The wind stirred gently across the desolate plain, carrying with it the scent of ash and rain. Where once a forest had stretched, alive with birdsong and the whisper of leaves, there remained only skeletal trunks, their bark charred black, their limbs twisted upward as though in frozen supplication. Beyond the haze of smoke, the sun struggled to break through, a dull and pale disk hidden behind curtains of drifting embers. The world felt caught between silence and remembrance, as though it lingered in a pause that had stretched on for centuries.
Elira walked alone, her boots crunching on the brittle soil. She could hear the faint hiss of cinders dying beneath her step, the earth still warm from fires long past. Her cloak, deep crimson but frayed at the edges, trailed softly behind her, fluttering with every sigh of the wind. Strands of her dark hair caught the dull light, and in those moments they shimmered with a copper hue, like threads of fire.
She clutched a pendant that hung at her throat, a small disc of blackened silver etched with faint runes. Its warmth was not her imagination. It pulsed now and then, a heartbeat against her palm, and though she had tried countless times to ignore it, she knew that it guided her as surely as the stars once guided sailors across open seas.
It had been days since she had last seen another living soul. The villages were empty, their houses hollowed out, their wells dry. She had wandered through fields where the wheat lay scorched into dust, past rivers reduced to muddy trickles. And yet, she did not despair. There was a purpose that pressed her onward, one she could neither explain nor abandon.
She stopped at the crest of a low hill, letting her gaze travel over the ruins of a city stretched before her. Towers once proud had collapsed into heaps of jagged stone, their spires broken like snapped bones. The streets lay hidden under layers of soot and silence. Yet as the wind shifted, she could hear something faint beneath it all: the soft ringing of bells, distant and sorrowful, as though echoing from a memory.
Elira drew in a long breath and descended.
The gates of the city were shattered, a gaping maw of blackened timbers and rusted iron. She passed through slowly, tracing her fingers along the crumbling walls. Murals painted centuries ago still clung stubbornly to the stone—ghostly images of heroes, of festivals, of a life now lost. Their colors had faded, and the faces were blurred, but there was still a fragile beauty in their endurance.
Her pendant grew warmer the deeper she went, and with it came the faint glow of runes along its surface. They flared softly in the shadows of the ruined alleys, casting a muted light upon the stones. The warmth steadied her, though it carried with it an ache she could not name, as if the silver disc held within it both solace and sorrow.
In the city's heart she found the square. Here the fires had raged most fiercely, leaving nothing but scorched earth and the broken skeletons of once-grand structures. In the center stood the remains of a fountain. Its basin lay cracked and dry, but from its core rose a single shard of marble, carved into the shape of a woman whose features had been eroded by time. Around her feet, amid the ashes, embers still smoldered, though no flame had touched them for years.
Elira knelt by the fountain. She reached out, brushing her fingers against the stone, and felt a hum rise through it. Her pendant answered, pulsing in rhythm. The air thickened around her, heavy with the scent of smoke and the faint sound of voices—whispers that trembled at the edge of hearing.
She closed her eyes.
And the world shifted.
The ruined square brightened as though seen through a veil. The embers rose and swirled, lifting into the air until they became lanterns of orange light. Where there had been ashes, there were now cobblestones glistening in the glow of dusk. The fountain surged with water, spilling in silver arcs that caught the firelit sky. The marble woman was whole, her face serene, her gaze lifted toward the heavens.
Elira stood amid a city reborn. Laughter echoed in the streets, and figures moved past her—people, vibrant and real, though translucent like shadows made of flame. Their voices mingled in song, in argument, in joy. Children chased one another through the square. A merchant shouted his wares. The bells rang not in sorrow, but in celebration.
And yet, none saw her.
She reached for them, her hand passing through the nearest figure as though it were smoke. The warmth of life was there, fleeting but undeniable, and in that moment her heart ached. This was no dream. This was memory, imprinted upon the stones, bound to the embers that refused to die.
The pendant at her throat flared. She heard a voice, clear and soft, threaded with sorrow:
"The veil is thin. Seek what was lost, child of cinders. Walk where the ashes breathe."
Elira staggered back, clutching the pendant tightly. The vision trembled, flickered like a flame in the wind. The figures faded, their laughter turned to echoes, and the square crumbled once more into ruin. The fountain stilled, its marble cracked, its basin dry. Only the embers remained, pulsing faintly with light.
Her breath shuddered. She sank onto the stone steps beside the fountain, staring at the pendant's glow.
What had she seen? A warning, or a promise?
The bells rang again, faint but insistent. She looked toward the distant cathedral at the far end of the city. Its towers had collapsed, its roof had caved in, but within the ruin she could see a dim glow. It pulsed in time with her pendant, calling her onward.
Elira rose. Her steps echoed through the empty streets as she followed the sound.
The cathedral doors stood ajar, broken from their hinges. Ivy crept along the stone, blackened by soot. She pushed the doors aside, and the sound of their groan filled the silence. Inside, the air was thick with dust, and beams of pale light pierced through holes in the ceiling, catching on floating motes. The pews lay scattered, overturned and splintered. The altar was cracked, its marble face scarred by fire.
And yet, at the center of the ruin, on the altar itself, burned a flame.
It was small, no larger than a candle, but it did not flicker. Its light was steady, unwavering, and its color was not the orange of common fire but a deep crimson, threaded with gold. It burned without fuel, without smoke, as though it had been waiting for her.
Her pendant pulsed with such intensity that her chest ached. She stepped closer, drawn as if by invisible hands. The flame's light bathed her face, warm but not scorching. She could hear it whisper—not with words, but with a sound like breath, like memory.
She reached out. Her fingers hovered just above the flame, trembling.
When her skin brushed it, the world split open.
Light poured into her, flooding her vision. She saw the city alive again, but not as before. She saw soldiers marching through its streets, banners torn, flames rising from homes. She heard the cries of battle, the clash of steel. She saw a girl—herself, and not herself—standing amid the chaos, her cloak torn, her hands glowing with fire. She saw the marble statue shatter, saw the fountain crack, saw the cathedral roof fall.
And then she saw darkness, vast and endless, swallowing the city whole.
The vision ended. Elira collapsed to her knees, gasping. The flame still burned on the altar, unchanged, eternal. But now she understood: it was no mere remnant. It was a shard of what had been lost, a piece of memory preserved in fire.
And it was bound to her.
Elira pressed her forehead against the cold stone floor. Her thoughts swirled, tangled in fear and wonder. The voice echoed again, distant but clear:
"The veil is thin. Walk where the ashes breathe."
She lifted her head. Through the holes in the cathedral roof, the night sky had deepened. Stars flickered faintly through the smoke, as though hesitant to shine. She knew her path would not end here. The flame was a beginning, not an answer.
With trembling hands, she lifted the pendant. Its runes glowed brighter than ever, mirroring the crimson fire on the altar.
For the first time in days, she allowed herself to speak aloud, her voice raw, breaking the silence of ruin:
"Then I will walk."
Her words echoed through the cathedral, and the flame pulsed in response.
The embers stirred.
And Elira stepped forward into the unknown.