Kindling the Flame

  After their return, the corridors of Lux Arcana were hushed. Outside, the sea crashed relentlessly against the cliffs, echoing the unrest that still pulsed beneath the surface.

  Elysia stirred beneath the soft blankets of their shared suite. The firelight danced on the walls, gentle and warm, and for the first time in days, she didn’t feel the weight of her bones pulling her under. Sleep had helped. The pain had receded into an ember, no longer threatening to consume her.

  She sat up slowly, stretching her limbs and touching her chest, where the echoes of the weapon’s drain had once clung. Her fire flickered within her—not roaring, but steady. Controlled.

  Across the room, Ronan lay on the chaise lounge near the hearth, still wrapped in blankets. His eyes were closed, and his brow was faintly furrowed. He hadn’t stirred in hours. His breathing was shallow but even, and his skin was still too pale.

  Elysia stood and crossed to him, kneeling by his side. She reached for his hand and held it between both of hers. His fingers twitched slightly at her touch.

  “You’re still cold,” she whispered.

  His amber eyes fluttered open just slightly. “I’m fine,” he rasped.

  “You’re a terrible liar.”

  Ronan gave a weak smirk. “You always say that.”

  “You always are.” She brushed his hair back from his forehead and studied his face. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, though he’d barely moved since they returned. “Why aren’t you healing?”

  Ronan’s voice was faint. “The weapon... it didn’t just drain my energy. It took something deeper. Tapped into something old—something tied to all our past lives. I feel like I’ve been... unraveled.”

  Elysia’s heart ached. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against his. “Then we’ll knit you back together. Thread by thread.”

  He closed his eyes, and they breathed together for a moment.

  “I need you to be okay,” she whispered. “Not because I can’t do this without you... but because I don’t want to.”

  “I’ll come back to you,” he said. “I always do.”

  She kissed his hand and rose, summoning a small flame between her palms. It hovered there, steady and warm, then sank into his skin like a thread of light.

  He sighed as the warmth took hold, his muscles relaxing, his breath deepening.

  It wasn’t much.

  But it was a start.

  And soon, the fire would rise again.

  A Wound That Wouldn’t Heal

  The corridors of the Lux Arcana were quieter than usual. Whispers followed Elysia as she walked, the hem of her dress brushing the polished stone floors. She moved with purpose, her jaw set, her eyes burning with concern.

  Ronan wasn’t healing.

  The gash across his ribs—inflicted during their encounter near the Vault of Cinders—should have closed days ago. But instead, it remained red, raw, and angry. The usual treatments had done nothing. Salves, spells, even ancient rites whispered by the oldest healers—none had worked.

  Elysia pushed open the door to the healing chamber, where Ronan lay resting, his breathing shallow. A soft glow from the enchanted sconces bathed him in gold, but he looked pale and drained, unlike the man who stood unshaken on battlefields.

  The lead healer, a silver-haired woman named Meriel, looked up from a tray of tinctures as Elysia entered.

  “Well?” Elysia asked, her voice sharper than she intended.

  Meriel shook her head. “We’ve never seen anything like it. Whatever wounded him—it’s resisting magic. It’s not natural.”

  Elysia moved to Ronan’s side, brushing a hand over his sweat-dampened brow. “Could it be cursed?”

  “Perhaps,” Meriel said. “But the usual signs aren’t present. It’s like the wound refuses to be touched by time, as if something deeper is anchoring it in place.”

  Elysia’s gaze darkened. “The weapon from the Vault.”

  Meriel hesitated. “We don’t even know what it was. No one saw it clearly—just that flash of obsidian steel and unnatural fire.”

  Elysia clenched her fists. The Vault of Cinders had always been a mystery. It had bled into their reality, leaving Ronan broken in its wake.

  “I need to know what that weapon was,” she said quietly. “I need to know who or what did this.”

  Meriel met her gaze solemnly. “Then you’ll need to go back to the Vault. Because nothing in our records comes close to this.”

  Elysia nodded, rising slowly. She looked down at Ronan, his features twisted in uneasy dreams. “I won’t let it end like this.”

  The healers couldn’t save him. But maybe—just maybe—Elysia could.

  The Truth in Shadows

  Cassian stood in the quiet chamber beneath the eastern wing of the Lux Arcana, the air around him cool and still. It was here, far from the noise of the upper halls, that he had asked Selyne to meet him. She had answered his summons without question, though her eyes held the guarded expression she always wore when truth threatened comfort.

  He didn’t waste time. “Ronan’s not healing. The wound from the Vault—it’s resisting everything. I need answers, Selyne. Real ones.”

  Selyne exhaled slowly, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re not going to like them.”

  “I never do,” he said, voice tight.

  She hesitated as if weighing centuries of secrets. “The weapon that struck Ronan… it was from abyssal magic. It was forged in the inner sanctum of the Vault from cinders born of living flame and tempered with shadow.

  It’s called the Voidpyre.”

  Cassian narrowed his eyes. “Why haven’t I heard of it?”

  “Because it was erased,” Selyne replied. “On purpose. Only the High Circle knew it still existed. The Voidpyre was designed as a binding weapon—one that severs the soul’s connection to the body. Slowly. Painfully. Ronan’s body can’t heal because the flame still burns in the spiritual tether beneath the wound.”

  Cassian’s blood ran cold. “So you’re saying he’s being unmade.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Bit by bit.”

  He looked away, jaw clenched. “And how do we stop it?”

  Selyne stepped forward, lowering her voice. “We’re lucky. The Voidpyre was meant to destroy completely, but something interfered—Elysia.”

  Cassian’s head snapped toward her. “What do you mean?”

  “She was there, right beside him when it happened. Her presence, her flame—it’s ancient, Cassian. Older than even she understands. It reacted when the Voidpyre struck. Somehow, it shielded her. The wound couldn’t touch her spirit.”

  Cassian took a step closer, his mind already racing. “So she’s immune.”

  “Yes. And more than that… she might be the key to stopping the Voidpyre’s curse. If her flame can resist it, it might be able to purge it.”

  Silence pulsed between them, the weight of what had been revealed settling heavily over Cassian.

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  He finally spoke, voice low. “Then we’re out of time. Elysia needs to know. Now.”

  Selyne nodded. “She deserves the truth. And Ronan… he deserves a chance to survive.”

  Without another word, Cassian turned and strode from the chamber, the urgency of purpose burning behind his eyes. If there was even a sliver of hope left—Elysia was it.

  The Flame and the Void

  Cassian found Elysia in the gardens behind the Lux Arcana, standing among the moonlit blossoms, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. The scent of night-blooming flowers drifted in the air, mingling with the faint hum of residual magic in the stones beneath their feet. Her hair shimmered like living flame beneath the starlight, the restless energy beneath her skin barely contained.

  He didn’t speak at first. He walked until he stood beside Elysia, letting the silence bloom between them like the flowers at their feet.

  “It’s called the Voidpyre,” he said quietly, his voice almost lost to the rustling leaves.

  Elysia turned, tension coiling in her shoulders. “The weapon that struck Ronan?”

  Cassian nodded, his face solemn. “Its true name is Emberfang. But the flame it releases—what’s inside it—is the Voidpyre. A corrupted fire. It doesn’t burn the body. It unravels the soul, slowly and deliberately. It severs the link between spirit and flesh until there’s nothing left to heal.”

  Her heart pounded in her chest. “So it’s killing him, not through blood or bone—but through what he is.”

  “Yes,” Cassian said. “And that’s why nothing we’ve done has worked. Because we’ve been trying to fix his body, when it’s his spirit that’s unraveling.”

  Elysia swallowed hard. “Then how do we fight something like that?”

  Cassian’s eyes searched hers. “That’s why I came to find you.”

  She frowned, uncertain. “Why me?”

  “You were there when it happened,” he said. “Close enough to be struck, close enough to burn—but you didn’t. The Voidpyre passed through you.”

  “I felt it,” she whispered. “Like ice and flame crawling over my skin. But it didn’t hurt me.”

  “Exactly,” Cassian said, his tone sharpening. “It couldn’t touch you. Selyne believes your flame—whatever it truly is—is ancient. Older than the Vault. It didn’t just resist the Voidpyre. It rejected it.”

  Elysia stared at him, the implications sinking in. “So you think… I’m immune.”

  He nodded. “More than that. You may be the only one who can fight it. The only one whose flame can push back against that kind of darkness.”

  She stepped back, breath catching in her throat. “You think I can heal him?”

  Cassian softened but didn’t waver. “I think you’re the only one who can reach him. This isn’t a physical illness. It’s something deeper. Older. And it’s trying to pull him away.”

  Elysia turned her gaze to the sky, the stars above swimming in a blur of fear and sudden, overwhelming hope. “What if I try… and I fail?”

  Cassian stepped forward, his voice steady. “Then nothing changes. But if you succeed… you could bring him back. All the way back.”

  Her heart thundered, fire whispering along her fingertips. There was still a chance—a dangerous, fragile hope.

  She turned toward him, resolve hardening in her eyes. “Then take me to him.”

  Cassian nodded once. “Prepare yourself. This won’t be easy.”

  Elysia exhaled, her fire steady now. “It doesn’t have to be easy. It just has to be possible.”

  Firelight and Faith

  The healing sanctum beneath the Lux Arcana pulsed with ancient magic, its walls etched with glowing runes that shimmered softly in the low candlelight. Elysia stood in the center of the room, her arms folded tightly, the quiet buzz of nerves prickling along her skin.

  The head healer, Meriel, a woman with steel-gray hair and eyes sharp with wisdom, approached her with a calm but serious expression.

  “You’re certain about this?” Meriel asked.

  Elysia nodded. “Cassian says I’m the only one who can reach him. So I will.”

  Meriel studied her a moment longer, then gave a single nod. “Very well. Then you need to understand what you’re about to do. This is not traditional healing. What’s afflicting him is not just physical—it’s a soul-wound. The Voidpyre frays the tether between life and essence. If you are to reach him, it must be through connection, not force.”

  “I’m listening,” Elysia said, standing straighter.

  “You’ll need to ground your flame. Not let it lash out, but let it hold—steady, warm, enduring. Your energy must wrap around his, encouraging the spirit to root itself again. If you overwhelm him, it could break what little still binds him here.”

  Elysia swallowed hard. “And how do I know it’s working?”

  Meriel motioned for her to follow and led her toward a small basin filled with water and starlight. “There will be signs. His breathing will deepen. His skin will warm. The wound will begin to lose its unnatural edge. You might even feel him respond—his spirit reaching for yours.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  “Then the Voidpyre may have taken too much,” Meriel said gently. “But don’t assume defeat too quickly. Soul healing is not like mending flesh. It takes time, and presence. He will need your voice, your memories, your flame—not as a weapon, but as a promise.”

  Elysia touched the basin’s edge, watching as images flickered across its surface—Ronan, laughing beside her in the training yard—Ronan, standing tall against a storm. Ronan, wounded and still.

  “Talk to him,” Meriel continued. “Remind him of who he is. Who he is to you. The Voidpyre strips away identity. Anchor him with yours.”

  Elysia looked up, fire flickering in her eyes. “I can do that.”

  Meriel smiled, faint and fierce. “Then you’re already halfway there.”

  Through Fire, We Mend

  The days that followed moved slowly, wrapped in the hush of recovery and the golden light of early spring mornings that filtered through the tall windows of Ronan’s room.

  Elysia sat beside his bed, her hand wrapped gently around his. The room held its breath, filled only with the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing. He remained unconscious, his face pale, his body still—but not lifeless.

  Not anymore.

  She had felt nothing the first time she reached for him with her flame. No shift. No spark. Just silence—and the cold weight of helplessness settling like a stone in her chest.

  But she hadn’t stopped.

  Everyday, she returned. She whispered stories into the stillness. Tales of battles, foolish misadventures, and childhood memories she hadn’t shared with anyone before. Sometimes, she sang—quiet, wordless melodies that wove through the shadows like threads of light.

  When she pressed her hand gently over the wound on his ribs, it wasn’t the searing fire of destruction she called on. The gentler warmth, the flickering hope that first stirred when she realized she loved him. A flame born of care. Of connection.

  The process was slow. Agonizing. Elysia doubted herself at every turn.

  But on the fifth day, something changed.

  She felt it—faint, almost imperceptible. A flicker beneath her fingers, not born of her flame but Ronan’s. A spark. A breath drawn in the dark.

  By the seventh day, the wound began to shift. The angry, festering red dulled to crimson, and slowly, it softened to pink. His skin began to knit together—not from any healer’s intervention, but with the quiet resolve of life refusing to let go.

  Elysia barely slept. She refused to eat unless someone brought her food. Her world narrowed to the space beside his bed, to the shape of his hand in hers, to the heartbeat she counted with every hour that passed.

  Sometimes, she cried—softly, when the pressure inside grew too great to contain.

  Sometimes, she laughed—remembering how he teased her mercilessly about hoarding pastries or the scowl he wore when forced into formal attire.

  And sometimes, she said nothing at all. She just held on.

  On the twelfth day, his fingers twitched.

  Her breath caught. She rose halfway from her chair, her heart slamming against her ribs.

  Ronan’s lips parted. A shallow breath escaped, rough and barely audible.

  “...Elysia?”

  Tears sprang to her eyes, hot and uncontrollable. She cupped his face and pressed her forehead gently to his.

  “I’m here,” she whispered. “I never left.”

  His eyes fluttered open, clouded and dazed for a moment—but alive.

  “I knew you’d come back to me,” she said, trembling.

  And though his muscles barely responded, he smiled. Just enough.

  It would still take days, maybe weeks, before his strength fully returned.

  The ember of the Voidpyre still lingered—its mark etched deep in his soul—but it no longer ruled him.

  Elysia had burned it out, not with violence or vengeance, but with persistence.

  With love.

  She had lit a fire the darkness couldn’t consume.

  In The Quiet Between Battles

  The days that followed moved slowly, wrapped in the hush of recovery and the golden light of early spring mornings that filtered through the tall windows of their room.

  Elysia remained at his side.

  Not because she had to.

  Because she wanted to.

  Ronan grew stronger with each passing day, his color returning, his voice losing the rasp it had carried when he first awoke. The wound that had once burned like a cursed brand was now a faded scar along his ribs. But healing didn’t stop with the body—it was in the laughter they shared, the conversations that stretched into the late evening, and the small, vulnerable moments that passed between them like whispers.

  Sometimes, they sat silently, content to exist in the same space. No words were needed. Elysia’s presence was enough.

  Other times, they talked for hours—about things that had nothing to do with prophecies or war.

  “I used to climb the cliffs near my village,” Elysia said one morning, her fingers absently tracing shapes across the blanket as she lay beside him.

  “Even before I knew what I was, I could feel fire in my veins. It scared people. I think it scared me, too.”

  Ronan smiled, watching how the sunlight caught the copper in her hair.

  “You? Scared?”

  “Only of myself,” she said with a soft laugh. “Everyone thought I was cursed. Dangerous. I started to believe them.”

  “You’re not cursed,” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

  “You’re just more than they could understand.”

  He grew quiet then, gaze drifting to the high ceiling. “I was always told I’d die for something greater. That my life had to mean something. Sometimes I wonder if that’s just another way to say we don’t get to choose.”

  Elysia shifted, propping herself on one elbow to look at him. “But you did choose. You fought. You lived. You saved lives. And you’re still here.”

  He met her eyes. “Because of you.”

  They shared more than stories. They shared pieces of themselves they hadn’t shown anyone else. The parts are too raw, too broken to reveal in battle or duty.

  They laughed over ridiculous missions. Argued over favorite wines. Elysia teased him mercilessly for how he grunted instead of using words in the morning. He teased her for hoarding pastries and denying it.

  When Ronan was tired, Elysia read to him from the old storybooks she had found in the Lux Arcana archives. Her voice lulled him into rest, a soft cadence that quieted the pain. Sometimes, he reached for her hand as he drifted asleep as if anchoring himself to her.

  She never let go.

  One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the room was awash in warm orange light, he whispered, “I was afraid I wouldn’t wake up again. That I wouldn’t get to see you.”

  Elysia didn’t answer right away. She slid her hand into his and leaned her head against his shoulder. “I was afraid I’d lose you before I ever got the chance to really have you.”

  He turned his head and kissed her hair gently, reverently.

  In those days, time felt suspended. The world’s weight still loomed, but there was peace in that quiet room. A kind of sacred stillness neither of them had ever known.

  There were no missions. No relics. No Vault.

  Only two people who had nearly been lost found their way back to each other.

  And perhaps, toward something even more.