Clara pov's
I gasped awake, my lungs dragging in air like I had been drowning.
For a moment, I couldn't tell where I was. The ceiling above me shimmered, not solid like stone or wood, but faintly alive—veins of light pulsing slowly, as though the room itself had a heartbeat. My scream from before died in my throat, replaced by a dry ache that spread through my chest.
I clutched at my heart.
It was still there. Beating. Steady.
No blood. No wound. No burning sword.
Yet the memory of it lingered, bright and terrifying, like the echo of thunder after lightning has already struck.
I lay still, afraid that if I moved too suddenly, whatever had happened in my sleep would return. My body no longer felt numb, but it didn't feel entirely mine either. There was warmth beneath my skin—deep, glowing warmth—spreading slowly from my chest to my arms and legs.
I flexed my fingers.
They moved.
Relief washed over me so fast I nearly cried.
Carefully, I shifted my legs. At first there was resistance, like moving through thick water, but then sensation returned—pins and needles, sharp and uncomfortable, yet wonderfully real.
"I can move…" I whispered.
The sound of my own voice steadied me.
I pushed myself up, sitting against the soft surface beneath me. It wasn't a bed, not exactly. It felt like woven fabric mixed with something organic, warm and flexible, as though it adjusted itself to my weight.
That was when I noticed the mark again.
The small dragon etched onto the back of my palm shimmered faintly, its outline glowing like embers under ash. It wasn't ink. It wasn't paint. When I touched it with my other hand, I felt a gentle pulse—alive.
"What are you?" I murmured.
The dragon's wings seemed to twitch.
I sucked in a sharp breath and pulled my hand back.
Okay. Panic later. Think first.
I scanned the room properly this time. The walls curved upward, forming a dome, their surface etched with symbols I didn't recognize. They shifted subtly, as if responding to my attention. There were no windows, yet the room glowed with a warm red-gold light that had no clear source.
And then I noticed something else.
I wasn't alone.
Near the far end of the room, a tall figure stood partially in shadow. I stiffened instantly, every muscle tightening.
"Who's there?" I demanded, my voice shaking despite my effort to sound brave.
The figure stepped forward.
He was… not what I expected.
Tall, yes—but not threatening in the way monsters from stories were. His hair was dark, falling loose around his shoulders, and his eyes glowed faintly amber, like fire seen through smoke. He wore robes similar in color to mine—deep crimson layered with gold thread—but his bore intricate patterns that shifted when he moved.
"You're awake," he said calmly.
My heart pounded. "You changed my clothes."
"Yes."
"And you put this thing on my hand," I added, holding it up.
"I awakened it," he corrected.
That did not make me feel better.
I slid backward slightly, bracing my hands behind me. "You have about five seconds to start explaining, or I start screaming again."
A corner of his mouth lifted. Not a smile. More like… understanding.
"Screaming won't help," he said gently. "But I will explain. My name is Kaelis. You are safe—for now."
"For now?" I echoed.
He exhaled slowly. "You were never meant to awaken the way you did. It was… abrupt."
"That's one word for it," I snapped. "Another would be terrifying."
"I know."
Something in his voice—quiet, sincere—made me pause.
Kaelis stepped closer, stopping a few paces away, careful not to crowd me. "What you felt in your sleep was the ignition of an Ember Bond."
I frowned. "An… ember what?"
"The dragon mark," he said, nodding toward my palm. "It is a sigil. A living seal. It binds you to a dormant force that has existed far longer than this place—or me."
My stomach twisted. "You're saying there's something inside me."
"Yes," he said simply.
I stared at him, my mind struggling to keep up. "Like… alive?"
"Alive," he confirmed. "But not separate from you. It is part of you now."
The room felt suddenly too warm.
I pressed my hand to my chest, feeling that deep glow again, steady and calm—as if whatever lived there was not afraid at all.
"What happens if I don't want it?" I asked quietly.
Kaelis's expression softened. "It has already chosen you, Clara."
Hearing my name from his mouth sent a strange shiver through me. "How do you know my name?"
"The mark knows you," he said. "And now, so do I."
I shook my head, overwhelmed. "You can't just decide my life for me."
"I didn't," he replied. "The bond did."
Silence stretched between us.
Finally, I asked the question that had been burning since I woke up. "That pain I felt… the sword, the fire—was that real?"
"Yes," Kaelis said. "But not in the way you think. The blade you felt was a forging. Your heart was not harmed—it was strengthened."
I laughed weakly. "That's supposed to make me feel better?"
"It should," he said. "Most do not survive the forging."
I stopped laughing.
"Most?" I whispered.
Kaelis inclined his head. "You did more than survive. You stabilized it on your first awakening."
I looked down at my hands. They were steady now. Strong.
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"It means," he said carefully, "that you are far more dangerous than you realize."
A sudden surge of heat rushed through my palm, and instinctively, I clenched my fist.
The air around my hand shimmered.
I yelped and released it instantly, watching in horror as the glow faded. "I didn't do that on purpose!"
"I know," Kaelis said, eyes sharp with interest rather than fear. "That was a reflex."
"No," I said quickly. "No, no, no. I don't want this. I just want to go home."
His gaze softened again. "Home no longer exists the way you remember it."
That hit harder than the sword ever could have.
"What do you mean?" My voice cracked.
"You crossed a threshold," he said. "Whether by fate or mistake, you are here now—within the Crimson Vale. This realm is bound to the Ember Line."
"And I'm… what? Trapped?" I asked.
"Not trapped," he replied. "But watched. Sought. And soon—tested."
I swallowed. "Tested by who?"
Kaelis hesitated.
"By those who fear the return of the dragon flame," he said at last. "And those who would kill to control it."
The warmth in my chest flared—not painfully, but fiercely, like defiance.
I lifted my head. "Then teach me."
Kaelis raised an eyebrow. "Teach you what?"
"How to survive," I said. "How to control this thing inside me. Because I won't be a weapon, and I won't be prey."
For the first time, he truly smiled.
"Good," he said. "The fire listens best to those who refuse to kneel."
The mark on my palm pulsed again—once, strong and certain.
And deep inside me, something ancient stirred, not as a threat, but as a promise.
Whatever had been forged within me was awake now.
And so was I.