The Fire that remembers us
1718 Words
The First Strike
It came with no warning.
From the Maw, a creature emerged.
Not wolf. Not void.
Both.
Ten feet tall. Scentless. Covered in ash and old glyphs.
It roared—and the sky bent.
The fire flickered across Kinmoor.
Liora stepped forward. Rowan and Mira flanking her.
Ronan joined—no words. Just steel.
The creature lunged.
They struck together—flame, blade, blood.
Rowan’s fire lashed sideways—losing control.
Liora caught it in mid-air, redirecting it.
Mira blinked. “She bent his fire.”
Ronan whispered, “She commanded it.”
The creature fell.
But not before leaving a mark—across Rowan’s chest.
A spiral.
Just like the map.
---
Liora knelt beside Rowan’s body.
He lived.
But he wouldn’t wake.
Mira stood over them, jaw clenched.
“He’s slipping,” she said. “They marked him.”
Ronan crouched. “Then we go to the spiral.”
Liora looked at them both.
“This changes everything,” she said.
“No,” Mira whispered. “This reveals everything.”
---
At the end, the map glowed.
Not with magic.
But with heat.
The Spiral burned into the parchment.
And whispered:
Come.Bring the fire.Bring the broken.Bring the one who forgot.The spiral was calling.
And Kinmoor’s war was just beginning.
They left before the sun could rise.
The group was small. Liora. Mira. Ronan. Kaen. And Rowan, unconscious and breathing shallowly on a floating flame-pallet Kaen conjured. They didn’t speak at first. The silence was too thick.
Mira broke it.
“He’s fading.”
Liora didn’t answer. Her eyes were on the horizon.
Kaen walked behind them, murmuring spells under his breath to keep the Void Fog from creeping closer. Ronan’s blade never left his hand.
Only Mira dared speak again.
“You think the Spiral is real?”
“It’s not about belief,” Liora said. “It’s about instinct.”
Mira tilted her head. “You’re sounding more like a leader every day.”
“I’m not trying to lead. I’m trying to survive.”
“Same thing in Kinmoor.”
---
They camped deep in the rustwood trees, firelight flickering low.
Ronan paced. “You ever notice the Spiral symbol looks like a broken chain?”
Kaen added wood to the fire. “It is a broken chain. The first wolves believed fire was forged from sacrifice. That someone had to break to make the rest strong.”
Mira tossed a stone at the flames. “Then they made that a religion.”
Liora sat beside Rowan’s still body, brushing ash from his cheek.
“I never wanted him hurt,” she whispered.
Ronan turned toward her. “You didn’t hurt him. The void did.”
“But it found a way through me.”
Mira’s voice was quiet. “Maybe that’s why the Spiral’s calling you.”
---
In his coma, Rowan dreamed.
He was a boy again. Scentless. Packless. Standing in front of a mirror that didn’t show his face.
Behind him, a shadow with red eyes whispered:
"You burned for her. Would she do the same for you?"
Another voice interrupted—softer, warmer:
"She already is."
Fire flickered inside his chest.
He turned.
A spiral of embers glowed on the ground.
He stepped into it.
And the world changed.
---
At dawn, they reached it.
Buried beneath the earth. Covered in bones and rusted sigils. The Spiral Temple looked like a scar cut into the world.
“Smells like… old blood,” Ronan muttered.
“It’s not blood,” Kaen whispered. “It’s memory.”
Liora stepped forward. The glyph on her palm flared gold.
The stone doors opened.
Inside, the walls pulsed with moving flame—each spark dancing like language.
“Is it… speaking?” Mira asked.
“No,” Liora said. “It’s remembering.”
They entered.
---
One by one, the fire separated them.
Liora saw her mother. Averie. Burning. Smiling.
“Do not make the mistake I did. Don’t fight alone.”
Mira stood before a girl she once knew—starving, packless, before the Ashborn. The girl whispered:
“You think freedom comes without fire?”
Ronan faced his father—cold, abusive, scent-proud.
“You’ll never be a real wolf.”
Kaen? He saw no one. Just flame. Watching.
Only Rowan, still unconscious, glowed faintly.
The Spiral was inside him.
---
The two emerged into the heart of the Spiral.
A pool of liquid flame sat in the center.
“It’s alive,” Mira said.
“It’s fire memory,” Liora replied.
They stood on opposite ends of the chamber.
“You still don’t trust me,” Mira said.
Liora nodded. “Because you’re too much like me.”
Mira laughed bitterly. “And you’re too much like her.”
Liora’s eyes narrowed. “Who?”
“Your mother.”
Silence.
Then Liora stepped forward. “Then help me be better.”
Mira exhaled. “Let’s burn the old rules together.”
They touched the flame.
It didn’t burn them.
It opened a door.
---
The Spiral was not a place.
It was a seed.
Each of them received a vision:
Liora: A crown made of bone and ash—but refused.
Mira: A world where no wolf bowed, but stood.
Ronan: Himself, alone, without rage.
Kaen: A flame that didn’t consume.
Rowan: A fire that chose him—not because he begged—but because he let go.
When they emerged, Rowan woke up.
“I saw her,” he said, voice rough.
Liora rushed to him. “Who?”
He looked straight at her.
“You. But… older. Stronger. Dead.”
Rowan lit his palms.
Kaen smiled faintly.
“Let’s burn it back to sleep.”
---
As they stepped out of the temple, the sky cracked.
Not lightning.
Void.
A spiral of darkness poured into the clouds above Kinmoor.
And something screamed.
The Spiral had called the fire.
But it had also awakened the shadow.
Liora stood tall.
“No more hiding,” she said.
Ronan raised his sword.
Mira’s eyes glowed.
Before the Storm
Kinmoor had known peace once. Briefly. It rested like a breath between two battles—shallow, shaking, and impossible to hold.
Now, the sky above it crackled with void lightning.
Liora stood on the ramparts, cloak whipping in the ashwind. Rowan was beside her, arms crossed, eyes red from lack of sleep.
“You saw me die,” she said. “In your dream.”
He didn’t answer at first. Then:
“I saw you walk into the Spiral alone. Burn brighter than anything. Then vanish.”
She turned to him, steady. “Did I scream?”
“No,” he said. “You smiled.”
Liora exhaled. “Then maybe it wasn’t death.”
“Then what was it?”
She met his gaze. “Maybe it was becoming.”
---
Mira returned to the Ashborn walls to find chaos. The children were being moved underground. Scouts reported strange marks in the eastern woods—spirals carved into tree bark, bleeding black sap.
Ronan stalked beside her, blade humming against his back.
“If they breach us before Kinmoor is ready—”
“They won’t,” Mira said, but her voice wavered.
He looked at her. “You believe in her now.”
“I believe in the fire. And she remembers it.”
Eira, a younger Ashborn trainee, ran up with a message.
“Spiral movement. North flank. They’re... whispering.”
Mira’s eyes narrowed. “Let them whisper. We’ll answer louder.”
---
Back at Kinmoor, the council chambers were fractured.
“This is madness!” one elder shouted. “We should retreat to the underground!”
“To what end?” Liora snapped. “To die buried while our homes burn?”
Kaen stood at her side, calm as always. “The Spiral doesn’t want land. It wants fear.”
Another councilor, pale and bitter, growled, “You’re not your mother.”
“No,” Liora said, stepping closer. “I’m worse. Because I won’t wait for fire—I’ll meet it.”
Rowan placed a map down.
“We draw them to the center. Then split them with firelines. Ashborn to the east. Kinmoor to the west. And we take the heart.”
Someone whispered, “We don’t have enough soldiers.”
Kaen smiled. “Then we’ll light brighter.”
---
Eira wasn’t supposed to be in the front lines.
But she followed anyway. She had trained for years, and the flame in her hands never flickered.
She moved between Mira and Ronan as the first wave arrived—twisted wolves, void-eyed, scentless and wrong.
Eira screamed as one lunged—and Mira’s blade caught it midair.
“You’re not ready!” Mira shouted.
Eira yelled back, “Then burn with me!”
They fought side by side.
And Eira’s flames danced with memory.
---
In the center of Kinmoor, Liora stood beneath the Crescent Flame.
Rowan touched her hand. “You don’t have to lead this charge.”
She looked to him.
“I do. Because fire remembers. And today, I remind them who lit it first.”
With a roar, she called the lines.
Kaen raised both arms—fire erupted along the stone streets, forming barriers of heat.
Void wolves screamed.
Rowan stepped into the path with her.
Together, they burned the first wave to ash.
---
In the midst of battle, Liora paused.
A whisper curled in her ear—not voice, but memory:
“You will break like she did. And we will drink the pieces.”
She turned.
A shadow stood within the fire—a woman made of void and flickering red eyes.
Rowan shouted. “Liora!”
But Liora didn’t move.
She raised her hand—and her own fire spiraled upward.
“Not today,” she said.
And the spiral shattered.
---
Eira fell.
Ronan caught her—bleeding, burned, but laughing.
“I didn’t die,” she whispered.
“No,” he said. “You lit something.”
Mira knelt beside them.
“You’ll live, little ember.”
And for the first time, she smiled.
---
By dawn, the field was still.
Ash covered the ground. Kinmoor stood. The Ashborn had held.
Kaen sat quietly, hands burned.
- Writer
