The Light Beyond emberveil

The girl with the flame

The sky above Doren had never looked so heavy.

Clouds rolled in like a wave of sorrow, pressing down on the little village carved into the side of the mountains. Smoke from cooking fires danced into the air, only to be swallowed by the grey.

Inside a small cottage on the edge of the cliffs, Ariah sat by the window, tracing the flame-shaped mark on her wrist.

“Storm’s coming,” whispered Mama Nyra, the old blind woman who had raised her. She stood near the door, feeling the wind with her pale fingers.

“It’s been coming for years,” Ariah replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Nyra turned her face toward her. “No, child. Not that kind. I mean a storm that shakes the soul. One the Eternal One told me would begin with your journey.”

Ariah’s heart skipped. “My journey?”

Nyra nodded slowly. “The people of Emberveil are lost. The voice that once walked with us in the cool of the evening is silent. Not because He left... but because we stopped listening.”

The wind howled louder, and the mark on Ariah’s wrist glowed faintly — just enough for her to notice.

“What is happening to me?” she asked.

“You are becoming,” Nyra said. “And the darkness knows it. That’s why it’s coming.”

Suddenly, a horn blew from the village square — sharp, urgent, afraid.

Ariah rose to her feet.

“Go,” Nyra said. “Go toward the voice that calls your name in the night. You were chosen for such a time as this.”

And so, with only a satchel of bread, a worn cloak, and a heart full of questions, Ariah stepped into the storm — and into her destiny.