A History Buried in Ash

The war was never truly over.

It was said that when Ifrit, the Fire Spirit, and Blize, the Ice Spirit, clashed in the sky, the world itself trembled. Mountains shattered, rivers boiled, and the very balance of the elements was nearly undone. Their battle was endless, fueled by an ancient hatred neither could quell.

But it wasn't just fire against ice. It was destruction against preservation. Wrath against reason. Chaos against order.

The Elementalists who worshiped Ifrit burned cities to cinders, believing the flames would cleanse the weak and leave only the strong. Those who followed Blize fought desperately to smother the fire, to freeze the world in a moment of eternal stillness.

Neither side won.

In the end, both spirits vanished—sealed, shattered, or perhaps waiting. The war faded into legend, its truth buried beneath ash and ice. But power like that never truly disappears. It lingers. It waits.

It finds a new vessel.

---

The fire roared.

Solara barely had time to react before the massive sphere of flame hurtled toward her, a searing inferno swallowing everything in its path. It burned too brightly, too fiercely—too alive.

She tried to move, but her legs felt like they were trapped in molten stone. The fire was pulling her in, wrapping around her like it knew her, like it had been waiting for her.

The heat was unbearable.

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.

This isn't normal fire. This is—

The flames surged.

And then, a voice whispered through the blaze.

"Solara."

Her breath caught in her throat.

The fire collapsed inward, swallowing her whole.

---

Solara gasped awake, drenched in sweat,

The room was dark, but she could feel the heat clinging to her skin, as if the flames had followed her from the dream. Her breaths came sharp and shallow, her pulse racing like a storm inside her chest.

She pushed herself up on shaky arms, and that's when she saw it—her reflection in the glass window.

Her eyes, usually a deep, smoldering brown, flickered with bright embers. Like fire trapped behind glass, shifting, restless.

And the whispers… they hadn't stopped.

"The fire remembers."

"The war is not over."

"You are the ember that will awaken the flame."

Solara clutched her head, squeezing her eyes shut, but the whispers only coiled deeper into her mind. They weren't just words. They were memories—fragments of a battle long forgotten, of fire raining from the heavens, of Ifrit's rage burning through the world.

And now… it was inside her.

A sharp knock on the door snapped her back to reality.

"Solara?" It was Yasmine's voice, laced with concern.

She forced herself to take a steady breath before answering. "I'm fine."

The embers in her eyes dimmed as she exhaled. But even as the glow faded, she knew—the fire wasn't gone. It was waiting.

Morning arrived, but the unease from the dream still clung to Solara like a second skin. The whispers had faded, but their echo lingered, buried somewhere deep in her mind.

Outside, Yasmine sat on the wooden fence behind the house, kicking her feet lazily as she watched Solara with mild concern. "You look like you barely slept."

Solara sighed, rubbing her temple. "I didn't."

Yasmine tilted her head. "Another nightmare?"

Solara hesitated before nodding. She hadn't told anyone about the whispers, about how they felt less like dreams and more like… memories. But Yasmine had always been her closest friend. If there was anyone she could trust, it was her.

"It was different this time," Solara admitted. "It felt real—like I was actually there. There was fire everywhere, and it wasn't just burning—it was alive. It knew me. And right before I woke up, I heard a voice call my name."

Yasmine's expression grew more serious. "A voice?"

Solara nodded. "And when I woke up… my eyes were glowing."

That made Yasmine go quiet. She hopped off the fence and studied Solara closely, as if searching for some trace of lingering fire in her gaze. "Like actual glowing? Not just your usual fire-light reflection?"

"Brighter," Solara muttered. "Like embers."

Yasmine exhaled sharply. "That's… not normal."

Solara scoffed. "Yeah, no kidding."

For a moment, they sat in silence. Then Yasmine spoke again, softer this time. "Maybe it's time you tell someone."

Solara shook her head. "Tell them what? That I hear voices from a war no one remembers? That my fire might not even be mine?" She clenched her fists. "No one would believe me."

Yasmine didn't argue, but the look in her eyes said she wasn't convinced.

"I think," she said carefully, "we need answers."

Solara glanced toward the distant silhouette of the Elementalist Academy.

Answers.

She had already tried looking before. But now, she had something more than just missing records and half-told stories.

She had the whispers.

And they were calling her back.

---

Solara tightened the cloak around her shoulders as she made her way through the academy grounds. The morning air carried a lingering chill, but she barely felt it—her fire always burned just beneath the surface, simmering, waiting.

Yasmine walked beside her, unusually quiet. She had insisted on coming, even though Solara hadn't asked.

"You're sure about this?" Yasmine finally asked.

"No," Solara admitted. "But I don't have a choice."

They passed the towering pillars of the academy's main hall, heading toward the Grand Archives. Solara had searched there before, but now she wasn't just looking for vague histories. She needed something specific—proof.

The whispers were growing louder. The embers in her blood felt restless. And if she didn't find answers soon… she was afraid of what might happen.

Inside the archives, the scent of aged parchment and ink filled the air. Rows upon rows of towering bookshelves stretched before them, dimly lit by floating orbs of soft golden light.

Solara led Yasmine toward the restricted section—the place where the oldest, most fragile records were kept. The tome she had found before had been incomplete, its pages missing, burned, or deliberately erased.

What if someone didn't want the truth to be found?

She ran her fingers along the spines of the ancient books, searching, listening.

Then, something shifted.

Not in the room, but inside her.

The whispers stirred.

"You seek the fire's past."

"It is written in the ashes."

"But the truth was never meant to be read."

A sharp pulse of heat surged through Solara's fingertips. She gasped and yanked her hand back—only to realize that one of the books was glowing faintly beneath her touch.

Yasmine saw it too. "Uh… that's not normal."

Solara didn't respond. Her heart pounded as she reached for the book, its leather cover warm against her palm. Carefully, she flipped it open.

At first, the pages were blank.

Then, slowly, words began to appear.

Not written in ink.

But in ember-like script.

And at the bottom of the page, one sentence stood out, burning brighter than the rest.

"The fire does not forget its own."

Solara's breath caught as the ember-like script flickered across the page, forming words in a language she didn't recognize. The symbols twisted and shifted like flames caught in the wind—alive, unreadable.

An ancient language.

She traced the glowing text with her fingertips, frustration mounting. Why does everything lead to more questions?

Yasmine peered over her shoulder, brow furrowing. "Do you know what it says?"

"No," Solara muttered. "And I don't think we have time to learn."

The whispers stirred again, faint but insistent.

"Buried. Forgotten. Sealed in fire."

"The key is not in reading. The key is in knowing."

Solara gritted her teeth. If this passage held the answers she needed, she couldn't risk losing it. The academy had already erased parts of history before. What if they took this from her, too?

Before she could second-guess herself, she ripped the page from the book.

The glow flickered violently, and the whispers surged. The entire room felt hotter, as if the very air was rebelling against her act.

Yasmine gasped. "Solara! Are you serious? You just—"

"I didn't have a choice!" Solara snapped, shoving the torn page into her cloak. "I'll figure out what it means later."

Yasmine groaned, rubbing her temples. "You can't just go around ripping ancient texts! This is how people get cursed, Solara."

Solara shot her a look. "I think I'm already past that point."

Yasmine muttered something under her breath but didn't argue further. The damage was done.

Solara took one last glance at the book—now eerily silent, its glow faded—before snapping it shut.

She had the page. Now, she just needed to figure out what it meant.

And something told her… she wouldn't like the answer.

Solara shoved the torn page deeper into her cloak and exchanged a glance with Yasmine. They needed to leave—now.

The Grand Archives were too silent, the air too thick with something unseen. It felt as if the very walls were watching.

Neither of them spoke as they slipped through the dimly lit corridors, their footsteps eerily loud against the stone floor.

As they exited, Solara felt a chill run down her spine.

Was someone… watching them?

She shook off the thought. Probably just the weight of what she had done pressing down on her.

By the time they reached the academy grounds, morning classes had begun. The usual hum of students moving between lessons filled the air, grounding her back in reality.

Solara took a steadying breath. The page was safe. She would figure out what it meant later.

But deep within the Grand Archives, in the shadows where no light reached, something stirred.

Something ancient.

Something that had waited far too long.

---