The strangers truth
1333 Words
Liora hadn’t slept.
Not because she couldn’t. Because the city wouldn’t let her.
The stone whispered. The walls murmured names she didn’t know. A glow lit under her skin every time she closed her eyes—like the fire inside her didn’t want to be forgotten again.
“Did you hear that?” Rowan asked quietly beside her.
She nodded. “The city’s talking.”
“It’s warning us,” Kaen muttered from his perch on the mosaic stairs.
Mira was drawing sigils into the dirt, watching them fade.
“There’s something in the tunnels. Something that didn’t come from the spirits.”
Liora stood, the blade on her back humming.
“We find it. Or it finds us.”
---
They followed the tremor to the northern quarter—an old sanctuary wing beneath the Hall of Bloodlines.
The floor was cracked. The glyphs above the door glowed faint red.
Severin arrived late, blood at the corner of his mouth.
“I was followed,” he said. “From Kinmoor. But not by wolves.”
Mira grabbed him. “Then who?”
He coughed. “A sentinel. One of the old ones. Void-marked.”
Rowan drew his blade. “Here?”
Liora looked at the sanctuary door.
“I think it’s already inside.”
---
The door opened with a breath.
Inside: firelight danced in columns. And at the center—
A woman in white, floating above a bed of coals.
Not alive. Not dead.
Her voice reached them like wind through flame.
“Who speaks the Flameborne Voice?”
Everyone looked to Liora.
She stepped forward.
“I do.”
The woman opened her eyes. Red. Infinite.
“You remember nothing.”
“I’m trying.”
“You must do more than try. You must burn for it.”
---
Rowan was pulled under.
Not by choice.
One moment he was behind Liora. The next—
He stood in a field of ash.
Wolves circled a burning tree. And under it—
Himself. Chained. Screaming.
The tree split open.
And Liora walked out of it—her hair fire, her eyes gold.
She raised her hand.
“Do you accept it?” she asked.
Rowan fell to his knees.
“I accept you.”
The vision snapped.
He was on the floor, panting.
Kaen’s voice sharp. “You vanished.”
Rowan looked to Liora.
“You’re waking the past in all of us.”
---
While Liora meditated with the flame-woman, Mira and Kaen crept through the archive edges.
They found broken tablets. Not just history—plans.
“A breeding program,” Mira whispered. “They tried to engineer a perfect Flameborn.”
Kaen’s jaw clenched. “And Severin was part of it.”
They returned to camp. Severin was gone.
Liora stood alone in the firelight, hands glowing gold.
“I found her name,” she whispered. “The woman in the flames.”
“What is it?”
“Seray. My first mentor. The keeper of the Flameborne Voice.”
Rowan stared at her.
“You’re not just remembering,” he said. “You’re becoming.”
She nodded once.
“And someone doesn’t want me to.”
---
Night fell.
A chill wind blew across the ruins.
From the far end of the city, a shape emerged—tall, cloaked, face hidden.
Rowan stepped forward. “Who are you?”
The figure spoke. Its voice shimmered like oil.
“I am what remains when fire is extinguished. I am what was promised to return.”
Liora raised her blade.
“You’re void-marked.”
The figure laughed. “No. I am void born. And you… are my sister.”
------
The cloaked figure stepped forward from the shadowed edge of the ruined street.
He was tall—taller than Rowan—his cloak glinting with an iridescent sheen like scorched oil. His face, still hidden beneath a half-mask, bore no scent. But the pull of something familiar made Liora’s skin prickle.
"What do you mean, sister?" she asked, her voice steady but clipped.
The figure paused. His voice was calm, almost cold.
"Born of the same fire. Torn by different fates. You are the one who was chosen. I am the one who was cast aside."
Rowan stepped forward. "Say your name."
The mask lifted.
A young man. Early twenties. Hair black as cinder smoke. Eyes—burning pale gold.
"My name is Ronan. I am the other half of the fire that tried to save Kinmoor."
Liora’s breath hitched. "That’s not possible."
"You were made from the Flame," he said. "I was forged in the dark it left behind."
---
Back at their makeshift camp, tension rippled through the group like heat before a wildfire.
Ronan stood by the edge, arms folded, never once blinking. Kaen kept a dagger close. Mira hadn’t said a word since they returned.
Rowan pulled Liora aside behind a collapsed column.
"You believe him?" he asked.
"No," she said. Then softer, "Not yet. But the way the city reacted to him—Rowan, it knew him."
"The city’s broken."
"No," she said. "It remembers."
Rowan’s jaw tightened. "And what if he's here to replace you? Or worse—control you?"
She touched his wrist. "Then I’ll burn him down myself."
---
That night, Mira and Kaen snuck back into the lower records wing. The fire glyphs dimmed when Ronan arrived—suggesting he wasn’t bound by the old seals.
Mira found it hidden under a broken stair: a scroll sealed in black wax.
She cracked it open.
Inside:
In the event of failure to bond the Flameborn twin with Council rite, remove the sibling. Dispose if unstable. Bury blood ties.
Kaen exhaled. "They split them on purpose."
Mira whispered, "And they were supposed to kill Ronan."
They returned in silence.
---
The next morning, Ronan stood by the old Fire Pool—a natural spring that shimmered gold under the moonlight.
Liora approached him slowly.
"Tell me what they did to you."
Ronan looked at her, not unkindly.
"They kept you in light. They fed me darkness. They fed me whispers of who I was supposed to be. But I always felt you. Every time you burned something—my body remembered. My soul woke."
She sat beside him. "Why show yourself now?"
"Because the fire inside you is too big to burn alone."
She looked down. "Rowan’s here."
Ronan’s eyes flickered. "He loves you. But he is not born of this flame. He cannot understand it."
Liora said nothing.
But the silence between them burned.
He saw them together. Talking. Quiet. Intimate.
He turned away.
Later, when Liora returned, he didn’t speak.
She sat beside him in the quiet room of the sanctuary wing.
"You’re mad."
"No," he said. "I’m afraid."
"Of Ronan?"
"Of you," Rowan said. "Of losing you to this story you didn’t choose."
She took his hand. "Then don’t let go."
He looked at her. "Promise me you’ll remember who you are. Not what they made you. Not what he says you are."
She pressed her forehead to his.
"I promise."
------
That night, the flame-woman—Seray—returned to Liora in a dream.
Only this time, Ronan was there too.
Seray stood between them.
"Two flames. One throne. One must lead."
Ronan said, "She can’t bear it alone."
Seray’s eyes burned. "She was not meant to. But if the fire divides, the void will take them both."
Liora woke in a sweat, Rowan holding her tightly.
"Another dream?" he asked.
"A warning."
---
Severen stumbled back into camp two nights later.
Bloodied. Pale. Eyes wide.
"They know," he rasped.
Rowan caught him. "Who?"
"The Council. They know she’s remembered. They’re coming. Not to reason. To claim."
Liora’s fists burned. "Then let them come. I’ve buried fire before."
Ronan stood beside her.
"We stand together."
Rowan met his eyes. "We’ll see."
Mira whispered, "The final war’s begun."
Kaen muttered, "And the city’s not big enough for what’s coming."
- Writer
