Ignited by Her

The growl deepens.

Trees groan as something massive pushes through them. Bark splits. Branches snap. The red eyes don’t blink, they narrow.

I raise the Mimic.

The entrance behind me is gone. I’m sealed inside the pitch-black forest, with only those blood-red eyes to light the dark.

I tighten my grip and swallow the rising fear.

Then, her voice, soft and sure, brushes my ear like wind through leaves. Like a memory of a forgotten time, and for a moment, I forget the eyes. I forget the fear.

It echoes through the canopy, gaining power with each word. The air stirs. Gusts swirl like a gathering storm.

I stagger, struggling to stay upright as the winds whip around me. The red eyes shift, darting across the treetops as if confused.

This is my chance. I need to get back to Seredain before the creature’s gaze settles on me again.

I move slowly, careful not to disturb the pitch-black undergrowth. I step backward, hoping to retrace my path. But the instant I shift my weight, the red eyes snap back to me.

My mind races.

I’m such a fool.

Rushing in, ego first.

Just like Seredain.

Then, it barrels toward me, head-on.

Its eyes jerk with frenzy, gleaming wild like a beast unhinged.

Its snarls echo through the canopy, warping the sound, as if the attack comes from everywhere at once.

The windstorm intensifies as the creature surges forward. But now, the wind no longer flows at random.

It coalesces, spinning violently around the Mimic’s blade.

A miniature cyclone of black and grey swallows the weapon completely.

The force nearly tears it from my grasp. I clutch the hilt with both hands, planting my feet, bracing against the storm.

Her voice becomes deafening. Her presence floods the air, no longer a call but a command.

Lira… Lira…

Just when I think I can’t hold on any longer, the blade erupts. Fire consumes the steel. The cyclone blazes molten red. I turn away, shielding myself from the blast.

Then, the storm collapses inward, pressing into the steel, fusing with it. It glows with the heat of an inferno, its surface alive with flame. The hilt shudders in my hands, rattling my bones.

The blade begins to shift.

To change.

To transform.

The Blade of Mimic glows a blinding white. I shut my eyes against the glare. Vibrations tear through the hilt, up my arms, into my chest. My muscles scream, my breathing ragged. I grit my teeth and hold on with everything I have left.

Then, the final surge.

A shockwave explodes from the blade. The cyclone bursts outward in a last, violent display.

Then silence.

Only a whisper of wind remains.

And in my hands, the falchion gleams, wreathed in flame once more.

But this fire is not mine.

It belongs to her.

From the corner of my vision, I see the creature burst from the shadows, the falchion’s flame revealing a glimpse of the foe before me. Its body is a scorched, blackened mockery of human form, wreathed in tattered robes fused to its charred flesh. Its eyes burn red, not with heat, but with hatred.

I shift my stance, bracing for the incoming strike — too slow.

The blow crashes into my chest, a brutal kick that sends me flailing through the air. My back slams into a tree with a sickening crack. Somehow, I keep my grip on the falchion, but the breath has been torn from my lungs. I wheeze, one hand braced against the ground, forcing myself up onto my knees.

I hear the creature laugh in the darkness, a gravelly female voice, haggard with age, twisted by madness, dripping with blood lust.

My heart thunders in my chest as I whip my head around, searching frantically for those blood-red eyes. But only darkness stares back. I focus on the sound of its cackle, listening for some clue to its location, but the echo twists through the trees, distorted, bouncing from every direction, masking the creature’s position.

At last, air floods my lungs. I rise, wincing as pain lances through my spine. Gritting my teeth, I plant my back against the tree and scan the dark.

I grip the falchion with both hands to still the trembling.

I won’t give this creature the satisfaction of seeing my fear.

I draw deep breaths that send fresh jolts up my spine. I try to regain composure, but before I can, the cackling stops.

And a cold silence settles in its place.

Nothing moves. Only the breeze and the crackle of the falchion eating the air.

Then, A sudden blow tears through my left side. Another strike. Unseen.

The falchion slips from my grasp as I’m sent tumbling across the dirt. The blade skids beside me, carving a burning trail into the earth, a path of flame leading to my crumpled body.

I force myself to my knees, blocking out the pain, trying to focus on the next attack. But the metallic taste in my mouth and the crack I felt jolt through my ribs tell me one thing: I can’t take another hit like that. I double over, grimacing against the pain in my chest and the searing heat radiating from the falchion. I grip the hilt once more, but the blade trembles in my hand, unsteady.

The creature bursts into another fit of laughter, this time more unhinged, more demonic. My heart pounds faster as its derision infects the air.

And for a moment, all I can think is: Run.

Her call, once a lifeline, is lost beneath the creature’s shrieking laughter, swallowed by the poisoned air.

I am cut off.

Terror blooms. My body begins to tremble.

The falchion’s heat, once a comfort, now sears against my skin like a curse.

And I want nothing more than to cast it away and escape.

But my feet stay planted.

If I run now, I am nothing.

A coward, an oath-breaker.

Forever chained to this cursed place. Forever trapped with Seredain.

A flash of clarity slices through the fear.

The darkness is her veil.

She thrives in it, hidden, untouchable.

But light?

She fears it.

She fears being seen.

My gaze falls to the falchion, still burning beside me, a final choice, a final act.

So be it.

I grip the hilt with both hands and raise the blade high. With a roar, I bring it down, driving it into the trunk of the nearest tree. The steel bites deep. For a heartbeat, all is still, then fire erupts from the wound like blood from an open vein. Flames coil up the bark in golden streams, racing toward the branches above.

The forest catches. Dry leaves ignite in bursts of light. Fire leaps from tree to tree, devouring the canopy in a wave of heat and fury.

Shadows twist and thrash across the forest floor as the world becomes a furnace. Embers fall from above, decorating the air with flame. The wind howls, feeding the firestorm raging overhead.

Her voice hearkens with the flame.

Velin tharae shol’ena mirun.

The inferno swirls and lashes at the ancient trees, but now she commands it, shaping the wind to direct its wrath.

But I can’t let myself get distracted. Not now.

I lower my gaze, and there it stands.

Through the smoke and flame, it emerges, tall, gaunt, and wrong. Its limbs are too long, arms swaying low with fingers that drag through ash and dirt. Each step the creature takes bends at unnatural angles, like a puppet pulled by unseen strings. Its flesh is tight and sinewed, scorched black in places, stretched over bones that jut like broken spires. Tattered robes cling to its form, fused to the skin in melted patches, once ceremonial, now part of its flesh, stitched by fire and time. Where a face should be, there’s a mask of twisted skin, and set within are two blood-red eyes, piercing, unblinking, burning with hunger. A mouth spreads wide across its jaw, far too wide, the corners split and raw, grinning without joy.

It doesn’t move like a beast.

It doesn’t move like a man.

It moves like something that remembers both.

And I… I know this creature.

A deepest fear. A shattered destiny.

A fallen priestess of the temple, once revered, now twisted.

Imprisoned by the Order. Devoured by the Flamepool.

What remains is not her… but what the fire left behind.

She is its puppet now. A tool for guiding the fate of those deemed worthy… or damned.

A Mirukai. A Sister of the Pyre.

The Mirukai screeches and writhes as the fire rips through the canopy. It watches the wind sweep through the treetops, trailing flame in its path, a river of destruction written across the sky.

Its cries pierce through the haze in my mind. Not just sound, but memory. A forgotten fear, given form.

And I remember.

I remember why I’m here.

This is what she will become if I fail.

Then it screams, “YOU WILL BE DEVOURED BY THE FLAMEPOOL FOR THIS!” Spit and a vile green liquid spew from its mouth, melting the ground like acid.

“You dare gaze upon me, mortal?” it snarls. “I am the Mother. The First Sister. Your trespass ends here.”

Its voice distorts, slipping between fury and mockery.

“You cannot have her, she is mine now. What would you want with her? You sent her here. You chained her to this place! And now you think you can steal her again?”

I… sent her here?

No. Lies. This creature must be lying.

The Mirukai paces, its limbs twitching, glimpsing the smouldering ruin of its once-sacred home. Then it stops. Its blood-red eyes settle on me.

“You betrayed the Order,” it growls, voice thick with festering hate. “You’re no Emberbound. You cannot even hold to your own oaths. You’re as damned as she is.”

Our eyes lock.

A memory sears through my mind.

She’s there, arms bound, wrists raw and torn from the ropes. A gash across her temple bleeds as she’s dragged away, unconscious. Her head hangs limp. Her fate sealed.

It couldn’t have been me. I…

No.

I will not let this creature infect my mind.

I raise my voice, steady now. “I will not be swayed by you. I will uncover the truth. And for as long as she guides me, I will follow.”

My heart steadies and I grip the falchion tighter. “For who you once were… I will show you the respect of ending the misery you’ve been cursed to endure. I swear it.”

I raise my falchion and take a breath, the weight of my vow burning through my veins. The Mirukai lets out a guttural snarl, flame writhing around her warped form.

I bow my head.

“May your flame never dim.”

Then, with fire in my chest and her name on my blade, I charge.