What Was Buried

The stone in my hand thrummed with heat, its light spilling across the floor like molten gold. Cracks veined the ancient walls of the temple, glowing as though the stone's power sought every fracture time had left behind.

And still, I couldn't look away from Lira.

"You knew," I said, voice low, steady only because it had to be. "You knew what I was… what I could become."

Her expression didn't waver, but her hands clenched at her sides.

"I knew what she saw," she said. "The one who gave her life to seal this place. She left you power… but she left me warnings."

The ground beneath us shuddered. From beneath the cracked altar, a low pulse echoed — deep and slow, like the breath of something waking after ages asleep.

"She never meant for you to open it," Lira continued. "She meant for me to make sure you didn't."

"Then why show me anything?" I asked. "Why guide me through visions, riddles, half-truths?"

"Because I loved her," she snapped. "And I wasn't strong enough to do what she asked. Not then."

I took a step forward, the stone still pulsing in my hand. "And now?"

"I don't know," she whispered. "You're not her. And you're not me. But you're something else, Felicia. Something the Firstborn will answer to."

A chill ran through me at the word. I turned to Caden, who hadn't moved from my side.

He met my gaze, steady as ever. "If we do this, there's no turning back."

"I don't think we ever could," I murmured.

He reached toward me — not quite touching, but close. The warmth of his fingers hovered beside my wrist, the space between us a constant ache. Not from absence. From restraint.

We had never touched beyond necessity. Never even kissed. But his presence had always been a gravity I couldn't fight — and never wanted to.

"We end it together," he said again, softer this time.

I nodded.

Then I placed the heartstone into the ancient cradle at the altar's center.

The effect was immediate. The seal groaned — a sound older than any language — and the chamber lit with fierce, unfiltered power. Light surged from the walls, racing like veins toward the heart of the altar.

I could feel it uncoiling beneath us.The Firstborn.

My breath caught as the stone cracked, then shattered, revealing a pulsing core of blood-red flame. It lifted, slow and sentient, hovering above the dais.

And then… eyes opened.

Not human. Not creature. Just presence.

I stumbled back as the flame took form — not solid, but vast, shifting. Wings of shadow and ash, a voice that wasn't spoken but felt.

"Blood that binds… comes again."

I froze. My heart thudded wildly. It wasn't speaking to all of us.

It was speaking to me.

Caden stepped closer, protective instinct blazing, even as power lashed the air between us. "Don't come closer," I said quickly. "It knows me. It's watching me."

The entity tilted what might have been its head.

"You are born of her blood… and his defiance. You carry ruin. And promise."

Behind me, I felt Lira tense. "It's testing you," she whispered. "Don't give it anything it can twist."

"I don't think it wants to twist," I said, voice hollow. "I think it wants to understand."

The flame dimmed, pulsing.

"You broke the seal not for power… but for peace."

I swallowed. "I broke it because hiding doesn't work anymore. And I won't let fear decide who I become."

Silence.

Then, the shadows surrounding the flame peeled away like smoke. A smaller figure emerged — humanoid, childlike in shape, though no child had ever borne eyes like that. Silver irises with burning red pupils. The mark of the Firstborn.

It reached for me — not hostile, not demanding.

Caden moved instinctively, stepping forward. "Don't—"

"I have to," I said.

The hand touched mine.

And then—

Everything fell away.

I was no longer in the temple. No longer in my body.

I stood in the middle of a battlefield, watching a younger version of the one I'd just met — the Firstborn, wrapped in fire and shadow, facing down an army of my ancestors. And at the front of that army… my bloodline.

I saw her again. The woman who sealed the stone. My ancestor. My beginning.

She had spared the Firstborn.

She had loved him.

But she had locked him away to protect us all — not because he was evil, but because the world couldn't bear the weight of what he might become if unanchored.

I understood then. He hadn't been sealed to destroy him.

He had been sealed… to wait for someone strong enough to choose him again.

Someone to break the cycle.

And now, that was me.

I came back to myself with a gasp, the temple spinning.

The Firstborn's childlike form was kneeling now, hand withdrawn, flickering.

"I saw it," I breathed. "Everything she hid."

"Then you understand," Lira said quietly.

I turned toward her. "She wasn't just trying to protect the world. She was trying to protect him. The Firstborn was a part of us. Of me. She sealed him because we were too afraid to grow."

Lira looked at the flame. "Then what now?"

I glanced at Caden. "Now… I make a choice."

The Firstborn looked to me, waiting.

"I can't carry your power," I said. "Not unless you choose to walk with me. Not as a weapon. Not as a god. But as… family."

The creature tilted its head again. Then, it smiled.

And vanished.

The flame dimmed.

But something stayed inside me.

A piece of the Firstborn — not possession, not burden.

Just… presence.

My hands stopped glowing.

I was myself again.

More than I was before.

Lira exhaled deeply. "You're not what I feared."

I turned to her. "You never trusted me."

"I couldn't," she said. "Because she chose you instead of me. She gave you the gift. And she gave me the warning."

My chest ached, but not with anger. "Then maybe we're both what she needed."

Lira lowered her head.

"She'd be proud of you," she said softly.

And then she was gone, cloaking herself in shadow and walking into the fading light of the temple.

I stood there for a while. Quiet. Still.

Caden stepped beside me but said nothing.

Not at first.

Finally, I turned to him. "You're still here."

"Always."

I smiled faintly. "Even now that I have a creature of shadow and fire living inside me?"

"I've always known what you carry," he said. "What you might become. It doesn't scare me."

My heart beat faster. "You never asked me to stay the same."

"I never wanted someone who stayed the same," he replied. "I wanted someone strong enough to change."

Silence stretched between us again, heavier this time. Intimate.

The warmth of his nearness made my skin hum, but still he kept his distance. We always did.

I looked at his hand.

"I haven't touched you," I said.

"No," he murmured. "You haven't."

"And yet I feel you more than anyone."

His voice dropped. "Then don't touch me until you're ready."

"I don't know what ready feels like," I whispered.

He stepped a fraction closer — not touching, but close enough that I could feel his breath.

"When it doesn't feel like falling," he said. "But like choosing. Just like today."

I swallowed hard.

Then nodded.

No kiss. No brush of lips or lingering embrace.

Just breath. And presence.

And something deeper than all of it.