. It's one of the ancient shrine cores. Once it chooses its bearer, it clings like a lost child. When it's away from you, it cries — a resonance that can shake even sealed lands. That's how they could find you before."
Aanha's fingers tightened around the pendant. "It… cries?"
Granny: "Not like us. It seeks your flame — calls for it. I've woven spells to hush it for now, to mask its song. But it's bound to you, heart and soul. Don't ever let it leave your touch again, child."
Aanha looked down at the pendant. For a moment, it pulsed faintly, as if hearing Granny's words. The glow warmed against her skin, almost… affectionate.
Aanha (softly): "It feels alive."
Granny: "In a way, it is. The shrine stones were never meant to be mere relics — they carry echoes of the first elementals. When you touched it, it remembered its bearer."
Sai (from the doorway): "And that means someone — or something — else might have remembered too."
Aanha looked up, startled. Sai leaned against the frame, arms folded, his tone more serious than usual.
Granny (grimly): "That's why I sealed its resonance. If it sings again before you're ready, the ones listening will come running."
Aanha nodded faintly, thumb tracing the carved runes."Then… it's like it's trying to find me — but I never knew it was lost."
Granny smiled faintly, brushing a stray lock of hair from Aanha's face.Granny: "Some bonds are older than memory, child. Even stars can forget their names… but their light always finds its way back."
The pendant pulsed once more, steady and calm now — no longer crying, but breathing quietly in rhythm with Aanha's heartbeat.
Granny (without looking up): "If you're awake, child, put that fire to use. The flame won't wait for you to be ready."
Aanha sighed. "You sound like Sai."
Sai (dryly): "Then I'm clearly right."
Granny handed Aanha a bowl of faintly luminescent powder.
Granny: "Channel a spark. Slowly. Feel the rhythm of your flame before it feels you."
Aanha nodded, closing her eyes. She focused on the warmth inside her chest, letting it rise to her fingertips. A flicker appeared — golden, trembling — then steadied into a small flame.
For a moment, it was calm.
Then the pendant pulsed.Aanha's breath hitched. Images flashed behind her eyes — violet skies, twin suns, a city burning in gold and shadow. A voice crying out through chaos.
Her control slipped. The flame burst outward, spiraling into a ring that scorched the ground.
Aanha (panicked): "No—stop—!"
Sai moved instantly, tracing a quick sigil in the air that absorbed the worst of the blast. Granny's herbs glowed blue, releasing a cool mist that blanketed the courtyard and smothered the embers.
The pendant glowed hot against Aanha's chest, resonating with a low hum that made the air tremble.
Granny (firm but calm): "Don't take it off, no matter what happens. It's bound to you now — your soul's anchor. But if anyone else touches it… they'll find you. Even from miles away."
Aanha looked up, eyes wide. "Find me? You mean—"
Sai (grimly): "The Wraiths. They track energy through resonance. That stone is both your shield and your beacon. Keep it close, keep it quiet."
Aanha swallowed hard. "So if it reacts like that again…"
Granny: "Then someone's searching."
Aanha stared down at the pendant. Its glow had faded to a dull ember, calm again — for now.
Sai (to Granny, under his breath): "Every time her flame reacts, the Houle stirs."
Granny (frowning): "Then the seal's thinner than we thought. They'll trace her soon."
Sai: "We move before nightfall."
Granny nodded, her gaze softening as she looked back at Aanha — now standing in sunlight, her fire flickering quietly in her palm. For a brief moment, gold and violet danced together, perfect harmony.
Granny (softly, to herself): "The child of two realms… born to mend what was broken, yet cursed to be hunted by both."
A faint chime rang through the woods — distant, metallic, and unsettling. Sai's eyes snapped toward the sound.
Sai (quietly): "They're testing the barrier already."
Granny tightened her grip on her staff. "Then we make sure they regret it."
The morning wind swept through, carrying the scent of ash and herbs — and the faintest echo of the pendant's pulse. They goes to the granny's herbs room.
The room was quieter now. The air still shimmered faintly from the residual glow of the pendant, resting warmly against Aanha's skin. She kept touching it unconsciously, half-expecting it to hum again — but it remained calm, steady.
Granny had gone to the other side of the room, rummaging through her old cabinet filled with glass jars and glowing herbs. The faint scent of mint and something earthy filled the air.
Sai leaned lazily against the doorway, arms crossed, half-watching Aanha, half-looking out toward the fog rolling over the hills.
Granny returned holding a small wooden tray. On it sat a single golden-yellow ball, shining faintly under the lamplight.
Granny (with a knowing smile): "Here. You used to love these when you were little."
Aanha's eyes brightened instantly.
Aanha: "Granny's golden sweets!"
Sai raised a brow, clearly amused. "You have sweets here? Since when?"
Granny (mischievously): "Oh, not just sweets. These are special—handmade with a touch of sunlight and patience."
Aanha took the ball without hesitation and popped it into her mouth before Sai could say anything.
For a moment, she chewed happily… then froze.
Her expression shifted — first confusion, then disbelief, then pure betrayal.
Aanha (grimacing): "Wh—what is this?! This isn't sweet! It's bitter! Like burnt medicine!"
Sai burst out laughing, nearly doubling over.
Sai: "Oh wow, priceless! That face—"
Aanha (glaring, muffled by chewing): "You—ha ha—stop laughing! Granny! What is this?!"
Granny chuckled, stirring something calmly in her pot.
Granny: "That, my dear, is not a sweet. It's an awakening stabilizer. You're not a child anymore — your flame needs a stronger dose to stay balanced."
Aanha blinked, trying to swallow the bitterness that refused to fade.Aanha: "Stronger dose? You could've warned me!"
Granny (smiling softly): "Would you have eaten it if I had?"
Aanha fell silent, pouting.Sai grinned, leaning closer.
Sai: "Guess the 'bear buddy' still needs her vitamins."
Aanha (snapping): "Say that again and I'll feed you ten of these!"
Granny (amused): "You two have too much energy for people who nearly burned down my shrine."
Aanha shot Sai a look, then both ended up snickering.
For a fleeting moment, the air felt lighter again — no Wraiths, no shrines, no ancient bloodlines.
Just warmth, teasing, and a faint aftertaste of burnt sunlight on Aanha's tongue.
The laughter slowly died down, replaced by the soft crackle of the hearth. The air smelled faintly of herbs and smoke — calming, grounding. Outside, the evening light spilled across the wooden floor in warm streaks.
Granny finished stirring a small pot on her worktable, the contents shimmering faintly gold. She poured the mixture into a bowl carved from dark stone and placed it near the window where sunlight hit it directly.
Granny (quietly): "That should hold your flame for now. But it's only a patch, not a cure."
Aanha, still rubbing her tongue from the bitterness, frowned.
Aanha: "So… I'm going to have to eat those again?"
Granny (smiling faintly): "Every morning, for a while. Until your mana flow stabilizes."
Sai leaned back in his chair, half-smiling.
Sai: "Told you she was trouble."
Aanha glared.
Aanha: "You're enjoying this way too much."
Granny (ignoring them both): "You two should rest for the night. At dawn, we start training."
Aanha (blinking): "Training? Already?"
Granny looked at her — calm, but serious now.
Granny: "You awakened, Aanha. The seal is broken. That means the flame will keep responding to your emotions — fear, anger, even dreams. If you don't learn to control it soon…"
She let the sentence hang, and Aanha didn't need her to finish it. She remembered the forest, the light, the smoke.
Aanha (softly): "It'll burn everything."
Granny (nodding): "Exactly. And that's why you'll start where all fire-born should — containment. Your flame is alive now. It listens, it remembers. You don't command it… you speak to it."
Sai's tone turned practical.
Sai: "She'll also need to practice mana resistance. I can handle that part. The Wraiths won't stop just because it's daytime."
Granny: "Yes. But not today. You both need rest. Your bodies may be human now, but your spirits are far from it."
Aanha hesitated, curiosity flickering again.
Aanha: "Granny… when you say far from it—"
Granny smiled knowingly but didn't answer.She picked up a faintly glowing feather and placed it in Aanha's palm.
Granny: "Questions can wait. For now, keep this by your side when you sleep. It will quiet the echoes in your dreams."
Aanha looked at the feather — it pulsed faintly like her pendant, a warmth that wasn't just heat but… memory.
Aanha (softly): "It feels… familiar."
Granny: "It should. It once belonged to someone who guarded your family long before you were born."
Sai's gaze flicked to Granny, curious — but she didn't elaborate. Instead, she turned away, humming softly as she doused the lanterns one by one.
The night fell gently around them, filled with the quiet hum of the forest and the faint heartbeat of flame and wind breathing together.