The world narrowed to flame and silence.
Ash danced like snowflakes in the shrine's golden air, suspended in a moment that felt severed from time. The trial had scorched the earth around you, but what burned hotter was not fire—it was memory.
You stood at the heart of the shrine, shoulders rising and falling with each breath like bellows feeding a forge. All around you, the runes pulsed in faint red, echoing your heartbeat. The fox spirit stood in the shadows, unmoving, her nine tails flickering like phantom lanterns. Her eyes glowed like twin moons—ancient, searching, stunned.
Something stirred in your chest. Not fear. Not power. Something older than both.
You reached out—not with your hands, but with something buried deeper than bone.
Will.
Intention.
Recognition.
The moment your presence brushed against hers, something shifted. The flame around the shrine dimmed, as though holding its breath.
> "Foxfire is not commanded," she had said once, voice like wind rustling leaves in winter. "It listens. It remembers."
And this time… it remembered.
A blaze of light erupted—not wild, but warm. Not scorching, but bright. It didn't consume. It welcomed.
The fox spirit stepped forward slowly, her expression unreadable. There was no threat in her stride. Only awe.
"You…" she whispered, and her voice cracked like a river breaking ice. "How…?"
You met her gaze, heart pounding. "I don't know," you admitted, truth trembling on your tongue. "I just… knew what to do. It felt like I'd done it before."
She stared, not at you—but through you. As if something long buried had clawed its way up from the depths of memory.
"No," she breathed. "No, this isn't possible. That spark… I felt it once, long ago. In another life."
Your hands trembled. "Who was I?"
Her eyes glistened. "You were the one who stood beside me, beneath a dying sky. The one who didn't run when the world turned its back."
There was silence. A silence so thick, even the fire dared not speak.
You stepped closer, feeling gravity tilt toward her. "Why does it hurt?" you asked, your voice hoarse. "Why do I feel like I've lost something I never had?"
The fox spirit knelt before you then, breath shaking, tears tracing down her cheeks.
"Because memory is cruel," she whispered. "And love… never forgets."
And with no further word, she embraced you—arms around your waist, forehead pressed to your chest—as if trying to piece herself back together from your warmth alone.
For a moment, the world burned bright.
But in that fire, something beautiful returned.
---