Chapter Four
The Name of Fire
The forest was different now.
Eira felt it the moment she stepped beyond the boundary stone—its silence wasn't peaceful, it was waiting. The kind of hush that settles before a storm.
She had a knife tucked beneath her cloak. Not that steel could do much against shadow, but holding something solid made her feel braver. More real. Like she hadn't been dreaming her whole life.
Ashen hadn't come to her last night.
After the boy's warning, he'd vanished, leaving only the echo of his words: "You'd be damned."
She didn't know what she hated more—his silence, or the part of her that missed him like a wound.
A twig snapped behind her.
She turned fast, blade in hand.
"It's just me," said a low voice.
Eira let out a breath as Lys, her oldest friend and only real ally in the village, stepped out from the brush. His clothes were dusty, and he carried a lantern in one hand, bow in the other.
"You said if I ever saw you sneaking off to the woods alone again, I should follow."
She grimaced. "That sounds like me."
He stepped closer, eyes scanning her face. "You look like you haven't slept in days."
"I haven't."
A pause.
"Is it getting worse?" he asked quietly. "The dreams?"
Eira nodded.
She didn't tell him that they weren't just dreams anymore. That she'd walked through a realm of glass and shadow. That she'd touched someone who wasn't supposed to exist.
Instead, she said, "They're not just dreams. Something's coming, Lys. Something old."
---
They made camp near the Hollow Tree, a massive, ancient thing split down the middle like a wound in the earth. Eira had always believed it was more than just a landmark—it had weight, presence. Like it had watched everything and forgotten nothing.
While Lys gathered wood, Eira traced the runes carved into its bark.
One of them pulsed beneath her fingers.
Not a glow. Not a hum.
A recognition.
She jerked her hand back, heart stuttering.
"You okay?" Lys asked, returning.
"Fine," she lied.
They sat in silence as the fire cracked. Eira turned the pendant over in her hands, watching the way it shimmered with soft light.
"I think this belonged to someone powerful," she murmured.
"Your mother?" Lys asked.
Eira shook her head. "Before her. I think it's older than our village. Older than the border between worlds."
Lys was quiet, then said, "Eira… what do you think you are?"
She looked up, startled.
"Because I've known you since we were kids, and I've never seen someone cross a warded line and live. I've never seen anyone dream in symbols and wake with them burned into their skin."
She stared at him.
Slowly, she pulled back her sleeve.
A mark—barely there, like moonlight on skin—twined along her forearm. It hadn't been there the day before. A sigil. A rune. Written in a language she didn't speak, but somehow understood.
Shadow-walker.
Lys paled. "Gods…"
But before he could say another word, the fire went out.
Just—gone.
No wind. No warning. One moment flames, the next, nothing but smoke and silence.
Eira stood. "Something's here."
Lys grabbed his bow. "Where?"
Then they heard it.
A woman's voice—soft, melodic, and wrong. Like honey poured over broken glass.
> "Come home, child of dusk…"
Eira turned slowly.
Fog drifted in from the trees, curling like fingers around the Hollow Tree. And from it stepped a figure.
She wore silver and bone. Her eyes were black, too deep to be human. And her smile didn't reach them.
Lys aimed his arrow.
Eira stepped in front of him.
The woman cocked her head. "You wear the name of fire, and still you hide. How curious."
Eira's pulse thundered. "Who are you?"
"I am what your mother feared. I am what the Veil was built to keep out. I am the memory of gods who bled the sky."
"Why are you here?" Eira asked, voice low.
The woman's gaze turned hungry. "To claim what's mine."
She raised a hand—
And shadows erupted from the earth.
Lys fired.
The arrow never reached her.
It simply disintegrated mid-air, like the fog ate it.
The shadow lashed toward Eira—and time slowed.
A second before it struck, something inside her snapped.
Heat flooded her chest.
The pendant flared.
And the mark on her arm blazed like flame.
Eira lifted her hand instinctively—and a burst of light exploded from her palm, slamming into the shadow creature and tearing it in half.
The fog screamed.
The woman staggered.
Ashen appeared beside Eira in a blink, cloak whipping in a wind that didn't exist.
"You weren't supposed to awaken yet," he hissed.
Eira stared at her hands. "What did I just do?"
The woman snarled. "You've marked her, haven't you, Prince? You always were weak."
Ashen drew a blade of pure darkness, a snarl twisting his lips. "Touch her again, and I'll show you how weak I'm not."
The woman vanished into the mist, but not before whispering, "The girl is the key. And the key belongs to us."
---
After it was over, Ashen didn't speak for a long time.
Eira sat with him at the edge of the Hollow Tree, watching her hands still glow faintly with residual light.
"What am I?" she asked.
Ashen stared ahead.
"You're the child of a bloodline that was hidden for centuries," he said. "Your mother was more than she ever told you. And you…"
He finally looked at her.
"You're not just marked by shadow. You're born of it. And fire."
Eira's voice shook. "What does that mean?"
"It means," he said quietly, "that you may be the only one left who can destroy the Veil—or bind it forever."
She swallowed. "And if I don't choose?"
Ashen looked at her with something like grief.
"Then everything burns."