The Body Of Fire

A voice is necessary for every fire. All voices must be given names.

The vault trembled.

Not like the breaking of stone. Not like buildings breaking down.

like the memory was been written off.

With the Last Word pulsing between them like a second sun and flame spinning above, Kaelen and Eira stood at its centre.

It spoke once more,

"A body has to talk. A voice needs to move.

Eira extended her arm.

Kaelen grabbed her by the wrist.

He said, "You've already been fractured once." "You had the seal on you. Sael was you. What if the separation is complete?

Eira didn't back down.

She muttered, "That's why I can put up with it." "Kaelen, I wasn't meant for peace. I was created to bear the screaming portion of the earth.

She caught Kaelen's attention.

And release it.

The flames raged.

Not in rage. In acknowledgement.

It affected both of them.

Kaelen fell.

He saw visions.

The Citadel was on fire.

A woman in gold, singing and burning alive.

A boy waving a silent sword.

Alive and conscious, the fire in human form—burning, healing, and frightening all at once.

It depicted a future in which he lived, but the rest of the world perished.

Eira caught another glimpse.

No future. A decision.

She was standing in a field of half-carved names. The fire murmured:

"You might end up like me. However, you won't be yourself alone.

She gave a nod.

"I was never."

The Vault throbbed.

It drifted to Kaelen's hand, the Last Word.

It waited.

He gave Eira a look.

Her eyes were burning, but not with strength, but with acceptance.

He shut his eyes.

and muttered her entire name.

"Aelira."

A binding light.

Fire carved new glyphs into Eira's arms, back, and spine as she climbed into the air.

Her breath was still her own as she touched down.

Her voice, however, had changed.

Braided in two tones.

Sael's and hers.

She said, "The flame walks again."

The Vault let out a scream.

Not in denial. Goodbye.

Memory folded inward to reveal stairs formed of fractured light as a route opened.

Saelira ran with Kaelen.

The Vault fell apart behind them as they stepped across the entrance.

Not into debris.

Into quiet.

On a crest of charred stone, they appeared.

Iron was no longer the sky above.

It was empty.

colourless.

As if the world had forgotten how to breathe after exhaling for too long.

Kaelen was the first to stand.

"Where are we?"

Saelira got down on her knees.

"Away from the fire." Between myth and memory.

Behind them, Kaelen heard a change.

Not from the land.

from observers.

Behind glass-steel, a shadow crouched far across the ridgeline.

A relic-telescope was held by a masked man.

They muttered into a whisper-vial, "Confirmed." "The flame moves. She lives, to reiterate.

A second voice broke through.

"All right. Forwarded to the Archivist.

The queue then died.

Kaelen turned back to Saelira on the ridge.

"Now what?"

At first, she remained silent.

Then she turned and said in layers:

Three names are buried farther down than mine. We have to locate them.

Kaelen's gaze narrowed.

"Whose names?"

Looking to the east, Saelira saw a plume of dead smoke hanging above a far-off ruin.

"Those who instructed us to forget."

"We start in the city of ash," she stated.

The fire writes twice what the world forgets.

There was no ash in the wind.

It had pages.

shreds of scrolls too old to read, shards of parchment, and pieces of skin-bound memory leaves. Like leaves from long-abandoned trees, they rolled across the shattered lowlands.

Saelira remained motionless, her eyes shimmering with calculating rather than flame. It was not a raging fire within her.

Archival, that is.

Kaelen looked after her.

Almost clinging to its ancient bones, the city lay ahead. Bridges fell into silent rivers of dust, spires fell like inebriated gods, and structures made of black stone collapsed. One tower, however, remained standing: twisted, humming softly, and encased in a coil of smoke that never rose.

Saelira referred to it as "the city of ash." "And the location where they kept everything they didn't want to ruin."

Kaelen fiddled with his cloak.

"The memory vault of the Citadel?"

"No," she answered. "Worse."

It was a long, quiet walk. While the flames moved again, the world around them seemed to pause, as if it were holding its breath.

Kaelen saw that there were no birds. of wind. When?

All that was left was recollection.

They passed ink-bleeding statues. Ruins that, while they slept, whispered names. An old Sovereign gate, its seal alternating between weeping and locked, opened for them without their touch.

No flinch came from Saelira.

She guided them through glass-etched spiral hallways.

Old voices resonated with every step:

"Take out the binding before it takes root."

"Knives are names."

"They will remember if he does."

Mourncaller warmed up, and Kaelen felt it.

The blade recalled.

He did the same.

They discovered a door made of obsidian teeth at the base of the tower.

Kaelen grabbed it.

It opened by itself.

There's a mirror chamber within.

However, the present was not reflected in the mirrors. Only a few moments were lost.

Kaelen noticed:

Before the fire, the Circle was giggling.

Eira and Sael dancing in the rain.

He was kneeling in front of a flame-clad figure.

He stumbled.

He was apprehended by Saelira.

"Avoid looking too long," she said. "The world erased these memories. They will establish roots.

A figure stood at the far end of the room.

squatting. tall. Instead of robes, they were wrapped in library binders. A mask in the shape of an open eye concealed its face.

The Archivist.

Kaelen took a deep breath.

The Archivist remained still.

However, it talked.

"The voice has returned thanks to you. I assumed you would bury her once more.

Saelira took a step ahead.

"I was locked in your catalogue by you."

"Not me," said the Archivist. "The Sovereigns." Their writer is me. Silence is their blade. Truth is mine.

Kaelen moved to her side.

"The names are what we came for."

The Archivist's head cocked.

"There are three."

The mirrors swirled as it held up a hand.

They remained intact. They were concealed in other people.

As the mirrors displayed familiar faces—shepherds, scavengers, outlaws—Eira gazed in dread as each one flickered with a different name underneath.

According to the Archivist, "they carry what the fire cannot." "Sovereigns were not them. They were ships.

Kaelen's eyes grew strained.

"Why?"

"Because powerful names are immortal." Thus, they were etched in blood.

"Blood memory," he gasped Saelira.

The Archivist gave a nod.

They need to be said out loud once again in order to rouse them up. However, there is a risk.

"What kind?"

The mirrors broke.

One name then came out:

"MYEN."

Then there was a scream, but it wasn't from the mirror. from a great distance.

A girl that was from a destroyed village. She dropped on her knees. In the glyph-light, her body ignited.

Saelira let out a gasp.

"She was the first."

Kaelen took a step back.

"And now she's burning."

In a whisper, the Archivist said:

"One name was called. There are still two.

The room started to splinter.

"You'll have to flee," the Archivist announced. "Truth spreads more quickly than fire."

Kaelen glanced back once before they left the mirror room.

Already, the Archivist began writing once again.

And through the glass behind it, the flames grinned.