A World of Fire and Ash
The chamber erupted. Magic detonated in a violent pulse, rippling outward like a thousand shattered stars. The stone beneath Zyra's feet trembled, cracking in jagged lines. The temple itself screamed, its ancient walls groaning as reality bent beneath the force of her unleashed power.
She barely had time to register the surge of light and shadow colliding before she was thrown backward.
The impact never came.
A force caught her midair, like unseen hands halting her fall. But it wasn't gentle.
It was him.
A cold wind rushed around her, swallowing the flames that had once danced along the chamber walls.
And in the center of it all—
Kieran was awake.
The chains that had bound him were now fractured, their pieces still glowing as they hovered in midair, trembling. The sigils that had once marked his skin burned brighter than ever, shifting and changing before her eyes.
His silver gaze lifted to hers.
And for the first time, Zyra felt it.
The truth she had refused to acknowledge.
He was changing.
No, he was becoming.
---
The Oracle's Final Warning
"You shouldn't have done that."
Zyra tore her gaze away from Kieran just in time to see the Oracle standing at the edge of the destruction.
Unlike before, its form had begun to flicker, its once-perfect illusion unraveling at the edges.
The Oracle—**or the thing pretending to be it—**no longer smiled.
"Your defiance will not change fate," it murmured, voice softer now. "You have merely ensured that it arrives faster than it should."
Zyra's magic flared, still burning in her veins. "I don't care."
The Oracle tilted its head, gaze shifting between her and Kieran.
"Then you truly do not understand."
For the first time, fear flickered in its strange, hollow eyes.
"This was not meant to happen yet. And now…"
It lifted a hand, its fingers trembling.
Something cracked.
Not the temple.
Not the air.
The very fabric of the world split.
---
The Awakening
Kieran gasped.
His body arched forward, his breath ragged as the final remnants of the chains disintegrated.
Zyra lunged toward him, but the moment her fingers brushed his arm—
Power erupted.
A deafening roar filled the chamber as Kieran let go.
Magic surged through the room, ancient, raw, untamed. The wind howled, dust and debris spiraling upward like a storm.
Zyra barely had time to react before a force slammed into her chest.
Darkness swallowed her.
For a brief moment, she thought she was falling—
Then, suddenly—
She was somewhere else.
---
A Memory Not Her Own
When Zyra opened her eyes, she was no longer in the temple.
She was standing in the ruins of a battlefield.
The sky above her was bleeding. A red moon hung low, casting the world in crimson light. The ground was littered with bodies—warriors in armor she didn't recognize. The scent of ash and death clung to the air.
And at the center of it all—
Two figures stood.
One was unmistakably Kieran.
The other…
Zyra's breath caught.
It was her.
Not as she was now—but older. Stronger. Her hair whipped in the wind, her expression cold and unreadable.
And in her hands—
A blade pressed to Kieran's throat.
Her own voice whispered through the memory.
"You were never meant to survive."
---
Back to Reality
Zyra gasped as she was ripped from the vision.
Her knees hit the temple floor hard, her breath ragged.
Kieran was still there, kneeling before her, but his expression had changed.
His silver eyes were darker now. His breathing was unsteady. He had seen it too.
Neither of them spoke.
Neither of them could.
Because what they had just witnessed…
Was the future.
And Zyra—
Zyra was destined to kill him.
---