The path into the village wound between tall stone walls, their surfaces lit by the flicker of torchlight. Hine kept her steps steady, though her heart thudded in her chest. Every sound seemed sharper here — the crackle of fire, the murmur of distant voices, the rustle of cloth as she brushed past hanging banners dyed in deep crimson and gold.
The first figure to appear was a boy no older than twelve. He had hair the color of midnight and eyes that caught the light like pieces of obsidian. In his hands was a spear nearly as tall as he was. He did not lower it as she approached.
"Who comes to the village?" His voice wavered only slightly, though his grip on the spear tightened.
"I am Hine," she said. "I come seeking passage and knowledge."
The boy's gaze flicked to the satchel at her side, then back to her face. "Wait here."
He darted away, vanishing between two narrow buildings. Hine remained where she stood, listening to the faint trickle of water somewhere nearby. The air carried the scent of smoke and something sweeter — roasted root vegetables, perhaps, or spiced meat. Hunger stirred in her stomach, but she stayed still, her eyes on the shadows shifting beyond the torchlight.
After a short while, the boy returned, this time accompanied by two older figures. One was a tall man with broad shoulders and a long braid threaded with beads. The other was a woman whose cloak shimmered faintly when she moved, as though it had been woven with threads of copper. Both carried spears, and their faces were marked with pale paint in sweeping arcs across the cheeks and brow.
"You are far from your home, Hine of Natlan's heart," the man said, his voice deep and even. "Why have you come?"
Hine reached into her satchel, careful not to move too quickly. She withdrew the small carved bone token the messenger had given her and held it out in her palm. "I was told this would grant me a hearing."
The woman stepped forward and took the token, turning it over in her hand. Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Ember Tribe. That is a long road for someone to walk alone."
"I am looking for something," Hine said. "Someone, actually."
The man's gaze sharpened. "And who would that be?"
Hine hesitated, then met his eyes. "My sister."
He studied her for a long moment, then gestured toward the torchlit path. "Come."
They led her through the village, which was built in tiers along the mountainside. Stone steps connected each level, and the houses were shaped from the same rock, their roofs flat and edged with clay tiles. Fires burned in open braziers at the corners of the terraces, casting shifting light over the people who stopped to watch as she passed.
The murmurs followed her, low and questioning. Some faces showed curiosity, others caution. A few looked openly unfriendly.
At last, they reached a wide platform at the highest point of the village. A large fire burned at its center, surrounded by stone seats arranged in a half circle. The man gestured for her to sit while he and the woman took places on either side of the fire.
"My name is Kaien," he said. "This is Lurya. We speak for the mountain kin here."
Hine inclined her head. "Thank you for receiving me."
Lurya's gaze was steady. "You say you are searching for your sister. Why come here?"
Hine reached for the satchel again and pulled out the jar containing the shard. Its faint glow brightened slightly as it caught the firelight. "Because of this. It belonged to her."
The moment the shard was visible, a ripple passed through the watching villagers. Kaien's expression darkened, and Lurya leaned forward, her eyes narrowing to slits.
"That is not a thing to be carried lightly," Lurya said. "Where did you get it?"
"It was left to me," Hine answered. "Before she went into the flame."
Kaien exchanged a glance with Lurya. "Do you know what you hold?"
Hine shook her head. "Only that it is connected to her, and that it… calls to me."
For a long moment, the two leaders were silent. The fire popped, sending a small spray of sparks into the air. Finally, Kaien spoke.
"That shard is older than the mountains we stand on. It is said to be a piece of the First Flame, the one that burned before the world's shaping was complete. Such fragments were thought to be lost long ago."
Lurya's voice was quieter, but it carried an edge. "And if it calls to you, then perhaps it is not you seeking your sister, but the shard seeking something through you."
A shiver passed through Hine. She closed her fingers around the jar. "I do not care what it seeks. I will follow it until I find her."
Kaien leaned back slightly, his gaze unreadable. "The path ahead will not be simple. There are places where the shard's presence will draw the wrong kind of attention. There are those who would kill to hold even a splinter of it."
"I have already lost her once," Hine said. "I will not turn back now."
There was a brief silence, then Lurya rose to her feet. "Very well. You may rest here tonight. At dawn, we will decide whether you may continue north."
A murmur of voices rose from the villagers, but none challenged the decision.
Hine was led to a small room carved into the cliffside, its walls smooth and cool to the touch. A woven mat covered the floor, and a low table held a clay cup filled with water. She set her satchel beside the mat and sat down, letting the quiet settle around her.
Through the narrow window, she could see the lights of the village below, each fire flickering like a small star. She wondered how many of those watching fires would rather see her gone.
Her hand drifted to the shard again. It was warm against her palm, the warmth spreading through her arm and into her chest. She closed her eyes and listened, hoping for another whisper.
There was no voice this time, only the steady pulse of heat, like the heartbeat of something that had not forgotten her.
Somewhere outside, a drum began to beat, slow and measured. It echoed through the stone walls, a rhythm that spoke of both welcome and warning. Hine lay back on the mat, staring at the ceiling until her eyes grew heavy.
Sleep came slowly, and with it, dreams of fire that burned without consuming, and a figure standing just beyond its light, waiting.