The afternoon sun slanted through the branches of the old banyan, painting the dry soil in shifting gold.
Thiya sat there, knees drawn close, tracing circles in the dust. The wind brushed against her loose ponytail, carrying the scent of wet earth and jasmine from the temple steps below.
For a long while she said nothing. The world around her moved softly — a lizard scuttled across a root, a crow cawed in the distance, the river murmured somewhere beyond the fields.
Yet inside her, everything felt still.
Her pendant glowed faintly against her chest, the faded flame carved into its surface flickering in the light. She didn't remember where it came from — only that her mother had told her never to take it off.
It's more than a charm, Thiya, her mother's voice echoed faintly in memory. It's your promise to remember who you are.
But who was she now? Just a quiet village girl with shy eyes and hands that trembled whenever someone asked her to speak.
The villagers whispered about the mark on her pendant. Some said it belonged to an ancient guardian. Others said it was cursed.
Thiya never argued. She simply smiled the way she always did — softly, as though she understood something even she could not explain.
That evening, as the sky blushed red, she saw it again — a shimmer near the riverbank. A pulse of light, brief and gentle, like the memory of a candle flame.
Her heart quickened.
She rose, brushed the dirt from her tunic, and walked toward the water.
The river was calm, but when she touched its surface, the pendant warmed in her palm. The reflection staring back at her wasn't quite her own — her eyes glowed faintly, like fire trapped behind glass.
A whisper brushed the wind.
"The flame remembers."
Thiya gasped and stumbled backward. The light vanished as quickly as it came. Only ripples remained — and the faint echo of a promise she had never made.
She clutched her pendant tight.
Something had awakened.
And it had chosen her.
⋯ ⋯ ⋯