The dawn mist rolled off the Redmarsh plains in long silver ribbons, glinting like threads of glass across the wild grass. Victoria stood at the edge of the ridge, staff in hand, watching the light spill over the horizon. The scent of wet soil and pine filled her lungs — a small, grounding peace before another dangerous day.
Behind her, the expedition stirred. Horses whinnied. Leather armor creaked. The guild's banner fluttered crimson in the breeze.
It was strange, she thought, how normal adventure had begun to feel.
A year ago, she'd been hiding from soldiers, praying not to be found. Now she was F-rank, a quiet but reliable member of the Redmarsh Adventurers' Guild.
To the others, she was just Liora, the farm girl who'd survived a forest raid. No one guessed that she carried two goddesses inside her — beauty and fire — or that she'd once been a slave under a man who had become the most feared ruler in the north.
"Ready?" came a warm, confident voice from behind.
She turned — and met the easy smile of Prince Rowan.
He was dressed simply, no crown, no robe — just leather, chainmail, and that quiet assurance that came with command. Even without royal garb, people seemed to part around him naturally, as though the world itself respected his space.
"I'm ready," she said, forcing a small smile.
They rode for hours, deeper into the Redmarsh frontier. The mission was simple: investigate the source of magical disturbances near the southern cliffs. Rumors spoke of beasts twisted by corrupted mana — a danger to nearby villages.
But Rowan had insisted on coming himself.
"I need to understand what my people face," he'd told his guards.
Yet Victoria caught the truth in his eyes. He wasn't here for beasts or villages.
He was here for her.
By midday, the forest gave way to open glades burned black at the roots. The air shimmered faintly — mana residue.
Victoria dismounted and knelt, brushing her fingers over the ash. The ground hummed beneath her touch, alive with leftover heat.
"This isn't natural," she murmured.
Rowan crouched beside her, close enough for her to feel his presence. "You can sense it, can't you?"
She hesitated. "A little. It's… like something hungry passed through here."
Rowan studied her for a moment, then said softly, "You always know things others don't. It's like the world speaks to you."
She laughed under her breath. "It's not as poetic as that."
"It is to me."
His tone held something heavier than admiration. She looked away, pretending not to notice.
When the attack came, it was sudden — a blur of claws and teeth bursting from the underbrush. Three mana-twisted beasts lunged toward them, their hides pulsing with faint light.
The guards raised their weapons, shouting. Rowan drew his sword — graceful, sure.
But Victoria didn't think.
She moved.
Mana surged up her arms in a rush of warmth and fire. The air shimmered gold, then erupted in a flaring arc. A barrier of light snapped into place, halting the beasts mid-charge.
"Victoria—" Rowan's voice broke through the chaos.
She spread her fingers wide. Flames coiled from her palms, bright as molten dawn, washing over the creatures. The smell of smoke and ozone filled the air. When the light faded, nothing remained but scorched earth.
Silence.
The guards stared. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Rowan stepped forward slowly, his eyes reflecting the dying embers around them. "You… never told me you could do that."
"I didn't know I could," she whispered.
He reached out, almost touching her face before stopping himself. His hand trembled faintly. "You're extraordinary."
She swallowed hard. "I'm dangerous."
"Then I'll make sure no one else ever gets close enough to find out."
His words froze her. There was warmth in them — but also something darker. A promise she wasn't sure she wanted kept.
That night, the expedition camped near the river. Firelight danced across the tents; the guards' laughter echoed faintly over the water.
Victoria sat alone, trying to calm her pulse. Her power had always frightened her — but this new surge, this fire, was different. It felt alive, restless, like it wanted to escape her control.
She stared into the flames. They shimmered faintly gold — the same hue as the magic she'd used. "What are you?" she whispered.
"You're not alone, you know."
She turned. Rowan stood at the edge of the firelight, cloak drawn around his shoulders. His face was unreadable, lit in flickers of orange and shadow.
"You saved all of us today," he said softly. "You don't have to hide that part of yourself."
"I'm not hiding," she said quietly. "I'm surviving."
He took a step closer. "Then let me help you survive."
She shook her head. "You don't understand—"
"I understand more than you think," he said, voice dropping lower. "You've been hunted. Hurt. Used. But that ends here. I won't let anyone touch you again."
Her breath caught. There it was again — that note beneath the kindness, like iron beneath silk. It wasn't malice, but it wasn't freedom either.
She forced a small smile. "Thank you, Your Highness."
"Rowan," he corrected gently. "Just Rowan. When it's us, I want it to be just us."
When he left, the fire crackled quietly, and she stared into it for a long time.
He meant well — she could feel that. But there was something about the way his gaze lingered, the way his tone deepened when he said her name… something that reminded her, faintly, of another man.
Of a prince who had once sworn to protect her, too.
The fire stirred, flickering higher. The air warmed.
Victoria closed her eyes, whispering to herself:
"I won't be caged again. Not by kindness. Not by love."
Above her, the stars burned brighter, and for the first time, the flames inside her felt like they were listening.