The forest pressed tighter with every step.
Seraphira's boots were muddied, her cloak torn at the hem, and her provisions half gone by the time she stumbled into a small clearing choked by roots. The moon barely visible hung like a ghost above, pale and fading.
She paused there to rest, her back against the twisted trunk of a dead tree. The fire she tried to kindle wouldn't catch. Not even her own inner warmth once so easy to summon responded. It was as if the forest drank every spark of heat before it could rise.
So she sat in silence.
Then she smelled it: smoke.
Not from her own failed fire, but something distant. Foreign.
She rose instantly, every muscle tight. The smoke was not thick, but it carried something darker beneath it the faintest scent of burning bone.
A branch cracked to her left.
She spun, dagger raised.
From the shadows stepped a figure tall, cloaked in ash-gray robes, his face hidden beneath a bone-carved mask. Curved horns curled from the sides, painted with runes that shimmered faintly in the dark.
He made no move toward her.
Who are you? Seraphira demanded.
The figure tilted its head slightly. "One who walks between paths."
His voice was like coals stirred in a cold hearth deep, and quiet, but strangely alive.
"I am no threat to you, girl. Unless you wish it."
She didn't lower her blade.
What is this place?
The border, he said. Where the old magic still clings. The forest does not welcome many, but it has not devoured you yet. Curious.
I didn't come here to be devoured.
Few do. Most are sent here to vanish.
Her jaw tightened.
He stepped forward, just enough for her to catch the faint glint of something beneath his robes, a chain of blackened iron, wrapped around one wrist.
You wear no crest, he said. No symbol of house or blood. Yet your scent speaks of moonlight and fire. You are not entirely unknown to these woods.
I'm no one, she lied.
No, the stranger said, amused. You are something old... wrapped in something new.
Her hand tightened on the dagger. If you're going to kill me, do it.
I have no need, he replied. Death follows its own rhythm. But if you wish to cross the forest, you'll not survive alone.
Silence stretched between them.
He turned then, slowly, and began to walk deeper into the trees, smoke trailing behind him like mist.
She didn't follow.
But neither did she run.
After several breaths, he paused and spoke again without looking back.
"The veil is thinning, girl of fire. That which slumbers below will not sleep much longer. The flame in you will call to it. Best you choose whether you walk toward it… or away."
And then he vanished into the dark.
Seraphira stood in the clearing long after, the bone-colored mask etched into her thoughts, the scent of smoke still clinging to her skin.
She didn't understand his warning.
Not yet.
But deep in her chest, the fire stirred.
And somewhere far, far below Kaelreth Azarion opened his hand, and flame answered.