The smell of smoke was the first warning. Elara froze in the middle of the forest path, her basket of herbs slipping from her hand as a faint red glow danced on the wind behind her. The trees whispered in panic, their leaves trembling. In the distance, a scream—raw, choked—shattered the silence.
Then came the fire.
It rose like a beast from the dark hills, devouring everything in its path. The sky lit up with crimson light, and the village below—her home—was already ablaze.
"No," Elara whispered, her breath catching. "No, no, no—"
Her boots pounded the ground as she ran downhill, leaping over roots and stones. Her heart raced faster than her feet. She could see rooftops melting into ash, hear the cries of children, the clash of steel. Soldiers. But not from the king's guard. These wore black armor marked with a silver serpent—the Shadow Crest.
She reached the edge of the clearing when a cold hand grabbed her from behind and dragged her into the underbrush.
"Elara!" hissed a voice.
It was Old Maeda, the village seer. Her face, lined with age and shadow, glowed eerily in the firelight. "You have to run. They're looking for you."
"Why?" Elara gasped, trembling. "Why would they—?"
"Because they know what you are."
Elara stared at her, her mind racing. What she was? What did that mean? She was just a girl—seventeen, an orphan, a healer's apprentice. But Maeda's eyes burned with urgency.
"You must leave this place. Head for the Ashen Peaks. Find the one they call the Fireborn Prince. He alone can help you now."
The name struck something in her—something forgotten, or buried.
"I don't understand."
"You will," Maeda said, pressing something into her palm. A red pendant. Warm. Almost... alive. "Take this. And when the fire inside you wakes—don't fight it. Let it burn."
A soldier's cry cut through the trees.
Maeda shoved Elara away. "Go!"
Elara fled, heart pounding, the pendant clutched tight in her hand. The flames behind her chased the sky, and with every step she took, the warmth in her blood grew hotter. Stronger. Like something inside her was awakening.
By the time she reached the ridgeline, the village was gone.
Ash and fire danced in the wind as the night swallowed her.
She looked down at her hands. They were glowing.
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