The Thorned Path

The world was a heavy blur when Liora woke.

She lay curled against the roots of an old tree, the bark rough against her cheek, the smell of moss and wet earth in her nose. Every part of her hurt, like she had been broken and carefully put back together. Somewhere nearby, a bird called sharp and lonely in the dim light.

She sat up slowly. Pain spread through her body like ripples in water. The ring that had glowed so brightly was gone. In its place, a faint mark burned on her palm a single spiral, carved into her skin like a brand.

The Veil had been torn wide open.

She could feel it no, she could hear it. A constant hum under the world, like a door left hanging open, letting in things that didn't belong in the land of the living. Shadows flickered at the edge of her vision, slipping between trees, whispering in a language she almost understood.

The memory of Alwen's face burned behind her eyes twisted, screaming, reaching for her as the light swallowed them both.

It's not over. Liora pressed her hands to her eyes, trying to erase the image but it clung to her like a second skin.

Footsteps crunched through the underbrush.

"Liora!" Tomas's voice, rough and shaken, cut through the vapor in her mind. He stumbled into the clearing, his shirt torn, blood soaking one sleeve. His eyes widened when he saw her. Relief poured over his face so quickly he nearly collapsed. "You're alive."

She wanted to cry, to fall into his arms and ask him to explain everything but something inside her had hardened. There was no time for crying. No room for weakness.

"I'm fine," she lied, slowly getting to her feet.

Tomas grabbed her elbow to steady her. "Ysolde's looking for you. We thought" He stopped, swallowing hard. "Come on, we have to go."

They moved through the forest, the trees leaning in close, their branches whispering warnings too faint to hear. Tomas led the way, clearing the path with a dull blade. Liora held her aching ribs and followed, her mind spinning with too many questions.

When they reached the ruins of Elderwood, Liora stopped, her breath caught in her throat.

The village was gone.

Where once stood homes and gardens and kind faces, there was now only black earth and broken stones. The council hall was nothing but burnt timbers and ashes. The air smelled like sorrow.

At the center of it all knelt Ysolde.

Her long hair had come loose, falling around her face in wild, tangled waves. Her hands pressed into the ground, fingers spread as if trying to hold the earth together. Tears ran down her cheeks, cutting clean lines through the dirt.

When she saw Liora, she stood, swaying, her face torn between grief and wonder.

"You survived," Ysolde whispered, stumbling toward her. She took Liora's face in her rough hands, as if needing to feel she was real.

"You truly are of the First Flame."

Liora nodded stiffly, the truth burning deeper into her bones.

"But the gate," Tomas said harshly, looking around. "It's open now, isn't it?"

Ysolde's shoulders dropped under a weight they couldn't see. "Yes. And something has come through."

The ground trembled a deep pulse from the earth's heart. Liora clutched Tomas's arm to keep standing. Her heart pounded hard against her ribs.

"What do we do?" she asked, her voice barely louder than a breath.

Ysolde's mouth pressed into a grim line. "We go to the Thorned Path. To the place where the First Flame was born."

Tomas's face turned pale. "That's suicide. The Thorned Path hasn't been walked in generations. No one survives it."

Ysolde looked at Liora with eyes that saw every choice and every cost. "She must."

The sky darkened with unnatural speed as they made ready. Above them, storm clouds twisted and rolled, heavy not with rain but with the whispers of voices long gone. They gathered what little they could: a stone hard loaf of bread, a single flask of water, and a few half spent charms.There was no time left to mourn or wonder. They left, just as the last bit of light vanished into the growing dark.

The Thorned Path began where the forest ended a dry, empty strip of land where nothing grew. Twisted thorns lined the trail, their thorns long and stained with something dark. The air smelled sharp, like metal, and every step forward felt like walking deeper into a bad dream.

Tomas led the way, sword drawn, cutting what he could.

Ysolde followed, whispering old protection spells that sparked softly in the thick air.

Liora came last, the mark on her palm glowing brighter with every step.

The Path tested them right away.

Whispers scratched at their minds, spinning lies and half truths in voices that sounded like the people they had lost. The thorns shifted when they looked away, grabbing at clothes and skin, trying to pull them into the thorns. The ground changed too, swallowing stones and roots, forcing them to move carefully or risk falling.

Time unraveled into something shapeless and strange. Hours bled into each other until even the concept of a day or night felt distant, forgotten. Hunger came and went like a ghost. Fatigue settled into their bones like an old curse. The forest offered no clues only endless dark, shifting paths, and the whisper of unseen things. It was as if the world beyond the Thorned Path had ceased to exist, swallowed whole by silence and shadow.

At one point, Tomas cried out and dropped to his knees, hands over his head. Liora ran to him, but Ysolde grabbed her arm."Don't touch him!" she shouted."He's in pain"

"He's fighting his mind. If you fall in too, we'll lose both of you."

Liora bit back her fear and knelt nearby, whispering soft words she didn't believe. Slowly, Tomas's breathing slowed, and he stood again, pale and shaking.

"We're close," Ysolde said, her voice tight.

"How do you know?" Tomas asked, his throat raw.

Ysolde pointed through the thorns ahead, a light pulsed a steady glow in the darkness.

The First Flame.

It wasn't what Liora had pictured.

Not a huge fire or blazing tower. Just a single flickering flame, no bigger than a candle, nestled inside the hollow of an old, blackened tree. The flame burned calmly, casting long shadows that danced like living things.

Ysolde dropped to one knee and bowed her head. Tomas followed, though he hesitated.

Liora stepped forward, drawn by something deeper than thought.

The mark on her palm burned hot white, and the flame rose slightly, its color shifting from gold to deep, burning blue.

"This is it," Ysolde said softly. "This is where you choose."

Liora turned to her. "Choose what?"

"To seal the breach or to become it."

The ground shook again, harder than before.

A figure stepped from the dark.

It was Alwen or what was left of her.

Her body was twisted, her hair hanging in clumps, her skin dry and cracked like old paper. Her eyes glowed with something unholy.

"Liora," Alwen said, her voice broken and strange. "You don't have to fight. Come with me. We can stop this. Together."

Liora's heart broke.

This was her aunt the woman who once sang to her, braided her hair, told her bedtime stories. But now, she was also the thing waiting beyond the Veil.

Tomas raised his sword, but Ysolde held him back.

"This is her battle."

Alwen stepped closer, her ruined hand reaching out. "Come, child. You're more like me than them. They're afraid of what you are."

Liora couldn't move. Every part of her wanted to run, to hide, to find safety but she knew there was no safety anymore unless she made it herself.

She stepped toward the flame.

Alwen's smile turned into a snarl.

The brush twisted and reached, their thorns growing longer, sharper.

The flame dimmed.

Tomas shouted something, but Liora barely heard him.

She raised her hand over the First Flame.

It jumped to meet her.

Pain like nothing she'd ever felt ripped through her. She screamed, the sound raw and broken, as the fire burned through her skin, her fear, her doubt. Memories flashed her mother's smile, her father lifting her in strong arms, Alwen's lullabies, Ysolde's tough lessons, Tomas's quiet laughter.

Everything. Burning. Changing.

The thorns screamed and pulled away like wounded animals.

Alwen screamed too, a horrible sound as cracks spread through her body.

Liora stepped forward, fire pouring from her eyes, her mouth, her hands.

She was the First Flame reborn. She lifted her hand, and the flame obeyed.

Alwen stumbled, her body breaking like ash.

"No!" she screamed. "You don't know what you're doing! You'll destroy everything!"

Liora's voice was deeper now, not fully her own.

"Then let it be remade."

She closed her hand into a fist and the fire burst out.

The Thorned Path went up in flames, the thorns burning in a clean heat. The ground shook and split. Shadows ran, screaming into the dark.

Tomas shielded his face, pulling Ysolde away from the fire.

And in the center of the storm, Liora stood alone burning, breaking, becoming.

When the light faded, the clearing was still.

Only a single flicker of flame remained, floating above the broken earth.

Tomas stepped forward. "Liora?"

No answer.

Ysolde dropped to her knees, her face full of sorrow and wonder.

"She did it," she whispered. "She became the Flame."

But as the wind shifted, a soft, mocking laugh came from deep in the trees.

The Veil was not finished.

And neither was Liora.