The village was alive with light and song, a world spun from fire and celebration. The Festival of Flames was the heart of Myraea's year—a night when walls fell away and love blazed without apology. Lanterns floated like drifting stars, their golden glow casting flickering shadows on the cobblestones. Ribbons of crimson and gold twisted through the air, carried on the backs of laughing women, swirling in the arms of dancers.
The scent of burning sage mingled with sweet spices—cinnamon, clove, and something wild and green from the forest beyond. The drumbeat rolled steady, like a heartbeat both ancient and urgent, pulling the crowd together in a tide of heat and life. I could feel it deep in my chest, tightening and loosening with every thud.
My breath caught when I saw her.
Nysa stepped into the glowing circle of light as if she had been born from the fire itself. Her gown was sleeveless, the fabric slipping across her skin like molten gold, the folds catching the firelight and sending shimmering waves with each step she took. My eyes betrayed me, tracing the curve of her shoulder, the length of her arm, until they landed on the map written across her skin.
Scars—pale, jagged rivers that twisted over her skin like ancient stories—were inked over with black and gold tattoos, turning wounds into constellations. These marks were not hidden beneath fabric or shame. They were claimed, transformed into something fierce and beautiful. It was as if her history, her pain, was woven into her like a second skin—unforgettable, undeniable.
I swallowed hard, the heat in my throat competing with the fire around us. I didn't realize I was holding my breath until she turned, her eyes locking with mine—dark, sharp, and knowing, like she'd been searching for me in the crowd all along.
Her voice was low, almost a whisper carried on the warm breeze. "Is it overwhelming?"
I hesitated. "I… don't know yet."
A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "That's the safest answer I've heard from you."
Around us, the festival pulsed with life. Women spun in spirals of silk and flame, their laughter bright and free. Some moved hand-in-hand, their bodies swaying to the rhythm of the drums. Others kissed openly beneath the glow of lanterns, fearless in their desire. Love here was not hidden. It was a fire that burned unashamed, wild and warm.
My gaze flicked nervously around, trying to take it all in. Every stolen glance felt like trespassing—a secret I wasn't sure I was allowed to witness. But I couldn't look away.
Nysa must have caught the flicker of hesitation in my eyes. She leaned closer, tilting her head toward the crowd. "You're not used to seeing women love without fear."
I nodded slowly. "It's… strange. Beautiful, but also a little too much. Too loud."
Her gaze softened. "Where you come from, it's a crime just to feel."
The weight of that settled over me like a stone. "It's dangerous."
"Here, it's survival."
The drums deepened, and a group of dancers swept past, weaving through the crowd. They pulled people from the edges into their circle, spinning and laughing. Before I could protest, a hand—Nysa's—closed around mine.
The warmth of her palm sent a jolt through me, electric and sudden. We stumbled forward, caught in the rhythm of the dance. My skirts brushed hers, the fabric whispering secrets as we moved. She smiled—this time open and real, not the guarded expression I'd seen before.
The music wrapped around us, a river pulling us closer. I could feel my pulse pounding, wild and uneven. The crowd blurred, the flames melted into a haze, and all I could focus on was the pressure of her hand, the tilt of her head, the softness in her eyes.
The dance slowed, and when we stepped apart, the noise of the festival seemed to retreat. Only the crackling fire and our breathing filled the space between us.
"You're different tonight," Nysa said, voice low and steady.
"I could say the same about you," I replied, swallowing hard as my eyes drifted once again to the tattoos that decorated her scars.
Her gaze followed mine. "These," she said, lifting the arm that bore the stories of her past, "were once just scars. Marks of what I lost. But I chose to turn them into something I could bear to see."
I swallowed thickly. "They're beautiful."
"They're mine," she corrected softly.
The distance between us had shrunk until it felt like a single breath, a single heartbeat. Her eyes held mine, intense and steady, as if she could see every secret I'd buried beneath years of fear.
Her hand rose, tentative, and brushed my cheek—warm and sure. The firelight caught the glisten of moisture in her eyes, the tremble of hesitation in her fingers.
I closed my eyes, the world tilting. Her scent—a mix of sandalwood and smoke—wrapped around me, and for a moment, everything else disappeared.
But then laughter erupted nearby, sharp and sudden, breaking the spell. Nysa pulled back, a faint, unreadable smile playing at her lips.
"Careful," she warned, stepping away. "The Festival of Flames has a way of making people braver than they mean to be."
I stood there, breathless, the fire crackling in my chest as I wondered if she was speaking to herself… or to me.
---
The night stretched on, and the festival showed no sign of slowing. I wandered through the crowd, the drumbeats still thundering in my ears. Faces blurred past—some radiant with joy, others shadowed by memories I couldn't begin to touch.
I paused at a stand where women sold fragrant oils and woven ribbons, their fingers nimble and sure. An older woman caught my eye, her smile warm and knowing.
"First festival?" she asked gently.
I nodded, unable to find words.
She reached out, tying a small crimson thread around my wrist. "For courage," she said softly. "The fire burns brighter when it's shared."
I looked down at the thread, feeling its warmth pulse against my skin.
The festival was a tapestry—threads of joy, pain, love, and defiance woven tight. And for the first time since I arrived in Myraea, I felt like I was part of something greater than my fears.
When I found Nysa again, she was seated by the edge of the square, the firelight flickering across her face. Her eyes met mine, and she beckoned.
We sat side by side, the crackle of flames and murmurs of the crowd around us like a soft lullaby.
"Do you think you belong here?" she asked.
I hesitated. "I don't know."
She smiled, a flicker of something tender. "You're stronger than you think."
I looked away, to the flames, to the sky streaked with stars.
"I want to believe that," I whispered.
Nysa's hand found mine again, her grip steady
In that moment, beneath the burning sky, the festival lights dimmed and all that remained was the quiet beating of two hearts—fragile, fierce, and ready to fight for the fire between them.