Marlow's shack smelled like burnt oil and dust, but Aria didn't notice. Her thoughts were spinning. The word *Oracle* echoed in her head over and over again.
She sat across from the old man as he rummaged through a wooden chest, pulling out scraps of parchment, a cracked book, and a tiny crystal wrapped in cloth.
"You said the Oracles were all gone," she said. "So why me? Why now?"
Marlow didn't answer right away. He held the crystal to the light, squinting at the faint red glow inside.
"Because fire always returns," he muttered. "Even after the longest night."
He passed the crystal to Aria. "Hold it."
She took it carefully. The moment her fingers touched it, the crystal warmed.
Marlow watched her closely. "Only a true flameborn can wake it. That glow—it means your connection to Eldrid is real."
Aria stared at the red shimmer inside the stone. "I didn't ask for any of this."
"Of course you didn't. Fire doesn't ask to be lit—it just burns."
She closed her fist around the crystal. "So what happens now? Do I train? Fight? What?"
Marlow leaned back. "You survive."
"That's it?"
"For now." He tapped the book on the table. "This is a fragment from the Temple of Flame. The language is old, but I've translated most of it. It speaks of a trial—something the last Oracle must face. A journey, guided by fire."
"A trial," Aria repeated. "Where?"
"No one knows for sure. The temple was destroyed. But there are signs. Old paths. Symbols. And maybe... others like you."
"I thought I was the last."
Marlow gave her a look. "Maybe you are. Maybe not. Prophecies are tricky. They twist. Burn. Leave ashes behind."
Aria stood up. She felt like the ground was shifting under her feet. "I need air."
"Take the crystal," Marlow said. "And this." He handed her a torn piece of parchment. It showed part of a map, with a mountain marked in red ink. "If the trial still exists—it starts here."
Aria tucked it away.
As she stepped outside, the wind bit at her face. Night had fallen. Lanterns flickered like dying stars, and the city felt even colder than usual.
She walked without thinking, letting her feet guide her.
Halfway down a quiet lane, the hairs on her neck stood up.
She wasn't alone.
Someone was following her.
She picked up her pace.
So did they.
She turned a corner, heart pounding, and ducked behind a stack of crates.
Footsteps. Closer now.
A shadow passed by.
Not a guard. Not a drunk.
A cloaked figure, moving like smoke.
Aria waited until they passed, then slipped out the other way, trying not to run. She didn't know who they were—but something told her this wasn't a coincidence.
And something else told her this was just the beginning.