I barely had time to react.
The flame surged toward me—silver and wild, searing across the glade like a comet. I threw up a barrier of goldfire with both hands, just in time for it to collide with a bang that shook my teeth.
The wildflame didn't behave like any I'd seen before. It twisted around the barrier, dancing in spirals, teasing, testing. Not hostile.
Curious.
The woman stepped forward. Her cloak of smoke curled around her like wings.
"This fire doesn't obey," she said. "It doesn't bow to names or bloodlines. Only truth."
I steadied my breath. "Then I'll show you mine."
Riven and the others stood at the edge of the glade. Watching. Silent.
I stepped into the ring of frost-burned grass, where the white fire had already scorched a perfect circle. The woman—the Sixth, or maybe her descendant—lowered her hood.
Her face was pale, marked with old burns like constellations. Her hair shimmered with strands of silver, like moonlight frozen in motion.
"I am called Sira of the Wild Flame," she said. "Daughter of the forsaken line."
She pointed to my chest. "You wear the ring. You call the Circle back to life."
Then her eyes narrowed.
"Let's see if you're worthy of the fire that broke it."
The Trial began.
No words. No instructions.
The flames came alive around me, forming shapes—illusions, memories, tests. Each one struck fast, without warning.
A burning field. Screams in the air. Hollowhearth crumbling in ash.
"You could have stopped this," a phantom Riven snarled at me.
Then darkness.
A mirror of myself, clutching the ring with both hands—her eyes gold, her smile cruel.
"You want to be special," she whispered. "That's why you didn't walk away."
I staggered back. "No—"
She lunged, and for a moment I saw her as the Masked One—burning crown, endless eyes.
I lashed out with pure instinct, sending a wave of goldfire across the circle.
It shattered the vision.
I fell to my knees, panting, the wind knocked out of me.
The flames pulled back, dimming. Sira stood unmoved, watching.
Then, finally, she nodded.
"You burn with your own flame," she said.
I blinked up at her. "So… I passed?"
"No," she said. "You endured. That's rarer."
She reached into her cloak and drew out something small—an emberstone, cold and dark.
She handed it to me.
"This is all that remains of the Wild Flame's source. It does not answer to the ring. Only to will."
I closed my fingers around it. And for a moment, I swore I heard a heartbeat—not mine.
Later, as we made camp just outside the Wilds, I sat with the emberstone in one hand and Vaerin's journal in the other.
The Circle was almost complete now.
Six names. Six flames.
One final piece remained.
Entry added to the Chronicles of the Hidden Emberborn – by Elira of Hollowhearth
Sira of the Wild Flame has joined the Circle.She brings no allegiance, only truth. Her fire is unlike ours—free, volatile, ancient.But it may be the only kind of flame that can face what waits in the dark.
The Echo stirs. I feel him in dreams now.
He remembers us.He remembers me.