The walk to the central fire ring felt longer than usual, even though her feet barely touched the ground.
The warmth in her chest was steady now — not loud, not urgent, but present, like a companion walking alongside her.
When she reached the circle, the tribal leaders were already gathered.
Their cloaks flared behind them like fire-dancers in the wind.
Warriors and elders alike — scarred, braided, calloused — turned to look at her.
Some with surprise.Some with irritation.
Rasha bowed deeply, as tradition demanded.
Then she stood, meeting their eyes.
"I... I have something to say," she began, her voice unsure at first."The flame. It spoke to me."
Murmurs broke out immediately.
One of the elder warriors, his face half-branded with an old scar, scoffed aloud.
"The flame speaks to many things, girl. It also burns them."
But she didn't flinch.
"It entered me," she said."It gave me a message.It told me it's not here only to make us strong.It's here to guide.To connect.It said... we've forgotten."
The murmurs faltered, not out of belief — but confusion.Discomfort.
The head fire shaman stepped forward, his robes trimmed in dull obsidian cloth.
"You...?" he said slowly."You say the flame chose you?"
Rasha nodded.
"Yes. I felt it speak to my soul."
They stared.
This girl — weak of fire, marked only with an Ember Sigil.Lowborn.No lineage.No standing.
How could she be more than they were?
And yet — there was something in her gaze they couldn't dismiss.
Not certainty.Not pride.Clarity.
"I know that I am nobody," Rasha said, her voice trembling, but steady."But the Fire Spirit said that's why it chose me."
A ripple of tension moved through the circle.
The Village Chief's son stepped forward, jaw clenched.
"How dare you?" he barked."I am heir to this tribe.It should be me the Fire Spirit speaks to — not some lowborn girl playing oracle!"
His eyes burned with fury.And in his hand, flame surged to life.
Without another word, he hurled a fireball at her.
Gasps tore through the crowd.
But three inches before it could reach her, the earth itself answered —a pillar of flame erupting from the ground, rising in a perfect circle around her.
It swallowed the fireball whole, then slowly faded into flickering cinders.
The Chief's son staggered back, stunned.
"What... was that?!" he shouted."You don't have that much magic! You can't have that much power!"
"It was the Fire Spirit," Rasha answered, calm and certain."It protected me."
His face twisted into rage.
"I don't know what trick you're using — but I know you can't do it twice!"
This time, he conjured a second fireball — larger, denser, roaring with heat — and hurled it with both hands.
The flames around Rasha roared again.
But this time, the shield didn't vanish.
It flared high for a single breath, then shrank, encircling her ankles like a vigilant, dancing flame.
Ready.Waiting.
"Father!" he cried, turning to the village elder."We cannot let this blasphemy stand! She mocks everything we believe!"
The elder rose slowly, his eyes cold as ash.
"You're right, son," he said.Then, turning to Rasha:"From this moment on... you are banished from our lands."
Shock rippled through the gathering.
Rasha stood frozen. Her heart thundered in her chest. Her hands trembled at her sides.
Alone... where am I supposed to go?What am I going to do?
But then — quietly, within her — the Fire Spirit's voice returned. Calm. Steady. Warm.
Do not worry.You will be safe.It is not you who should fear the path ahead.It is those who chose to ignore your message.
Rasha didn't argue. She didn't plead.
As the murmurs of judgment grew behind her, she bowed once — low, graceful — then turned and walked away from the only home she had ever known.
She didn't cry.
The flames licked gently at her heels as she stepped past the last post of the outer ring — flickering like they were saying goodbye.
For three days, she walked.
Through ash-soaked ravines and cracked earth trails, past the bones of old fire temples swallowed by sand and time.
She had no food, and barely any water left in her battered canteen. But she wasn't alone.
The flame stayed with her. Not in her hands. In her heart.
Its presence gave her warmth during the freezing desert nights. It gave her calm when hunger gnawed at her bones.
On the fourth night, she found shelter in the hollow of a sun-baked tree near a dried riverbed. Exhausted, she curled against the roots and closed her eyes.
And in her dreams, she saw the Fire Spirit.
Not as a beast or a god — but as a woman cloaked in ember light, her voice soft as coals in the dark.
They cast you out because they feared what they could not control. But I do not ask to be controlled. I ask to be honored.
Rasha opened her mouth — but the woman raised a hand.
You are not a warrior. You are a guide. A spark in forgotten places. From now on, your journey will not be to conquer — but to awaken.
Then the woman vanished — scattering into a thousand petals of flame.
When Rasha awoke, the earth around her was warm. The roots had curled around her body like arms, shielding her through the night.
She stood.
And began walking again — not as a cast-off.
But as a firewalker.