The world outside the bunker trembled with silence.
Elira stood at the edge of the underground chamber, staring at the cracked walls lit by flickering ember-lanterns. The others were asleep—or pretending to be. Dante was half-slumped against the wall, twitching every so often in a restless dream. Kael had finally drifted off, his sword resting across his lap, still wearing the scowl he'd fallen asleep with.
But Elira couldn't sleep. Not with the whispers.
They started after the last battle—low, almost inaudible murmurs that echoed behind her thoughts. At first, she thought it was just trauma—burned memories of her mother's final scream, the explosion, the endless smoke. But now the whispers had become clearer, forming words in a tongue she never learned but somehow understood.
"The Ember chooses its vessel… the seal breaks."
She pressed a hand to her chest. Beneath her skin, something pulsed—something ancient.
"Elira," a voice called.
She turned, fists already igniting, but it was only Kael. He was awake now, watching her with those piercing, judgmental eyes.
"You heard it too, didn't you?" he asked.
She hesitated.
"I don't know what I heard."
Kael rose, walking closer. "You're changing. Your flames… they used to be hot. Now they're something else. Alive."
Elira opened her mouth, but the whispers surged again.
"Reclaim the fire. Or it will claim you."
She gasped, dropping to her knees. Her flames erupted suddenly, swirling with violet sparks.
Kael cursed and stepped back.
"Elira!"
The others awoke with a start as the bunker shook. Her body arched in pain as something inside her snapped loose.
And then… she heard another voice. Deeper. Older.
"You are not the only ember-child."