To Yearn & Burn For Him

4.

Chapter Four: Into the Ashes

The flames roar out of me, a torrent of fire that lights up the Crimson Woods like a second sun. The temple’s ancient stones glow red, and the wraiths shriek, their smoky forms scattering like leaves in a storm. The woman—my mirror, my mother—stands untouched, her golden eyes gleaming with something like pride. My rune is a furnace, searing my collarbone, and the voice in my head chants, Daughter of Ashes, you are the flame. I want to scream, to make it stop, but my body’s not mine anymore. It’s fire, it’s fury, it’s her.

“Lyra!” Ronan’s voice cuts through the chaos, raw and desperate. He’s on his knees, his black veins pulsing brighter, his gray eyes wide with fear—not for himself, but for me. His wolf form flickers, claws digging into the earth as he fights to stay human. “You have to stop!”

“I can’t!” I shout, my voice cracking as the flames spiral higher, charring the trees around us. My hands shake, sparks flying, and I feel like I’m splitting apart. “It’s too much!”

The woman steps closer, her silver-streaked hair catching the firelight. “You’re fighting what you are,” she says, her voice smooth, almost soothing. “Embrace it, Lyra. The Emberheart chose you.”

“Chose me for what?” I yell, my flames flaring toward her. She doesn’t flinch, just raises a hand, and my fire bends around her like water around a stone. My chest heaves, and I stumble, dizzy, the rune pulsing in time with my heartbeat.

“To burn the world clean,” she says, her smile sharp as a blade. “Or to save it. That’s your choice, Daughter of Ashes.”

“Stop calling me that!” I snap, my voice breaking. My eyes sting, not from the smoke but from the weight of her words. Not their daughter. Magnus and Elira’s faces flash in my mind—their warmth, their love, the only home I’ve ever known. But her face, so like mine, makes it feel like a lie.

Ronan’s on his feet now, his body trembling as he steps between us. “Stay away from her,” he growls, his voice half-human, half-beast. The black veins on his arms glow brighter, and I see the strain in his jaw, the way his hands twitch like he’s fighting a war inside himself.

The woman laughs, a cold, tinkling sound. “You can’t protect her, Drayce. Your curse makes you as much a monster as she is.”

“Shut up!” I scream, my flames surging again, but Ronan grabs my wrist, his touch grounding me. His hand’s cold, too cold, but it pulls me back, just enough to breathe.

“Lyra, listen to me,” he says, his eyes locked on mine, gray and stormy. “You’re not her. You’re not what she says.”

“How do you know?” I whisper, my voice shaking. “You heard her. She made me. And you—” I pull my wrist free, my heart twisting. “You rejected me, Ronan. You left me. And now you’re back, acting like you care, but you won’t tell me anything!”

His face crumples, like I’ve hit him. “I didn’t want to,” he says, his voice low, raw. “The High Court… they said you’d die if I didn’t. The bond—it’s not what we thought.”

“What does that mean?” I demand, my flames flickering out, leaving my hands trembling. The wraiths are circling again, their runes glowing, but they don’t attack. They’re waiting for her command.

The woman tilts her head, her eyes glinting. “Tell her, Ronan. Tell her how they branded you to bind the Emberheart. How they made you think you could save her by breaking her heart.”

My breath catches. “Is that true?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper. I search his face, looking for the boy who used to hold my hand under the stars, but all I see is guilt.

“Yes,” he says, his voice breaking. “They said the bond was engineered. By her. By the cult that made you. I thought… I thought if I broke it, you’d be safe.”

I stagger back, my rune burning, my head spinning. Engineered. Not fated. Not real. The ground feels like it’s crumbling under me, and I want to scream, to burn, to make it all stop. “You lied to me,” I say, my voice shaking. “All those years, you let me think—”

“I didn’t know!” he shouts, stepping closer, his hands reaching for me but stopping short. “Not until the High Court. Lyra, I swear, I—”

A wraith screeches, cutting him off, and the woman snaps her fingers. The shadows surge, wraiths lunging toward us. Ronan roars, his wolf form erupting, black veins glowing like molten rock. He tears through one, then another, but there are too many. My flames flare again, and I throw them, wild and desperate, blasting wraiths into ash.

“Enough!” the woman shouts, her voice echoing like thunder. The wraiths freeze, and she steps into the temple’s entrance, her rune glowing brighter. “Come with me, Lyra,” she says, her tone almost gentle. “I can show you who you are. What you’re meant for.”

“No,” I say, my voice trembling but firm. “I’m not yours.”

Her smile fades, and something dark flashes in her eyes. “You will be,” she says. “The Emberheart doesn’t give you a choice.”

Before I can answer, a howl splits the air—Magnus, his massive wolf form charging through the trees, Elira at his side, her blade flashing. The pack’s behind them, wolves and warriors, their eyes fierce. “Lyra!” Magnus roars, his sword slashing through a wraith. “Get away from her!”

The woman doesn’t move, just watches as the pack closes in. “You can’t protect her forever,” she says, her voice cold. “The Emberheart wakes, and she’s its key.”

“Lyra, move!” Elira shouts, her amber eyes locked on me. She throws her blade, and it grazes the woman’s arm, drawing blood. The woman hisses, her rune flaring, and the wraiths attack, a wave of claws and smoke.

I grab Ronan’s arm, pulling him toward the temple. “We need to get inside,” I say, my heart pounding. “If that’s where my rune came from, maybe there’s answers.”

He nods, his wolf form receding, but his veins are still glowing. “Stay close,” he says, his voice tight. “I’m not losing you again.”

We sprint into the temple, the stone walls cold and damp, the air heavy with the scent of earth and ash. The runes on the walls pulse, matching mine, and that voice in my head grows louder, chanting, Claim your fire. My flames spark, lighting the way, and I see it—a stone altar at the center, carved with a rune bigger than mine, glowing like a dying star.

“What is this place?” I whisper, my voice echoing.

Ronan’s beside me, his hand brushing mine, and I feel that pull again, despite everything. “It’s where it started,” he says, his voice low. “The Emberheart’s prison.”

Before I can ask what he means, the ground shakes, and a crack splits the altar. Light pours out, red and hot, and that voice in my head screams, Daughter of Ashes, you are home. My rune burns, my flames erupt, and I feel it—a presence, ancient and hungry, waking beneath us.

The woman’s laughter echoes from the entrance, and I turn, my heart stopping. She’s there, her rune blazing, her eyes locked on mine. “You can’t stop it, Lyra,” she says, stepping closer, shadows curling around her. “The Emberheart is you.”