Flame Eater's Prayer

Chapter 3 Part 2

The farmhouse creaked long before it came into view.

It stood alone on the rise, a splintered silhouette where paint had long since peeled away. Its roof sagged in the center like a broken spine, and one side of the porch had collapsed entirely, leaving the doorway askew.

Velrona approached first, guiding Raea with one arm while the other hovered loosely by her side—ready. Erlin kept quiet in the back of her mind, watching through borrowed eyes, thoughts as taut as wire.

The crows that Raea had mentioned stirred on the rafters as they came near. A dozen black bodies shifted in uneasy unison, eyeing the three travelers but not fleeing. They weren't afraid. Just… waiting.

Velrona didn't like it.

Inside, the air was dry, the floor brittle beneath their feet. Char lines scarred the wooden walls—not fresh, but not old enough to forget. Symbols had been scorched in ritual patterns: simple ones, the kind even children could draw if told what shape to fear.

"Upstairs," Raea mumbled. "There's a corner room. I used it before."

Velrona took her up slowly, step by step. The staircase protested with every motion, but held.

The room was small, angled beneath a sloped roof. A cracked window let in fading light. A mold-stained mattress lay in the corner.

Velrona laid the girl down, gently.

Then she straightened and closed the door behind them.

She's dying, Erlin whispered.

Not yet.

Burns like that don't just heal.

Velrona approached the window and looked out over the cindered field. Ash clung to the grass like snow that had overstayed its welcome.

"She said something back there," Erlin continued. "About a Chanter. And flame spirits. What are those?"

Velrona folded her arms.

"Fragments. Echoes. When a death is violent enough, sudden enough, and layered in belief, it leaves an impression. Fire just… gives it shape."

You ever do that?

"Never. I used fire to cleanse. Not create."

So this cult… they're not even following your rites properly?

"They're not following them at all."

She turned back toward Raea, who shivered on the mattress, her skin glazed with sweat. Velrona knelt and placed two fingers on the girl's temple.

"Can you speak?"

Raea nodded faintly.

"Good. Tell me everything."

The girl's lips parted slowly.

"They called it a cleansing procession," she whispered. "They came down from the mountain, all dressed in black smoke. The Chanter had no eyes, but she moved like she saw everything. Said the flame would show us who was true."

"True to what?"

"To the returning voice. The woman they said was burned in silence, but never stopped speaking."

Velrona didn't move.

That's you, Erlin said.

Velrona nodded, once.

Raea went on. "They said only the flame could separate lie from flesh. That if we walked the fire, and didn't scream, we'd be remade."

"How many walked?"

"Twenty-eight."

"And how many lived?"

Raea stared at the ceiling.

"…Two."

Velrona sat back on her heels.

"What did they want from you?"

"They wanted our names."

This gave her pause.

"Explain."

"The Chanter said names are the soul's string. That if they could bind our names in flame, we'd belong to the Veil's Will. She marked me after I passed. Branded the spiral. Said I'd hear the trial-saint's voice soon."

"Trial-saint?"

"She meant you, didn't she?"

Velrona rose.

The wind outside had shifted.

She approached the window again and saw movement near the tree-line.

Three figures. Robed. Approaching slow.

Erlin's voice tensed.

They followed her.

Velrona didn't reply.

She turned, crossed to the girl, and leaned close.

"If they come," she whispered, "do not speak. Not even to me."

Raea's eyes fluttered.

Velrona left the room and descended the stairs.

As she stepped out the door and onto the sagging porch, the wind struck her full in the face—smelling now of old incense and fresh ash.

The figures stopped ten paces from the house.

The lead wore a grey-black robe cinched with copper thread. A strip of soot-cloth covered their eyes. No visible weapons. No armor. Just ritual garb.

Velrona spoke first.

"You're far from the pyres."

The lead's voice was female. Low. Melodic. It vibrated slightly, like spoken harmony.

"The flame travels where it's needed."

"You branded a girl," Velrona said flatly. "Scarred her for surviving."

"She passed the first trial," the figure said. "We left her to await the second."

Velrona stepped forward.

"And what's the second?"

The woman lifted her chin.

"To recognize the Saint when she arrives."

A pause.

Then:

"You've arrived."