The mark didn't fade.
Not when Ariya poured cold water over it. Not when she pressed her palm to it or wrapped her scarf higher to hide it from Kael's careful gaze. It stayed — a soft, glowing red, curling over her skin like a flame trapped in ink.
It didn't hurt.But it pulled.Like something inside her had been unlocked — and now it wouldn't let go.
"Did something happen last night?" Lyra asked as they packed up camp. "You look like you saw a ghost."
Ariya hesitated. Her hand hovered over her shoulder. "Just… strange dreams."
Jax leaned over, biting into dried fruit. "Were they good strange or prophetic doom strange? Because I've had both, and one ended with a talking goat."
Ariya laughed softly, thankful for the break in tension. "Just weird."
She didn't tell them about the man made of shadow and flame.About the silver eyes.About how it had felt… true.
By afternoon, the group had moved deeper into the Emberwood. Birds chirped. The path twisted with roots. But Ariya couldn't focus. Her thoughts returned to the mark — how it pulsed with heat every time she tried to forget.
Kael walked beside her, silent, always watching. She could feel the question in him. But he didn't press. Not yet.
Far across the mountains, in the high tower of the Shard Citadel, Ruvan stood before a long-forgotten mirror.
The old priests surrounded him, their white robes whispering against the stone. One of them, bent and blind, traced the air with trembling fingers as he spoke.
"A fire mark, you say. And a dream?" the priest rasped.
Ruvan's voice was cold. Controlled. "It burned through the Shard. I want to know what it means."
The priest turned his head slightly. "Some bonds are written before time. Markings that awaken between powers destined to either merge—or destroy each other."
"Prophecy?" Ruvan scoffed.
"Not prophecy," the priest murmured. "A Binding."
A hush fell over the room.
"And what happens," Ruvan asked, "if the Binding is with an enemy?"
The priest did not answer.
Only whispered, "Then it is not the enemy that must change… but you."
That night, Ariya sat alone near the fire, her scarf pulled tight.
She traced the mark on her shoulder with her fingertips. It glowed faintly beneath her skin, soft like an ember refusing to die.
And for just a second, far beyond the trees, in a fortress of silence and shadow—
Ruvan felt it, too.