She stood there like she'd dropped straight out of the sky.
White cloak fluttering. Hair silver like ice. Eyes glowing with a pale blue light — not magical, not fiery — something gentler, colder… but no less dangerous.
I backed away, still panting. Blood in my mouth. Shoulder screaming.
The battle had ended seconds ago, but my heart was still fighting.
"You're not with them," I said.
"No," she replied.
"Not with the cult either?"
"No."
I stared. "Then who the hell are you?"
She stepped closer, and I felt it—
A pull. Like gravity. Like moonlight touching fire.
"I'm here to study you," she said softly.
"I'm not a subject."
"You're not just a boy either."
She knelt beside one of the unconscious mages, then waved her hand.
Silver magic shimmered — clean, soft, silent. His wounds started healing.
"You don't kill," she said.
It wasn't a question. It was a fact.
"You burned a dozen men… and didn't finish one."
I looked down at my hands.
"I didn't want to."
"That means you're still human," she said, standing.
"But for how long?"
She told me her name was Lunelle.
No last name.
She didn't say where she came from — just "the highlands beyond the frost wall," which may as well have been the moon itself.
We walked together, quietly. The forest still smoldered behind us. My steps were heavy. Hers were light.
Every now and then I glanced at her.
She moved like someone who didn't make mistakes.
Too calm.
Too precise.
Like a blade that had never been used, but could kill gods if it wanted to.
Finally, I broke the silence.
"You really came all this way just to study me?"
She didn't stop walking.
"I came because the fire inside you is older than most things in this world."
"You're not scared of it?"
She finally turned to look at me.
Her voice barely a whisper.
"I'm scared for it."
We reached the edge of the academy's forest wall. From there, the city glowed far below.
I collapsed onto a rock, groaning. My shoulder still felt like someone had stabbed a volcano into it.
She stood beside me, silent.
"You know," I said, breathing heavily, "normal people bring snacks when they show up outta nowhere."
She raised an eyebrow. "Do you consider yourself normal?"
"Nope," I smirked. "But I used to."
She sat beside me.
The silence between us wasn't awkward.
It was… strange.
Comfortable.
Like two wild animals not ready to trust each other, but tired of being alone.
After a while, she spoke again.
"There are stories. Of others like you."
"Black Flame?"
She nodded. "They always come when the balance tips too far. When the world forgets fear."
"And what happens to them?"
"They burn bright," she said. "Then the world tries to extinguish them."
I stared at the stars above.
Tiny lights in a suffocating dark sky.
"Do they ever win?"
"No," she said. Then, softer: "But sometimes they survive long enough to change everything."
Suddenly—
She reached out.
Her hand brushed against my shoulder.
I tensed—until I realized she was healing me.
Her magic didn't sting like most healing spells.
It was cold. Quiet. Gentle. Like moonlight dripping down my skin.
"I thought you weren't with the academy," I whispered.
"I'm not."
"Then why help me?"
She looked into my eyes.
And said something I didn't expect:
"Because you remind me of someone."
"Who?"
She paused.
"My brother."
"…What happened to him?"
She stood up, brushing ash from her cloak.
"The world couldn't handle his fire, either."
She was already walking away when I stood.
"Wait—will I see you again?"
She turned, just once.
And in the moonlight, her expression cracked for a brief moment.
A flicker of sadness.
"Only if you survive," she said.
Then she disappeared into the trees, her silver light fading with every step.
That Night
I sat in my room, staring at the mirror.
Again.
Because I still didn't recognize the face looking back.
The bruises were fading.
But the fire in my eyes…
Was still there.
Still growing.
Still waiting.
And in the back of my mind—
The voice spoke again.
"She's right, you know."
"You're not just a boy anymore."
I didn't answer.
Because I already knew.
Somewhere, far away…
In a hidden chamber lined with candles and chains, a man knelt before a throne of obsidian.
He wore armor carved from demon bone, and on his back — a cape of black fire.
His voice was low, calm, merciless.
"Has the boy awakened?"
A robed servant bowed.
"Yes, my lord. The Black Flame has returned."
The man stood, cracking his neck.
"Then it's time we reminded the gods… why they feared it."