Smoldering Names

Chapter 3

Part 4

The river's edge was silent—its surface a mirror of gray, pressed flat by overhanging ash clouds. Velrona led Erlin at a steady pace, the freshly healed girl's strands safely tucked under his cloak. Their progress felt steady until the wind shifted, carrying the faint rasp of approaching footsteps over loose stone.

Erlin froze mid-step.

Someone's coming, he warned.

Velrona nodded.

They pressed into the reeds—parting blade-tall grass with careful steps.

Three figures emerged from the trees beyond the river's bend. She recognized them from the farmhouse—embers of the flame cult, robed but more casual now. No copper trim—this was a hunting party, not ritual priests.

The lead carried a long staff barbed at the end. The others held curved knives.

Velrona's heart tuned to them with practiced clarity. No hesitation.

They're not here for me, she said softly. They want him—Erlin. The kid who survived the trial.

Then we tell them a different story.

Velrona stepped forward, body relaxed but commanding.

"Why follow us?" she asked, voice flat.

The staff-bearer took a step onto the riverbank.

"We heard the flame reflected truth," she began. "Not everyone was ready to believe the Saint had returned."

Velrona didn't respond.

She let the silence press.

Another step—all three edged closer.

The woman continued, "You carry her power. We need to know—whose side are you on?"

Velrona looked to Erlin. He stayed quiet, nape tense.

Ready if needed, she assured him silently.

Then she turned back to them.

"My side," she said, "is fact. Ash remembers. Water heals. Flame lies."

The lead woman hesitated, holding the staff upright.

"Flame doesn't lie," she whispered.

"Flame reveals. Sometimes truth is ugly."

The tension snapped.

In an instant, the three attacked.

Stones kicked up. Ash fled from displaced reeds.

Velrona sidestepped, collaring the axe-like staff and snapping it aside with a flick of balance. The woman spun with practiced skill, blade aimed at Velrona's thigh.

Velrona dropped to low crouch, drove forward, and grabbed the wrist. Metal scraped against her bones as she yanked the blade from the woman's hand and cracked knuckles into the back of her elbow.

Erlin held his breath but didn't move. His body followed naturally—arms shifting as Velrona redirected her assailant toward the reeds.

A knife slashed from the flank—swift, shallow. Velrona blocked with the staff's shaft, but the blow rang across her forearm.

She twisted, stepped in, and kicked the man's knee from under him. He collapsed, blade skidding away.

The third attacker lunged at Erlin from behind.

Sharp metal passed wood. Velrona pivoted, arm extended, drawing a straight spiritual pulse from the Draw she had just unlocked.

System Activation: Flame Reflection

A breath of heat pulsed through Erlin's flesh.

The blade paused mid-air, coated in flame-sheen, as the reflected heat clawed at the attacker's hand. He recoiled, skin blistering instantly.

Velrona seized the moment. One-step, wrist lock, elbow strike, and he dropped.

Erlin watched from inside, body panting, as Velrona took control fully—she moved them with precision, grace, lethal intent.

When it ended, two lay groaning; the lead stood shocked at the edge of the reeds.

Velrona approached with slow authority.

"Tell your Choir—Erlin walks with me."

She placed a palm on the lead's chest.

Flames shimmered between them.

System Record: Flame Reflection used – Encounter resolved.

The lead stumbled back, burning press into her eyes.

Velrona stepped aside.

"They will heal," she said. "Maybe learn."

Erlin coughed, regaining control in ragged breaths.

We… they explode my face next time maybe.

Velrona knelt beside him.

"Survival is ours. Not theirs."

He pressed a hand to his wound which bled faintly, cut by broken steel and grit.

"Aren't you worried?" he asked quietly, watching Velrona's calm.

"Only about keeping you alive."

He looked at her. Then shook his head.

I thought you were cold.

She traced a shallow line on his cheekbone.

I'm not dead.

He closed his eyes.

They returned to the river's shallow crossing.

Velrona washed the attackers' knives and staff in cold current—neutralizing ceremonial heat, erasing blood and ritual ash.

They walked forward—two silhouettes in the pale dawn.

No words.

But the bond shivered between them—made stronger by trust, by shared skin and internal promise.