The morning broke cold and gray, with mist coiled thick between the trees like a serpent guarding secrets. The temple ruins groaned beneath their weight, as if it resented being woken after centuries of rot.
Seren sat near the shattered altar, legs drawn to her chest, cloak wrapped tight. She hadn't slept — not really. She couldn't. Not with the mark on her shoulder pulsing like a second heart, and the image of the Blightbeast's eyes still burned into her mind.
Kael hadn't moved all night.
He sat in the far corner of the temple, sword balanced across his knees, silent as stone. The rain had washed the blood from his blade but not the tension from his shoulders.
> "You really don't sleep?" she asked, voice breaking the silence.
Kael's head tilted slightly, but he didn't look at her. "Sleep is for the living."
> "You're dead, then?"
This time he did glance over. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes had a faint glow, like embers waiting for wind.
> "Not dead. Not alive. Somewhere in between. Like you, now."
Seren frowned. "I'm not like you."
> "Aren't you?" Kael stood and approached slowly, not threatening, just steady — like someone who never needed to run. "You were marked by dragonfire. That doesn't just happen. You carry something old in your blood. Something ancient and dangerous."
> "I didn't ask for it."
> "Neither did I."
He stood in front of her now, tall, wrapped in a cloak darker than night, his presence heavy. "But it doesn't matter what you ask for. Power doesn't care. Destiny doesn't care."
> "Then why help me?" she challenged.
Kael looked at her for a long time.
> "Because the last time someone with your fire appeared, the world burned for a hundred years. And because," he added quietly, "I don't want that to happen again."
Seren stared into the dying embers of the lantern flame between them. She didn't want to admit it, but she needed him. Not just for protection — for answers. Because the fear in her was starting to rot into something darker: curiosity.
> "Where are we going?" she asked.
> "Verath," Kael replied. "There's a woman there who's older than the kingdom itself. She remembers the dragon language. She might be able to read your mark."
> "And if she says I'm cursed?"
Kael gave a half-smile — bitter, hollow. "Then welcome to the club."
---
🗺️
They left the ruined temple at dawn.
The path Kael chose was ancient — more bones than trail. Twisted trees leaned in close, their branches black and brittle as claws. Birds didn't sing here. Even the wind moved with caution.
> "What is this place?" Seren asked.
> "It was once called the Weeping Road," Kael said, his tone low. "A sacred path used by dragonborn priests to carry their dead to the Flame Pits of Verath. Before the vampire wars. Before the Blight."
> "Why does it smell like blood?"
> "Because it remembers."
Seren pulled her cloak tighter. Her boots were still damp, and her legs ached, but she didn't complain. Every step forward took her further from the girl she used to be — the girl who cleaned ashes from a blacksmith's forge, who chased chickens and dreamed of firebirds in the stars.
Now she was something else.
And the world was watching.
By midday, they reached a broken stone bridge over a dry riverbed choked with bones.
Seren paused. "Did you hear that?"
Kael's posture shifted immediately. His hand went to his sword.
From the shadows, a shape darted — too fast to see, too slow to be forgotten. Seren's heart jumped.
Then came the whisper:
> "Fireborn…"
A figure stepped out from the mist.
Ragged. Pale. Eyes gleaming silver. A woman — once beautiful, now decayed by the plague. Her mouth bled shadow. Her fingernails were black glass.
> "A Blight-witch," Kael growled.
Seren stumbled back.
> "She's one of the Soultaken," Kael explained quickly. "Touched by the Blight, half-dead, fed by stolen magic."
The Blight-witch smiled, her voice like smoke and teeth.
> "You carry the fire. The last light. The blood of gods. Give it to me, child, and I'll end your pain."
Seren's mark flared — bright, searing, alive.
> "No."
The word came from somewhere deep inside her — not fear, not defiance, but truth.
The witch hissed and lunged.
Kael met her mid-air with steel and fang. The fight was fast and vicious. Seren could barely follow it — a blur of silver and shrieks, of shadows melting into trees and reappearing behind her.
But the witch was too fast.
She slammed Kael into a tree with unnatural strength and turned to Seren with a grin full of broken teeth.
> "You're not ready," she said, lifting clawed fingers. "But you will be. When the crown burns."
She reached for Seren's throat—
And the fire came back.
Not as a burst.
As a roar.
A column of golden flame exploded from Seren's chest, engulfing the witch in mid-sentence. The scream she released was in no language. Just pain. Rage. Loss.
When it cleared, there was nothing left but ash.
Seren dropped to her knees, panting, clutching her chest. Her heart felt like it had been stabbed and set on fire at once.
Kael knelt beside her, bruised and breathing hard.
> "That wasn't normal," he said.
> "None of this is normal," she whispered.
> "No," he agreed, studying the burned earth. "It's prophecy."
That night, they made camp beside an old dragon statue, half-buried in vines and moss. Seren sat quietly, watching Kael sharpen his blade even though it was already perfect.
> "Did you really see me in a vision?" she asked.
Kael didn't answer right away.
Then: "I see things sometimes. Not dreams. Not exactly. They feel… older. Like memories that aren't mine."
> "And I was in them?"
He nodded.
> "Wearing the Thorned Crown," he said. "Standing in the ruins of Velmora. The gods were watching. Some were weeping. Some were laughing."
Seren swallowed. "Do you believe in fate?"
Kael met her gaze — and for a moment, something vulnerable flickered in his expression.
> "I don't know. But I believe in choice."
He stood.
> "Get some rest, Fireborn. Tomorrow, we cross into Verath. And things only get worse from there."