The night the world ended started like any other.
Elira had gone to bed early. Her father's dinner — burnt vegetables and mystery meat stew — had actually tasted decent. Her mother had smiled for the first time in days. The air in their crooked little home didn't feel heavy, not like usual.
She curled up in her small cot, the phoenix charm clutched in her hand. The warmth of Kael's presence still lingered in her thoughts. That rooftop conversation kept replaying in her mind. His words. The way he'd looked at her — like he saw a future she couldn't yet imagine.
Then… came the screaming.
It didn't come from outside. Not at first. It was her mother. A shriek of raw, animal panic.
Elira sat up fast, heart slamming against her ribs. The air was thick — choking, burning.
Smoke.
The next second, a blast tore through the wall. She was thrown from her bed, hitting the floor hard. The world spun, blurred in orange and black. Fire crackled through the floorboards, licking up the walls like it had always lived there, just waiting for permission.
"Elira!" her mother's voice screamed. "Run—!"
And then—
Nothing.
Silence.
Elira's ears rang. Her lungs screamed. She stumbled through the hallway as the roof collapsed behind her. Flames roared like beasts — alive, hunting.
She saw her father. Collapsed by the forge. His blade still in hand. Blood trailing down his mouth. One eye open, unblinking. His body blocked the hidden wall — the one that housed the relic he had sworn never to touch again.
Elira staggered toward it, coughing, sobbing without sound. Her fingertips brushed against the charred wood, and suddenly—
It opened.
The relic wasn't a sword. Not armor. Not a spellbook.
It was a gauntlet — massive, ancient, and pulsing with emberlight.
The moment her hand touched it, the flames bent. No — they obeyed.
The fire wrapped around her in a cyclone, but it didn't burn. It hummed, almost… reverent. The gauntlet latched onto her arm, clicking into place like it had been made for her.
Power flooded her veins. Her bones screamed, but her soul sang.
And then she stood — calm in the middle of chaos. Her home collapsing. Her family gone. Her world in ashes.
She didn't cry. She didn't scream.
She walked out of the fire, barefoot, with blue eyes glowing like frost in the heart of a volcano.
That was the night Velmara saw her for the first time.
The night she was chosen —
Not by fate,
Not by blood,
But by the flame itself.