When the shaking stopped, the room was scorched black.
Elira lay on the ground, panting, her clothes half-burned, skin glowing faintly. Kael kneeled beside her, but he didn't dare touch her. She was still too hot—too unstable.
"What happened?" Dante groaned, standing up.
"She nearly blew us to the stars," muttered Kael. "But I think something inside her is waking up."
Elira's eyes fluttered open. For a moment, they were no longer blue—they shimmered like molten gold.
"There's something inside me," she whispered. "It's not just power. It's memory. Blood memory."
Dante knelt. "Blood memory?"
"I saw… visions. A woman. She had my flames. She fought a god."
There was a long silence.
Then Kael spoke. "I've read about Ember-Children in the forbidden archives. Legends say they're reincarnations of ancient warriors, bonded to primordial flame."
Elira's hands shook.
"Why me?"
Dante's voice was grim. "Because you're not just strong. You're chosen."
They all looked at each other. A storm was coming, and Elira was its center.
Far above, in a dark tower overlooking the Deadlands, the enemy stirred. A woman with skin like obsidian and hair of silver flames opened her eyes.
"So the heir has awakened," she whispered.