Chapter 9: Pain Beneath the Skin

Soreya's home wasn't built, it had grown.

Tucked into the roots of an ancient tree older than most kingdoms, the Seer's sanctuary was alive with whispered wind and glowing moss. Branches curled into arches, bark peeled back to form walls etched in symbols Lyra didn't recognize. It pulsed with quiet magic, old, rooted magic. Not the kind of glamour used by the Ascended to dazzle and deceive. This felt… real. Like the forest had chosen to cradle her here.

Kael didn't relax once.

Even as Soreya brewed a thick, bitter-smelling salve for Lyra's still-burning wound, he stood near the door, his arms crossed, eyes tracking every movement.

"She won't harm you," Lyra murmured, wincing as the salve touched her cheek.

"That's what everyone says before they do," he replied flatly.

Soreya chuckled. "The wolf has teeth and trust issues."

"I have both for good reason," Kael muttered.

Lyra reached up, fingers hovering just shy of the raw wound. It hadn't closed. Not even a little. The cut from the hunter's blade pulsed with a low, constant burn, like coals beneath her skin.

"What is this?" she asked. "Why won't it heal?"

Soreya set the jar of salve down gently. "Because it was made to unmake you."

Lyra blinked. "What?"

"The blade that touched you was forged in Aethersteel," Soreya said softly. "But more than that, it was soaked in blood drawn from the cursed and the broken. It carries the agony of a hundred dying Seers, and the screams of those your fire was meant to protect."

Kael swore under his breath.

Soreya continued, eyes distant. "To cut a Phoenix is to mark the soul. Your flame cannot purge it. It must endure it."

Lyra pressed her hand against her heart. "I can still feel it. Like something crawling just under the surface."

"That is because pain lives there now," Soreya said. "And you must learn to live with it. Control it. Or it will control you."

Kael stepped forward. "Then teach her."

Soreya gave him a long, unreadable look. "You think it's that simple? The girl has barely begun to ignite, and you would have her swim through fire?"

"She's stronger than you think."

"I know exactly how strong she is," Soreya said. "The mirror showed me too."

They all fell silent at that.

Lyra drew in a slow breath. "What do I have to do?"

Soreya looked to her, the pale fog in her eyes swirling like mist caught in stormlight. "You must listen to the pain. Let it speak."

Lyra's throat tightened. "And if it says I'm not enough?"

"Then you tell it the truth," Soreya said. "That you were forged in flame, not shattered by it."

The ritual began at dusk.

They sat in the center of the tree-hollow, surrounded by lines of salt, ash, and small iron symbols carved in the shape of phoenix feathers. Lyra knelt bare-kneed on moss, her wound uncovered, her breath shallow. Every part of her body hummed, as if her blood had learned a new rhythm, pain as drumbeat, flame as chorus.

Soreya sat across from her, hands resting on her knees, eyes closed. "You must go inward," she said. "Find the thread of pain and follow it."

"Follow it where?" Lyra asked.

"To where you hid yourself from the fire."

Lyra exhaled shakily.

She closed her eyes.

At first, there was only darkness.

Then, heat.

A flicker beneath her ribs. It spread like ink in water, curling down her spine, seeping into her lungs. She couldn't tell if it was real or memory. The forest was gone. The tree. Kael. Everything.

She stood alone in a void of firelight.

And in the center of it, her.

Not the flame queen from the mirror. But a younger version of herself. A girl no older than twelve, barefoot and bruised, eyes wide with fear. She stood with her arms around her knees, hiding behind a veil of soot and silence.

Lyra stepped closer. "What is this?"

The girl didn't answer.

"You're me," Lyra said softly.

The girl flinched. Her voice, when it came, was small. "They told me if I screamed, they'd make it worse."

Lyra's chest ached. "I know."

"They locked me in the dark."

"I remember."

"They said I was wrong."

Lyra knelt in front of her younger self. "But they were wrong. You were never broken. Just… waiting to be whole."

The girl looked up, and for the first time, her eyes burned gold.

"Then take me back," she said.

Lyra reached out and took her hand.

The fire surged.

Pain lanced through her skull, a scream rising in her throat. She felt everything—every memory of fear, every tremor of shame, every echo of isolation. The blade's mark burned like it was being carved again, deeper, cutting to the bone.

But this time, she didn't pull away.

She endured.

When Lyra opened her eyes, the world snapped back.

She was kneeling, gasping, sweat slicking her skin. The wound on her cheek throbbed—but it no longer burned.

It was glowing.

Not black. Not bleeding.

Gold.

Kael was beside her in an instant. "Lyra?"

"I'm okay," she said, her voice raw but certain. "I… I found her."

Soreya smiled faintly. "Then the first part is done."

"What happens now?" Kael asked, helping Lyra to her feet.

Soreya stood too, brushing moss from her robes. "Now she learns what lies beneath the flame."

Lyra touched her cheek. "The pain's still there."

"It always will be," Soreya said. "But now it belongs to you."

That night, as the stars bled across the sky, Lyra lay beside the root-walls of the tree, staring upward. Kael sat nearby, sharpening his blade in silence, the rhythmic scrape strangely comforting.

"I was afraid," she said finally.

Kael looked up. "You had reason to be."

"Not of the hunters," she said. "Of me. Of what I'd see if I really looked."

He didn't speak for a moment. Then: "And?"

She met his eyes. "She was worth saving."

Kael smiled, soft and rare. "So are you."

They sat in silence after that, the firelight dancing between them.

And in the shadows of the tree, the pain still pulsed beneath Lyra's skin—but now, it sang with her.

Not against her.