Flame Eater's Prayer,Second

Chapter 3 Part 3

"You've arrived."

The statement rang like a bell through the twilight. Velrona's heart—hosted in flesh that wasn't hers—held still.

Looks like your mess has an official envoy, Erlin said quietly.

Just… hold position.

She shifted to retrieve the girl's satchel and a length of rope from the porch. The robed figures remained static, silent except for the crackle of burnt grass under their feet.

The lead woman took a step forward.

"Raea," she called softly, emphasizing the girl's name as though it held power. "Your second trial awaits."

Raea whimpered from inside the house. Velrona could almost see her heart turning over in her chest.

Velrona stepped in front of her. Erlin's body flared with reluctance—a surge in the tether threads.

"Trial charisma isn't part of the deal," Velrona told the intruders. Her voice was firm—directed both at them and toward the System ringing through her mind.

The woman didn't retreat.

"Where is she?" Velrona demanded.

"Inside," the second figure whispered, voice soaked in ritual calm.

Velrona dropped the rope across the porch floor and walked forward. "Then she stays."

The three acolytes halted.

"Whatever you want from her," Velrona continued, "you'll do through me."

A moment of tense silence.

Then the lead knelt—copper thread falling against scorched fabric. "We seek entry to the flame's truth."

"You already know it," Velrona said. "And you burned a child alive for it."

The lead hesitated. "She walked the first trial. That is truth."

Velrona's pulse quickened. The System pinged: opportunity.

She inhaled deeply.

"Very well."

In the next stretch of evening, the three followed her down to the front room. They bowed as she entered, their movements like smoke drifting in a breeze.

Inside, Velrona laid out patchwork cloths and water. The air remained heavy with burned pollen and fear.

Raea was curled beneath a blanket, staring at the door. Her breath was shallow, but steady.

Velrona cleared her throat.

"You want flame-truth," she said. "You'll see it."

She set the copper-wrapped rope on the bench.

"Make a circle," she instructed the acolytes. "One step in. One step out. No chanting until I say."

They obeyed. Their silence was near reverent.

Velrona knelt beside the sleeping girl.

"Raea," she whispered. "You need water."

Raea's eyelids fluttered. When she opened them, they focused on Velrona's face—fear mingled with desperate trust.

She drank and sighed, wetting her cracked lips.

Velrona turned her gaze to the acolytes.

"Your trials are not about pain," she said. "Truth isn't built on screams. It's built on choice."

They remained silent.

She folded the rope into coils and walked toward the single unconscious candle on the table.

"In the old days," she began—using her voice fully, not Erlin's tone, resonant with practiced calm—"flame was the canvas of intentions. It reflected not wounds, but the shape of will. A soul's direction."

One acolyte stirred—steam curling off her breath as she advanced. She knelt and held Velrona's gaze.

"Show us."

Velrona nodded.

System prompt: Use current draw?

She closed her eyes, reaching inward.

Not to the System—but to something separate: her memory—her identity.

She whispered a phrase from a Veil rite:

"Hear the spark. Know its maker."

The candle flickered.

The flame shaped itself suddenly, like whispered silk. It moved—not up, but out, creating a living silhouette: a small girl's face, pale, grieving, open-mouthed in a silent plea.

Raea gasped awake.

The acolytes winced, stepping back.

Velrona opened her eyes.

"The flame doesn't lie," she said. "It doesn't punish. It reveals."

System: Permanent Draw acquired – Flame Reflection (see memory through fire)

The candle sputtered.

Raea stared at the image—her own face in flames.

"Is that… me?"

"Yes," Velrona nodded. "That was your trial-silence, and the scream after. Your truth burned, but did not stop."

Raea closed her eyes.

Velrona addressed the acolytes. "You wanted flame-truth. Now you see it."

The lead remains kneeling, her soot-cloth now lowered to reveal tear-streaked skin.

They looked beaten.

Velrona let the moment stretch.

Then she said, "Leave her. All of you. Let her recover."

The acolytes glanced between them, unsettled.

Finally, the lead stood.

She bowed her head to Velrona.

"We will not harm her," she whispered. "And we will tell our Order the truth of what you showed."

Velrona rose.

She nodded at Raea and turned toward the others.

The woman turned once.

Then, without a word, they left.

Velrona closed the door quietly. The room fell silent again. The candle guttered.

She remained still.

Erlin's voice whispered behind her ribs.

That was more than spa treatment.

She needed it.

Velrona looked down at Raea, who curled into a ball on the mattress.

Velrona stayed with the girl until the candle burned out. She dipped cloths in water, laid them gently on the girl's burns, humming softly—no cult song, no chant—just a low tone that felt like a prayer without god.

When Raea stirred and opened her eyes, they were calmer.

"What happens now?" she asked.

Velrona sat beside her.

"You go home. You heal. You remember the truth."

Raea nodded.

Velrona stood.

To the acolytes, the church would return with a report—they expected flame-truth, but found mercy.

The girl nodded.

Velrona turned toward the door.

"Thank you," Raea said.

Velrona paused.

Then she said, "No thanks needed."

They left before dawn.

Erlin's steps were slow—nursed, mindful. They passed charred homesteads that glittered under early light. Crows drifted overhead but did not follow.

At the fork in the road, Velrona paused.

You want a gift? she asked.

Now would be good, he said.

She reached into her cloak and drew a small bag.

"Your life," she said. She set it in his hand.

He frowned when he saw the contents: a handful of healed strands—golden-brown hair from Raea that Velrona carefully cut.

"Memory lock," she said. "Bind your victory. So this stay with you."

He pocketed it without speaking.

As they full-stepped away from the farmhouse, Velrona looked back once.

She could feel the flame-cult gathering in the distance—a broken shape of regret and fever, moving like a horizon of smoke.

And in the wind, she heard the flutter of something tearing free.