The Girl Who Refused the Flame
The Unlit Wing wasn't locked.
It was watched.
Two Sentinels flanked the entrance, their eyes half-masked by iron-veined glass. They didn't speak when Keiran approached. Didn't stop him, either.
Maybe they saw the glyph on his wrist.
Maybe they forgot what they were guarding.
Inside, the light died instantly.
No torches. No runes. Just a corridor of extinguished memory-flames, each sealed in blackened glass.
Dozens.
Hundreds.
Each once belonged to someone who had refused the mark. Or failed it. Or was broken by it.
Their names weren't listed.
Because the flames had already forgotten them.
But one candle still flickered.
Far in the back.
Lys.
Keiran knew it without knowing how. Her presence called to something just beneath his ribs—a warmth that wasn't his. A memory not quite gone.
The candle sat in a cracked sconce. Flickering blue. Barely alive.
He reached for it.
The moment his fingers brushed the wax—
It burned.
Not fire.
But memory.
Not his.
Hers.
She stood alone in a ritual chamber, no older than seventeen.
Her hair was longer. Braided. Her eyes wide—but not with fear.
With anger.
A Warden loomed beside her, brand in hand.
"Say your name," he ordered.
She didn't flinch.
"No."
"Say it, and the flame will take shape."
"I'd rather burn than forget."
Another voice. Soft. Familiar.
Keiran.
He stood just behind her. Younger. Unsure.
Marked already.
"Lys," he said. "It's not as bad as they say. The mark… it helps you forget the pain."
She turned sharply.
"I don't want to forget it."
"Why?"
"Because pain is what proves I'm still me."
The Warden raised the brand.
Lys didn't move.
"Final chance."
"I'd rather carry my scars than your lies."
The flame that formed was unstable.
Refused the ritual.
It lashed back. Burned the Warden's hand.
The mark never sealed.
They called her a Refusal.
Locked her memory in a candle that couldn't hold a shape.
And when they took her away, she looked at Keiran—
"If you ever remember me… don't cry."
"Just light a candle."
"I'll know."
The vision broke.
Keiran gasped, clutching the wall.
The candle still flickered.
But faintly.
So faintly.
He whispered her name.
"Lys."
The flame steadied.
Just for a second.
Then dimmed again.
Behind him, the Sentinels stirred.
They'd forgotten he entered.
They might forget he ever existed.
He looked down at his wrist.
A new mark formed beside the spiral glyph.
One line.
Simple.
Elegant.
But he couldn't read it.
Even his own eyes blurred when he tried.
He left the Unlit Wing in silence.
But he carried her words with him.
"I'd rather carry my scars than your lies."
And they burned deeper than any mark ever could.