Fire Marks The Path
Chapter 3
Part 6
"Lyria's not moving much," Erlin said softly.
Velrona paused on a cracked stone marker. She pulled a pocketknifed shard of obsidian—a fragment from her old cult's scripts—and carved a spiral at the road's edge. It was the symbol burned into Raea and woven into Lyria's ceremony, but drawn here on stone.
What are you doing? Erlin asked, watching.
Leaving a message this time, she replied.
"A sign will teach them," she said, more to the wind than to him. "They claimed my name. They performed my rites. They branded children."
They were silent for a moment, punctuated only by the soft rustle of wind-agitated grass.
Velrona knelt and traced the spiral with her finger. Then she spat once—smoke from her mouth curling in the air.
Not burning it, Erlin noted.
No need. They'll know. She stood and brushed grit from her cloak. "They'll find it in the morning. It'll be on their maps, their roads. They'll know I was here."
Erlin exhaled. "Lethal breadcrumbs."
She arched an eyebrow. "Not lethal. Intentional."
He swallowed. "What now?"
Velrona walked forward, pointing east. "We keep walking."
He followed, uneasy.
They didn't speak until the path ended at a low ridge overlooking a charred forest. The trees were blunt spikes thrusting up from the ground—centuries of fire, all standing still in forgiveness.
"A legend's smoke," Velrona murmured.
Erlin absorbed the sight. "You really plan to walk to Ythara's ruin?"
Yes.
He nodded slowly. "We do it together?"
Yes.
They spent that evening camped in a collapsed kiln just below the ridge. Splintered bricks formed a dark cradle around them. They lit a small fire – contained and calm, with no chanting or flourishes. Velrona roasted modest roots; Erlin gathered dry kindling.
They spoke little.
When night fully descended, Velrona finally asked, "What do you think will happen in Ythara's stronghold?"
Erlin shrugged, staring into the fire. "Fear, mostly. They'll expect me to be broken. They'll assume I tell their acolytes you're gone."
Velrona nodded. "They'll face themselves instead."
He looked surprised. "That's… hopeful."
She didn't smile. "We'll carry that forward."
The next morning, they walked out of the kiln site and turned the corner into full morning light.
The burned forest ended in a small clearing. In its center stood a stone dais—a ruined gathering space—once used for fire sermons. Now, the stones were dark from soot, but unbroken. A place of memory.
Velrona stopped, standing on the dais. She closed her eyes and lifted her arms.
System prompt: Use Final Draw?
She thought for a moment.
Not yet.
She reached down and placed both hands on the stone floor.
"Let the flames remember their truth," she said.
She didn't chant. She didn't cast. She only whispered, quietly, "I am not their martyr. I am not their martyrdom."
The wind stirred.
The air shook with heat—not from fire, but from intent.
Behind them, Erlin cleared his throat.
They're watching, he said quietly.
Velrona opened her eyes.
Far off, three figures bobbed along the forest's edge—guards, no doubt, coming to investigate the carved spiral.
She turned forward, away from them, toward the east where the path continued.
Will they come? he asked.
Let them, she answered. They'll find a new truth waiting.
They walked off the dais together, side by side.
Raea's later face flashed in Velrona's mind—the girl who stared at smoke and survived.
Erlin hesitated, then said, "I don't know how much farther I can go."
Velrona's gaze softened. "Then this is yours too—step by step. You named this body again. Make it yours."
He nodded, expression raw but steady.
They moved eastward, toward the land where legends burned—and where truth would be reborn.
(End of chapter 3)