They reached the edge of the mountain pass as the last bruised streaks of daylight bled into the sky. Snow crunched under Seraphira's boots, the sound swallowed almost instantly by the vast, cold silence of the peaks. Kaelreth moved ahead without a word, his stride effortless even on the treacherous incline.
When they finally stopped, he did not gather wood for a fire. Instead, he lifted his hand, and the darkness itself stirred. From his palm, a flame was born not gold, not red, but black edged with a deep, simmering crimson. It burned without smoke, casting a strange light that made the snow glitter like onyx.
Seraphira lowered herself to the ground across from him, unable to look away from the unnatural fire. "Shadowflame," she murmured. It shouldn't exist.
Neither should you, he said.
Her head jerked up, a defensive retort on her tongue, but the softness in his tone stopped her. I'm not sure if that's an insult or a compliment.
A truth, he replied simply.
The wind hissed between the rocks, carrying flecks of ice that stung her cheeks. And what truth is that? she pressed.
"That you are a breach in the order of things. A fracture the realms did not expect. You were born into one world, yet carry the mark of another." His gaze never wavered, the firelight carving stark shadows across his face. "That is dangerous, Seraphira. To you. To them. To me."
Something in her chest pulled tight, as though an invisible thread had been knotted there. She wanted to demand answers, but the words felt fragile in her throat. Instead, she lowered her gaze to the flame, watching it twist and curl like living shadow.
She told herself to focus on its strange beauty, to ignore the man across from her, to forget the way his voice wrapped around her like something both warm and perilous. But in the breath between heartbeats, she realized she was failing. And worse, part of her didn't want to succeed.