The world was chaos.
As the fiery shard plunged into the sea, the town of Arven erupted with terror. Bells rang from the chapel tower, their sharp tolls clashing with the roar of waves. Mothers dragged children into their homes, fishermen abandoned nets and boats, and even the dogs howled as though sensing a storm greater than weather itself.
But Elira remained rooted on the shore.
Her heart thundered in her chest, yet it was not fear—it was recognition. A voice, faint as an echo beneath water, pulsed in her mind. Words without sound, feelings without language. It was calling. Not to the crowd. Not to the world.
To her.
"Elira!"
A sharp voice snapped her from her trance. She turned to see Marcell, her childhood friend, stumbling down the rocky path to the beach. His face was pale, his hands shaking as he grabbed her wrist.
"What are you doing here? Are you insane? Didn't you see what fell? We have to run!"
Elira's gaze returned to the horizon. Steam still rose in colossal plumes from where the fragment had struck. The water boiled as if alive, glowing faintly red beneath the surface.
"I can't," she whispered.
Marcell shook her harder. "What do you mean, you can't? Elira, the whole town's evacuating to the cliffs! That thing—it's not natural. We'll die if we stay here!"
For the first time, she looked at him fully. His brown eyes—so ordinary, so human—were wide with panic. She wanted to go with him, to obey reason. But the call pressed deeper into her bones.
The voice inside her thrummed like the toll of a great bell.
Come.
"Elira?" Marcell's grip tightened.
And then it happened.
The sea split.
With a deafening crack, a fissure opened where the fragment had plunged. Water spiraled upward in impossible columns, as though some colossal force pushed it aside. At the heart of the maelstrom, a glow shimmered—shifting, pulsing, alive.
The crowd on the cliffs screamed. Some prayed. Others collapsed to their knees.
Elira only stared. Her lips parted, her eyes reflecting the impossible light.
"It's beautiful…" she breathed.
Marcell followed her gaze, his jaw slack. "That's—no, that's wrong. That's not beautiful, Elira, that's—"
The glow erupted. A shockwave of heat and force slammed against the shore, hurling them backward onto the rocks. Marcell cried out, shielding his head, but Elira barely felt the impact.
Because in that instant, the voice inside her was no longer faint.
It spoke clearly.
Daughter of flame. You are mine.
Her vision blurred. The world dimmed. And Elira fell into darkness.
Darkness swallowed Elira whole.
But it wasn't the kind of darkness that brought fear. It was vast, endless, a silence that hummed with power. She floated weightless, her body unbound, her mind stretched across something greater than the world she knew.
Then, a flame appeared.
It was not fire as mortals understood it. This flame did not burn—it breathed. It flickered like a living thing, coiling and unfolding, brighter than sunlight yet soft as a whisper.
Elira drifted closer, though no feet carried her. Her soul was drawn as though by destiny itself.
"Where am I?" she whispered, her voice echoing in the void.
The flame pulsed, and a voice poured through her. Neither male nor female, but something older, something vast.
You are within the Veil. Between worlds. Where truth hides and lies are born.
Elira's hands trembled as she reached for the flame. "Why… why me?"
Because you carry the seed of the forgotten fire. Because you were never theirs to keep.
A thousand images seared into her mind. A battlefield bathed in crimson light. Towers collapsing beneath wings of shadow. Warriors clad in armor not forged by human hands. And a crown—glimmering, broken—falling into the sea.
Elira gasped, pulling her hand back. The visions tore through her like lightning, leaving her breathless.
"I don't understand—"
You will. Soon.
The flame leaned closer, its warmth seeping into her bones.
But first, you must awaken.
Light erupted, blinding her. The world shattered around her, and with a gasp, she opened her eyes.
"Elira!"
Marcell's voice cracked as he shook her shoulders. She blinked rapidly, finding herself lying on the wet sand. The roar of the sea had quieted, though steam still hissed from the horizon. Her entire body ached, but her skin—her skin was warm. Too warm.
She sat up slowly, her breath catching as she noticed her hands.
They glowed.
Faintly, subtly, but undeniably. Lines of ember-like light traced along her veins, spreading from her palms to her forearms.
"Elira…" Marcell's voice was low, trembling. He took a step back, his eyes wide. "What's happening to you?"
She stared at her hands, fear prickling at last. "I—I don't know."
Before either of them could speak further, a deep sound reverberated from the sea. Not thunder. Not waves.
A roar.
Something enormous stirred beneath the water. The surface bulged, swelled, then split as a figure rose from the boiling depths.
It was not human.
Its body shimmered with scales that glowed like molten stone, its eyes like two burning suns. Wings of flame unfurled behind it, stretching impossibly wide, scattering steam with every beat. Its roar shook the cliffs, silencing every voice in the town above.
A dragon.
Alive. Awakened. And it was staring directly at Elira.
Marcell fell to his knees, frozen with terror. "Gods save us…"
But Elira didn't move. Couldn't move. Because deep inside her, the voice returned, louder than ever.
Mine.
The dragon lowered its head, and for one impossible instant, Elira felt its gaze pierce straight through her soul.
And then—
The beast bowed.
The cliffs above fell silent.
Every villager who had gathered to witness the chaos now stared in stunned disbelief. The monster—this dragon of fire and molten scales—was not attacking. It was lowering its head before a girl barely sixteen.
Elira's breath caught in her throat. She wanted to run, to scream, to hide from the impossible weight of those blazing eyes. But another part of her, deeper and stronger, refused.
The dragon's head bowed lower, steam hissing around its body. Its molten scales radiated enough heat to blacken the rocks, yet the warmth it gave Elira did not burn. It wrapped around her like recognition. Like kinship.
"Elira…" Marcell's voice cracked. He was still kneeling in the sand, his eyes darting between her and the creature. "It—it's bowing to you. Why is it bowing to you?"
She shook her head slowly, her glowing hands trembling. "I don't… I don't know."
But that wasn't true. Deep inside, she did know. The flame within her—the same voice that had called her "daughter of flame"—was resonating with the beast.
The dragon roared again, but this time the sound was not wild fury. It was commanding. Reverent. It echoed through the cliffs, shaking the earth, forcing the villagers to their knees.
And then, impossibly, words formed within her mind.
Awaken, child. Awaken the fire we sealed within you.
Elira staggered back. The glowing veins on her arms pulsed brighter, spreading to her chest, her throat, her eyes. She clutched her head, gasping. Heat coursed through her veins, burning yet not destroying.
"No!" she cried out, her voice breaking. "I'm not—I'm not what you think I am!"
Marcell scrambled to his feet and grabbed her shoulders, desperate. "Elira, listen to me! You're still you! Don't let it take you!"
But the power surging within her did not listen.
The sea roared as the dragon's wings unfurled fully, stretching wider than the cliffs themselves. Flames erupted along the shore, igniting rocks and sand, but never touching Elira.
Her body lifted from the ground, suspended in the air as if gravity itself rejected her. Her eyes burned crimson, brighter than the sky that had split this very morning.
And then the world bent.
High above, the heavens split once more.
But this was no falling star.
From the tear in the sky descended figures—dark, winged, armored in obsidian that drank the light. Their weapons shimmered with unnatural brilliance, forged from a metal no blacksmith could name.
The villagers screamed. Some fainted. Others fled, abandoning even their loved ones in blind terror.
Marcell, however, stood frozen beside Elira, staring in horror. "What are they?"
The dragon's roar answered for him. A challenge. A warning.
The winged soldiers swooped downward, their eyes glowing the same crimson fire that burned in Elira's.
The girl hovered, helpless against the tide of visions flooding her mind. She saw cities crumbling under their wings, armies turned to ash, and a throne of flame abandoned in the sea.
She screamed, clutching her chest. "Stop! Please—stop!"
The dragon reared back and unleashed a torrent of fire, a beam of molten wrath that struck the descending soldiers. The impact lit the sky like a second sun, scattering shadows and sending shockwaves across the cliffs.
But when the flames cleared, the soldiers were still there. Charred, yet unbroken.
One of them raised a black spear and pointed directly at Elira.
The heir is unsealed, the soldier's voice thundered across the minds of all who heard. Seize her!
They dove.
Marcell's instincts finally overcame fear. He dragged Elira down from the air, pulling her into his arms as though he could shield her with his fragile body. "Run!" he shouted, though his own legs trembled.
The dragon launched forward, its wings blotting out the sky. It collided with the first of the soldiers, crushing them beneath molten claws. Another soldier tried to strike, only to be engulfed in fire. The battle shook the sea itself, waves crashing against the land in a storm of steam and spray.
"Elira!" Marcell's voice was frantic. "We have to get away before they—"
He froze.
Because Elira was standing now, her eyes still burning, her body steady despite the chaos. Her hands no longer trembled.
The fear was gone.
"They're here for me," she said quietly, her voice carrying inhuman strength.
Marcell stared at her, horrified. "Then hide! Don't let them take you!"
But she shook her head, her hair whipping in the heated wind. "I can't hide. Not anymore."
The dragon roared again, bloodied but unbroken, as it hurled itself at the soldiers. Flames and steel clashed, the heavens themselves quaking under their war.
Elira stepped forward, glowing brighter, her voice merging with the flame inside her.
"I am Elira of Arven." Her words rang like a declaration. "But I am also… something more."
Her hands ignited fully, twin blades of fire shaping themselves from her palms.
And for the first time in her life, Elira did not feel like a girl pretending to be ordinary.
She felt like what the world had whispered she was all along.
The heir of forgotten fire.
The soldiers screamed as they dove again. The dragon unleashed its fury. And Elira stepped into the storm, no longer able to deny what she was meant to become.