The last thing Maro felt was the searing heat, but the first thing he remembered was the cold.
That final moment replayed in fragments. The flick of his lighter. The familiar burn of smoke in his lungs. Yara's laughter, sharp and bright, echoing through the sterile, empty mansion they'd broken into. "This is the life, eh, Maro? Better than any five-star hotel."
He had grinned around his cigarette. "The best. All the comforts, none of the bill."
It was their ritual. Their art. They would track homeowners on social media, waiting for those vacation posts. Then, they'd move in. Not to steal—they weren't common thieves. They stole experiences. They'd sleep in king-sized beds, drink expensive whiskey from crystal decanters, and pretend, for a few fleeting days, that the world wasn't a miserly place that had given them nothing.
They were ghosts in other people's lives.
That night, in a modern cliffside house all sharp angles and glass, the game ended. Maro lit his cigarette near the sleek kitchen island. A faint, sickly sweet smell he'd dismissed as some fancy cleaning product. A spark from his lighter, unseen, fell.
The world turned white.
A roar of fire swallowed Yara's laughter. The explosion punched the air from his lungs, the heat an instant, brutal weight. His last sight was not of flame, but of Yara's eyes, wide with shock, reaching for him across the inferno.
Then, silence. And an impossible, profound cold.
He opened his eyes to a crimson sky. The air was thick, tasting of ash and copper. He stood on a cracked plain of black rock under a bruised, weeping heavens.
A hand clutched his. Yara. Her face, usually alight with a defiant spark, was pale. "Maro... what is this?"
A voice, cold and vast, echoed directly in their consciousness. "Your sins of trespass and deception have been weighed. Your sentence is the Eternal Conflict. Your path to redemption is a door. Choose wisely, or be consumed by the legion."
Before them, two doors shimmered into existence. One was beautiful, crafted of pale, polished wood that promised serenity. The other was a scarred, rusted iron slab, threatening only pain.
"The houses..." Yara breathed, her voice trembling. "All those lives we walked into..."
Maro tightened his grip on her hand, the memory of the fire searing his mind. "We don't let go. Never."
The beautiful door was a seductive lie. The iron door was a brutal truth. They shared a look—a lifetime of unspoken understanding in a single glance. Partners in life. Partners in damnation.
As one, they stepped forward and pushed the iron door.
It didn't open into a room. It vomited them into a colossal, circular arena, the floor slick with black ichor. Across from them, other lost souls materialized, their faces masks of terror. Then, the ground shook.
From fissures in the stone, monsters clawed their way out. They were nightmares of molten rock and shadow, their forms shifting, their maws gaping with rows of needle-teeth. They moved with a jerky, horrifying speed.
"The Trial of Embers begins. Survive."
Panic erupted. People screamed and scattered. Maro shoved Yara behind him, his eyes desperately scanning for a weapon. There was only rock. A creature lunged, its burning claw slicing toward them. Maro braced for the end.
A shield of brilliant, solid light flared between them and the monster. The beast shrieked, recoiling as its arm sizzled and smoked. Maro stared, then at Yara. Her hands were thrust out, her expression one of pure, unadulterated shock. "I... I didn't...!"
A new instinct, a foreign knowledge, ignited in Maro's mind. He felt the shadows around him, a tangible cold he could command. He looked at his hands and willed it.
Tendrils of absolute darkness, cold and sharp, erupted from the ground, snaring the hellion's limbs. The creature roared as the darkness constricted, its fiery hide cracking and turning brittle.
"Soul Signs Awakened. Yara: Aegis of Dawn. Maro: Umbral Shroud."
There was no time to marvel. More creatures surged. Yara began to weave her barriers, her movements growing more confident, deflecting claws and fire. Maro learned to shape his shadows—forging them into blunt weapons, creating pits of entrapment, his innate cold snuffing out their hellish heat.
It was a savage, desperate dance. They fought back-to-back, their new powers singing a duet of light and shadow. His darkness extinguished the embers of their foes; her light protected the fragility of his flesh. They were no longer just trespassers. They were a bulwark. They were warriors.
When the last monster dissolved into ash, a heavy silence fell. The few other survivors looked at them, their eyes wide with a mix of awe and fear.
Where the iron door had been, a new one now stood. It was made of warped, dark wood, with a pulsating red gem at its center. Beside it, a calm, shimmering portal offered a haven, a place to rest.
The voice returned, a pressure in their skulls. "Choose. The door to the next trial, or the respite. The next door may lead to salvation, or a war far more terrible."
Maro looked at Yara. Her face was smudged with soot, her body trembled with exhaustion, but her eyes held a new, hardened flame. They had power. They had a chance.
He wiped ash from his lip. "So? Do we catch our breath, or do we see what's behind door number two?"
Yara looked from the safe, shimmering archway to the ominous wooden door. The ghost of their old, reckless grin touched her lips. "We didn't almost burn to death to play it safe now."
They stood together on the edge of the unknown, their newfound abilities humming like live wires under their skin, their fate waiting on the other side of a choice.