CHAPTER TWO _ Ash in Her Viens
704 Words
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Chapter Two – Ash in Her Veins
Nyra didn’t sleep that night.
She sat beneath the trees with her knees pulled to her chest, the earth still warm where her power had burned through it. Her journal lay beside her, pages smeared with charcoal dust and dried tears.
Her breath curled in the air, but she didn’t feel the cold.
There was only heat now—low, constant, alive beneath her skin like a whisper of flame waiting for permission to roar.
No one had seen what she did in the woods.
No one except him.
> “The last of the Ashblood…”
The words replayed in her mind like a curse and a prophecy all at once.
Ashblood.
That word.
She’d heard it only once before—in a dream that hadn’t felt like a dream at all. A voice from the fire. A shadow that called her name.
She thought she imagined it.
Now she knew better.
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When morning broke, she stood and walked back toward the village. Her cloak was torn. Her boots were soaked. But her eyes were clear.
Something had changed in her.
She felt it in her pulse. In her shadow. In the way birds no longer sang when she passed by.
The village gates creaked open with their usual tired groan. No one stood guard. No one ever did.
They didn’t expect danger.
They had forgotten what danger looked like.
Nyra passed the blacksmith. The clang of metal on metal paused just long enough for the smith to glance at her, frown, and return to his hammering.
Passed the baker’s stall, where the scent of fresh bread curled through the air like memory. No one offered her any. No one spoke.
Until—
> “You were gone all night.”
She turned.
It was Mira. Small. Sharp-tongued. The only person in Ashenmoor who ever dared speak to Nyra.
Nyra said nothing.
> “People noticed,” Mira said, lowering her voice. “You shouldn’t be drawing attention.”
Nyra looked at her. There was no fear in Mira’s eyes. Just… worry.
Mira stepped closer. “There’s a man in town. A stranger. Tall. Wears a cloak like yours. He’s asking questions.”
Nyra’s heart didn’t race. It slowed.
She nodded once, turned, and walked away.
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Back home, the cottage was just as she’d left it. Cold. Empty. Haunted by silence and smoke that no longer existed.
She lit a candle with a single flick of her fingers. The flame obeyed.
In the dim light, she opened her journal and drew.
Not landscapes. Not portraits.
Symbols.
A circle with runes that pulsed as she carved them.
A pair of eyes like starlight drowned in ash.
The hand that reached toward her in the stream.
Her fingers moved faster than her thoughts, like something ancient inside her already knew the shapes.
By the time she stopped, the pages were full. The candle had melted halfway down.
And her mark—one she hadn’t drawn—had appeared on the inside of her wrist. A faint, red spiral. It pulsed with heat.
She didn’t remember placing it there.
But she knew it was hers.
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Night came too soon.
And with it… him.
She sensed him before she saw him—like the shadows leaned toward something heavier, darker, ancient.
The boy from the woods stepped into her doorway without asking.
She didn’t rise. Didn’t flinch. Only watched.
> “You called the fire last night,” he said. “It’s awake in you now.”
Nyra said nothing. Her hands were still on her journal.
> “They’ll come for you soon. The Inquisitors. They hunt Ashbloods. They think you all died years ago.”
> “They were wrong.”
The words echoed through the air. Soft. But not from him.
From her.
Her voice—cracked, low, barely human from disuse—had finally broken free.
He froze. Not in fear, but recognition. Respect.
> “You spoke.”
Nyra stood slowly. The candle between them flickered, then steadied.
> “I don’t need to speak often,” she whispered. “Only when I burn.”
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🔥 End of Chapter Two
- Writer
