The First Offering

Zonaar sat cross-legged at the edge of the water, the beast core resting warm in his palms. A single curl of sea breeze drifted across his shoulders, but the chill was gone. All he could feel was the steady pulse of the thing in his hands which was faint, steady, alive.

He closed his eyes and the moment he focused behind his ribs, everything else fell quiet. This time, he didn't just feel it. He saw it.

A curl of blue fire.

Not flickering wildly like last time, this one swayed like a flame caught in slow tide. It hovered inside his chest, just behind his ribs, breathing on its own. Bright, but not blinding. Its edges were layered: pale blue at the core, shifting into deeper indigo. Around it, a thin mist shimmered, like vapour caught between realms.

That's me?

No. That wasn't him. That was it.

The Nirith Flame.

As he reached inwards with his focus, the beast core responded by flaring slightly in his hands. Its energy uncoiled like a string being tugged loose. Raw. Natural and different from anything he'd ever held before.

The flame inside him twitched.

It didn't welcome the energy. It wrapped around itself like a cornered animal.

Then, slowly, a tendril of blue fire reached out, coiling toward the incoming stream. They touched. The reaction was instant.

Zonaar flinched.

The core's energy slammed into him like a wave. Unlike the Agolit crystals, this was beast instinct, crude and unforgiving. It flared once, not out of will but by design, simple and brutal survival. Inside his chest, the flame fought back. It coiled tighter, then snapped outward like a whip. The energy from the beast core pushed, and the flame pushed harder.

Not a fusion but a clash.

Zonaar's whole body jerked. His breath hitched. His hands shook violently as if something inside was tearing itself in two. The flame didn't burn him but it was struggling. Biting down on the wild energy and trying not to be swallowed.

His teeth clenched. He forced himself to stay still. His knees trembled. His stomach twisted.

"Don't break. Not now."

A second wave hit which was hotter and deeper. His vision flared white behind his closed eyes. But then… the flame shifted. It stopped resisting. Instead, it opened like a flower unfolding underwater.

It didn't consume the energy straight away but absorbed it slowly, strand by strand, pulling in the core's wildness and converting it into heat.

Controlled. Careful.

Zonaar's breathing steadied. His hands stopped shaking. The pain was still there, coiled just beneath his ribs, but it was no longer overwhelming. Just… sharp. The flame wasn't larger, just denser. Aware. Like it had accepted its first offering.

Zonaar opened his eyes with sweat running down his temple while he dropped the drained core. The shell of the beast core crumbled, spent.

What was once a glowing core now felt cold and lifeless. The energy had vanished, leaving behind only a hollow husk.

"I saw it," he whispered. "The flame. It's not just heat… it's alive."

Orravia didn't smile. She just looked at him for a moment longer. Then spoke quietly.

"Good. That means it's chosen to survive."

Zonaar wiped the sweat from his brow. "You mean me?"

"No."

She stood, brushing sand from her sleeve. "I mean it."

There was no warmth in her tone. Just observation.

"You're not the master of it, Zonaar. Not yet. That flame is a sacred thing that remembers how it was born, what it once burned for. If you want to carry it, you need to become something it trusts."

Zonaar looked at his hands again. They weren't trembling now, but they didn't feel steady either. 

"So what now?" he asked.

Orravia nodded towards the sea. "Now you go again without any beast core or any crutches. Stand in the water. Feel the pressure. And see if it answers you back."

Zonaar's legs still ached, but he didn't hesitate. He walked back into the water but much slower this time, more aware of every step with a steady flame behind his ribs, and the sea curling around his waist like a cold warning.

He stood still.

The waves slapped against him harder today. The tide had risen, and so had the weight of everything inside him. He shut his eyes and reached inwards again. He drew a breath. Not with his lungs but with his flame this time.

The heat stirred, faint and slow, like an eye cracking open.

Zonaar didn't push this time. He let the water press against his body while the flame pressed from within. The balance was thin and tense.

Minutes passed. The cold numbed his legs. A cramp started to build in his side. His shoulders shook. But he didn't leave.

A flicker which turned to a pulse. Small and faint. But it was real. The flame answered.

His eyes opened, and the world looked sharper for half a second. The tide pulled at him, but he stayed firm.

From the shore, Orravia said nothing. Just stood with arms crossed, her hair moving with the wind.

When Zonaar finally stumbled back out, dripping and pale, Mira rushed forward with a towel that smelled like dried kelp and salt.

"You're going to freeze yourself dumb," she said, scowling as she wrapped it around him.

"Already dumb," he muttered back.

She snorted. "Yeah, well. Dumb with fire now, I guess."

He managed the smallest grin.

Orravia glanced at the tide, then back at him. "Your flame responded. That means your body is finally starting to hold it. Tomorrow, we train your breath."

Zonaar frowned. "I thought I was already doing that."

"You were surviving," she said. "Now you'll learn to use it."

She turned away without explaining further, already heading back towards the house. Mira gave him a look.

"Do you ever get the feeling she's being vague on purpose?"

Zonaar wiped his face with the edge of the towel. "You just figured that out?"

Mira rolled her eyes and followed after the goddess. Zonaar stayed a few seconds longer, staring at the water like it owed him something. Then he limped back across the shore.

The night was colder than before. The wind had picked up, and Orravia didn't light the house this time. She just sat by the open door, quiet, watching the stars over the waves.

Zonaar lay on his mat, staring at the ceiling, the ache in his ribs was dull but constant. His chest still carried the heat. Mira was already curled up on the other side, asleep. He didn't sleep right away.

✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧

The Nym'vahl lay far beneath the sea but the surface world hadn't forgotten about Zonaar.

Somewhere beyond the reef lines, on a battered cliffside dock where fishing boats swayed in tired loops, the Lanternhook Tavern lit its first lamps. The air smelled of brine and bad rum. Salt crusted the tables. A gull perched on the broken sign outside, picking at the remains of something once living.

Inside, the mood was quieter than usual. A son had been beaten to death. No one said it, but everyone felt it.

The boy was gone. Vanished after the killing. And they all knew why.

The door creaked open. Wind pushed in.

Lord Hanir stepped through like the storm had followed him. His cloak dragged seawater. His boots left black marks on the wood. And his face which was once noble, now was worn by sleepless rage that turned the room colder just by looking.

He didn't wait. Walked straight to the bounty wall near the back. Pulled down a wanted poster that had some petty thief's name on it, crumpled it, and slapped a fresh sheet in its place.

The sound of nails being hammered echoed louder than it should have. A new bounty. No name, just a crude sketch. Sharp jaw. Messy hair. Blank eyes. Just enough detail to send a chill.

"Triple pay," Lord Hanir said, loud enough for every drunk and shadow to hear. "Dead or barely breathing."

Someone at the counter cleared their throat. "What's he wanted for?"

Hanir turned, slow and venomous. "He took my son."

His hand hovered near the hilt of his blade.

"Now I take something back."

No one asked more questions.

But a hooded figure at the far end of the tavern leaned forward, looking at the sketch just a second too long smiled but not kindly. Like a man who'd already made up his mind."

✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧