Duskmere was a city that never felt warm. Not even when the sun was out, which wasn't often. The streets were narrow, wet, and filled with smoke from chimneys that never stopped coughing. People hurried with their heads down, trying to get where they were going without looking anyone in the eye.
In one of the quiet alleys, hidden between broken buildings and trash piles, a girl sat alone.
Her name was Aria.
She pulled her thin cloak tighter around her shoulders. It didn't help much. Her clothes were damp from the rain, and her toes had gone numb hours ago. But Aria didn't complain. She had grown used to the cold, to hunger, to being invisible.
She had no memory of her parents. Only flashes. A song, a warm hand, firelight. Then nothing. Just smoke, screams, and running. She'd been small back then. Now she was somewhere around fifteen, maybe sixteen. She had stopped counting.
Duskmere wasn't a kind place for orphans. And it was even worse for someone like her—someone with a secret.
Aria's fingers tingled again.
It wasn't the cold. It was something else. Something that had started a few weeks ago. Like sparks under her skin. Like something inside her had woken up.
She tried to ignore it.
Because in Virelia, magic was forbidden.
Long ago, magic was everywhere. People used it to heal, to grow food, to protect their homes. But the kings grew afraid of it. Or maybe greedy. They made laws. Burned books. Chased the old ways out of the cities. Anyone caught using magic was taken away—some said to prison, others to worse places.
Now, the word *magic* was barely whispered. And the word *oracle* was as good as a death sentence.
Aria hadn't told anyone about the sparks. Not even the other street kids she sometimes shared bread with. She didn't know what was happening to her. Only that it was getting stronger.
Footsteps echoed nearby.
She ducked behind a broken crate and held her breath.
A guard walked by at the end of the alley. Black leather, silver badge, sword on his belt. His eyes were cold and searching. For what, Aria didn't know—but she felt like he'd see the truth in her if he looked too long.
When he moved on, she let out a slow breath.
Her hand was glowing again. Soft, gold light pulsing beneath her skin.
She pressed it against her chest.
"Not now," she whispered. "Please. Not now."
Then she heard it—a soft meow.
She turned.
A black cat was sitting at the alley's edge, staring at her. It had a silver streak down its back. Its eyes were bright and calm. Like it knew something she didn't.
It meowed again. Then stood and walked away.
She should have stayed where she was. She knew that.
But she got up and followed.
The cat led her through the city—down paths she'd never noticed, through silent courtyards and abandoned doors. The further they went, the quieter the world became. The noise of the city faded. Even the wind seemed to stop.
Finally, the cat stopped in front of a small courtyard. Dead vines clung to the walls. A broken fountain stood in the center. And behind it, an old tree, twisted and hollow, its bark pale as bone.
The cat vanished.
Aria stepped forward, drawn by something she didn't understand.
Then her hand burned.
She cried out and fell to her knees. The light in her palm grew brighter, swirling into a strange shape like a glowing tattoo drawn in ancient lines.
Her heart pounded. The air felt heavy.
And then
A voice filled her head.
"You are the last. The last voice. The last flame. The last Oracle of Eldrid."
She didn't understand the words, but they filled her with something huge and heavy and terrifying.
Her vision blurred. She felt herself falling.
And then
Nothing.