That night, the three of them sat by a small fire, too exhausted to speak.
At last, Mira broke the silence. "When he looked at you… your fire listened to him. Aric, what if he's right? What if it already belongs to them?"
Aric clenched his fists. "I'm still me."
"Are you?" Her voice was sharp, but her eyes glistened. "Every time you use it, you slip further away."
Edran said nothing, staring into the flames. His silence was worse than any argument.
Aric rose abruptly and walked into the darkness, needing air, needing space. The marsh stretched around him, endless and heavy. For the first time, he wondered if Mira was right.
Was he still Aric—or just a vessel for the fire's will?