The air between them was tense—but not hostile. Kael studied her posture, the way her eyes didn't flinch under his scrutiny. She stood straight, her expression calm, though not blank.
Not many could look him in the eye.
Lyssa did.
"You're not from this village," Kael said quietly.
"No."
"You're not a merchant, either."
"No."
"Then who sent you?"
Lyssa tilted her head slightly. "What makes you think someone did?"
Kael didn't answer. Instead, he crossed his arms and waited.
She smiled faintly. "You're not like the others. You really are the one who stopped the fire."
He didn't confirm it.
"You built a Weave from scratch," she continued, eyes gleaming. "With no Pattern. No divine flame. That shouldn't be possible."
Kael finally spoke. "And yet here we are."
She took a slow step closer. "I don't think you realize what that means. What it could mean."
"I do." He watched her carefully. "But you're not panicking. You're not reporting me either. That means you know something the others don't."
Her smile faded.
"I'm a Talent," she admitted. "But not one who serves the High Families."
Kael raised a brow.
"I wasn't born in a palace," she went on. "I was born in a research house—deep in the Oryn Range. My Pattern manifested early. My flames could burn through iron. They called me Myth-tier by the time I was ten."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "You don't talk like a child prodigy."
"I'm not. I'm a weapon." Her voice was colder now. "The High Families don't raise heroes. They raise leverage. When I saw what you did with the fire… I realized something."
She stepped forward.
"You're not bound by divine architecture. You created a Pattern from thought."
"A Weave," Kael corrected softly.
She nodded. "Right. But if you can do that at seven, then what happens when you're fifteen? Twenty? What if others learn to do the same?"
Kael met her gaze. "The power balance collapses."
"Exactly."
---
They sat beneath the moonflower tree as twilight bled across the sky. Kael drew diagrams in the dirt. Lyssa watched, half in curiosity, half in disbelief.
"You're already reinforcing structure loops?" she asked, brushing her hair behind one ear.
Kael didn't look up. "The early ones collapsed too easily. I didn't want anyone getting burned."
She stared at him.
"You're dangerous," she said finally. "But not in the way they think."
Kael glanced at her. "And you? Why are you here, really?"
Lyssa hesitated.
Then: "I want to help you."
He frowned. "Why?"
"Because I've burned villages by accident. I've destroyed things I didn't mean to. But you—your flames didn't even singe the ground. You thought it through."
She looked down at his Weave, now refined into eight distinct loops.
"I want to learn how to do that," she said. "Not just burn brighter. Burn smarter."
---
Kael didn't reply right away.
He closed his journal.
Then offered her the chalk.
Lyssa blinked.
"You want me to…?"
"Try."
She stared at the chalk like it was a blade, then knelt beside him. Her hands trembled slightly as she began to copy his design. Line by line. Curve by curve. A Myth-tier Talent, unsure how to draw a spark by hand.
When she finished, Kael adjusted two lines silently, then nodded.
"Focus your breath here," he said, tapping one node. "Don't channel Essence. Just align it."
Lyssa obeyed.
The symbol glowed faintly.
No fire.
But the ground warmed.
Her eyes widened.
"That was—"
"Your first manual Weave," Kael said.
She looked at him like he'd handed her a revolution.
In a way, he had.
---
Far from the village, beyond the peaks of the Oryn Range, a series of mirrors shimmered to life. They reflected not light, but resonance—an echo from the world's Essence.
Inside a tower of onyx and frost, a robed figure stirred.
The signal was faint.
But clear.
A Bearer had touched fire without Pattern.
The gods had not given it to him.
He had taken it for himself.
And somewhere in the shadows, a bell began to toll.