Chapter 7: Whispers From The Ash

The cottage had never felt smaller.

Aeris sat near the hearth, arms wrapped around her knees, the fire's glow painting soft gold over her skin. The silence was thick, not comforting — not tonight.

The sigil on her palm still flickered faintly. The shape of a star, laced with curves of ancient script that didn't belong in this world. Not her world, anyway.

But maybe that had never truly been hers.

She pressed her palm flat to her chest, as if that could keep it from glowing. As if it could keep everything inside.

Behind her, a floorboard creaked.

Maela stepped in from the shadows, cloak draped around her shoulders. Her boots were still dusted with ash from the old temple path, her mouth set in a line so tight it hurt to look at.

"You should be resting," Maela said quietly.

"So should you," Aeris murmured.

Neither moved.

Then Aeris said, not quite above a whisper, "Why now?"

Maela didn't answer.

"I've been alive for twenty-two years. You warned me to hide. I did. You said I wasn't like the others. You were right."

Aeris looked down at the glowing sigil.

"But you never told me why."

Maela's shoulders slumped — not from exhaustion, but from the weight of what she'd kept buried.

"I told you enough," she said.

"No. You told me just enough to keep me quiet," Aeris replied, standing slowly. "Not to understand."

Maela didn't speak.

"I want to know the truth," Aeris said firmly. "All of it."

They sat by the fire, facing each other like strangers.

Maela's face had never looked older.

"There was a seal," she said. "On your power. A spell cast the night your mother died. I placed it myself."

Aeris's chest tightened. "You sealed my magic?"

"To protect you."

Maela's voice didn't shake — it burned.

"You were born of prophecy. Your light was too bright. If you had flared even once, Talien would have known."

That name again. Aeris had heard it once before, spoken like a curse. But now it settled into her bones.

"Who is he?" Aeris asked. "What does he want from me?"

Maela's jaw clenched. Then, finally:

"He's the one who betrayed Seraphina. Your mother. He loved her in a way that was twisted — possessive, proud. When she chose love over power, he turned on her."

Aeris couldn't breathe.

"She fled the palace the night he raised his blade," Maela continued. "I helped her escape. I watched her burn everything she built just to keep you safe."

The fire cracked between them.

"She died so you could live," Maela whispered.

Silence filled the room — vast, bitter.

"I remember nothing," Aeris said. "No lullaby. No scent. No warmth."

Maela's gaze dropped.

"I was meant to give you a new life," she said. "Not one drenched in ash and legacy. But the stars… they don't forget."

Aeris opened her hand, revealing the mark. "And now this."

Maela nodded. "It's not just a sigil. It's a summons. Your blood has answered it."

Aeris's voice shook. "You should've told me."

"I wanted you to have a choice," Maela said. "But time's run out. The moment you used your magic to save that boy, the shadows moved. Talien knows you live."

Aeris swallowed. "And he'll come?"

Maela's eyes turned cold. "He already watches."

Later that night, Aeris slipped outside. The sky above was deep and infinite, stars crowding the darkness like witnesses.

She stood by the edge of the cottage, hands clenched at her sides.

She didn't hear Mira until she spoke.

"Hard to sleep, huh?"

Aeris turned to find her friend perched on the low stone wall, cloak wrapped tight, boots muddy from climbing the hill.

"I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't," Mira said, shrugging. "Besides. That thing on your hand glows like a beacon. We might need to put a sock on it."

Despite herself, Aeris smiled faintly.

But Mira's eyes sharpened. "She told you."

Aeris sat beside her. "Everything."

"You okay?"

"No." A pause. "But I will be."

They sat in silence for a while.

Then Mira said, "You saved my brother. You didn't have to. But you did. That's the only truth that matters to me."

Aeris looked down. "You never told me about your village. About where you came from."

Mira's gaze turned distant.

"There's not much to tell," she said. "I was raised at a temple once. Not a grand one — just a crumbling stone hall in the cliffs of Evarin. They took in orphaned girls. Trained us to listen for magic. To fear it."

Aeris blinked. "Then why did you run?"

Mira hesitated. Then: "Because one night, a girl's powers stirred. She lit a candle just by crying. The temple turned her over to the Black Cloaks before sunrise. They called it mercy. I called it betrayal."

Her voice dropped.

"I left that same night. Never looked back."

Aeris's chest tightened.

"And now you've found another cursed girl," she said quietly.

"No," Mira replied. "I found a queen who hasn't figured out how to stand yet."

Far across the desert, beneath a pale half-moon, the warband rode through wind and silence.

They'd stopped at a border village outside Tharne Hollow — a quiet settlement hugging the cliffs, forgotten by most maps.

Kael stood near the edge of the well, watching the shadowed ridge.

Riven sat against the ruined stable wall, his cloak loose at the shoulders, boots still dusty from the road. The wound across his ribs had healed — mostly. But something deeper still lingered in him.

He was staring at his hand.

Kael approached, quiet as ever, dropping a waterskin beside him.

"You haven't slept in days."

"I dream," Riven replied. "Even when I don't want to."

Kael followed his gaze — to the faint glow just beneath Riven's skin. The mark had reappeared last night, when the stars aligned.

"You think it's her?" Kael asked.

"I know it is."

Kael lowered his voice. "You're too calm about it."

"I'm not calm," Riven murmured. "I'm focused."

A pause.

"She's somewhere near Tharne Hollow," Riven continued. "I felt the magic pull again last night."

Syrina approached from the shadows, arms folded, her tone cool. "And what then? If you find her? What do you plan to do — crown her?"

Riven looked up slowly. "She's not a symbol. She's a person."

Syrina scowled. "You're risking everything for a dream."

Kael's jaw flexed. "She's more than that. The mark on him proves it."

Syrina didn't reply. But she turned away sharply, her silence louder than words.

Riven stood, eyes scanning the horizon.

"There's an old priest here," he said. "In Tharne Hollow. One who still speaks the ancient tongues. If anyone knows what this connection means, it's him."

Kael nodded. "Then we se

e him at dawn."

Riven didn't answer. He looked down at his palm again.

The light there pulsed faintly — not painful. Just present. Alive.

He whispered:

 "Not just fate.

Not just fire.

Her."