Dawn crept slowly over the horizon, pale and uncertain.
The river glimmered under its touch, curling through the mist like a silver serpent. Thiya walked along the bank, her feet sinking into soft, wet earth, her heart still caught between the world of dreams and waking.
The memory of the shadow's voice clung to her.
"When you forget your light, I will remember you."
It repeated inside her like a curse—and a promise.
The pendant around her neck burned faintly, its rhythm uneven, like a heart struggling to keep pace. Each time she touched it, warmth spread through her chest, but now the warmth felt different—restless, alive, almost afraid.
She didn't know what waited ahead, only that she couldn't stop moving. The tide had chosen her path.
The forest thickened as she followed the river east. Ferns brushed against her legs, and beams of golden light cut through the canopy. The air smelled of rain and earth, of beginnings.
Once, she had dreamed of escaping Aranthur, but never like this—alone, hunted by shadows, carrying a fire she didn't understand. Yet even fear had changed now. It no longer froze her. It moved with her, like wind pushing flame.
By midday, the forest gave way to low hills. The river widened, spilling into a stretch of marshland. Water lilies floated across the surface, their petals glowing faintly in the sunlight.
At the edge of the marsh, an old shrine stood half-submerged. Its stones were green with moss, its roof broken, its carved pillars leaning like tired elders.
Thiya hesitated. The air here felt heavy—dense with memory.
The pendant pulsed once, warm against her skin.
She stepped into the shallow water, her reflection trembling beneath her. Each step stirred soft ripples that glowed faintly before fading.
When she reached the shrine, she brushed her fingers across one of the carvings. It showed the same goddess she'd seen in the first temple—the goddess of flame. But here, the mural was incomplete. Her eyes had been erased.
Something in the sight of it filled Thiya with quiet sorrow.
She turned toward the broken altar at the center. A small pool had formed there, clear and still. As she knelt, her pendant flared.
The water shimmered, rippling outward like a breath.
And then she heard it—the same voice she'd heard in the forgotten temple, soft and ancient.
"Child of flame… you followed the tide."
Thiya bowed her head. "Who are you?"
"A memory that refused to drown."
The water glowed brighter. Within it, shapes began to appear—a city made of crystal and light, towers rising from the sea, people walking with lanterns in their hands.
Thiya gasped. "What is this place?"
"The city of tides. The home we lost when the world forgot the flame."
The vision trembled, fading at the edges.
"Before the silence came, the tide carried songs through the rivers. It remembered every story, every name. But when the goddess fell asleep, the rivers stilled. The songs turned to echoes. The tide forgot how to dream."
Thiya reached out, fingertips hovering above the water's surface. "Can it be woken?"
"Only if the flame burns bright enough to warm the sea."
The pendant throbbed in response, golden light spilling across her hands.
"But beware," the voice continued. "The shadow knows. It watches from the places where even water cannot flow."
The air grew colder. The reflection in the pool darkened.
For a moment, Thiya thought she saw movement behind her—a shimmer in the corner of her eye. When she turned, nothing stood there but the broken pillars and the wind.
She looked back to the pool. The light within it dimmed, and the voice began to fade.
"The first light of the tide will find you when the river sings again."
"Remember, flame-bearer—the sea does not forget."
The glow vanished. The water went still.
Thiya sat in silence for a long while, her thoughts a storm of awe and confusion. She had seen visions before, but never so clear. The sea, the city, the voice that carried both sorrow and love—it felt like remembering a dream she had once lived.
She rose, brushing water from her tunic. The pendant remained warm, steady now, as if soothed.
When she turned to leave, she froze.
Standing at the edge of the marsh was Kairen.
The sight of him stole her breath. His form shimmered faintly, caught between light and mist, but his smile was the same—calm, patient, almost human.
"You've gone farther than most ever dared," he said.
Thiya swallowed. "The tide spoke to me. It showed me a city… made of light."
He nodded. "You saw its memory. The first tide was once alive, older than gods. When the goddess gave her flame to the sea, she gave it the gift to remember."
He stepped closer, the air around him rippling faintly. "You carry her warmth, Thiya. The tide will always know you."
She frowned. "Why do I feel like I'm waking into someone else's dream?"
"Because you are."
Kairen's gaze softened. "Every life the flame chooses begins with remembering what the world lost. You are not its first bearer. But perhaps, you will be its last."
Thiya shook her head. "I don't understand."
"You don't need to—yet."
His voice darkened. "But the shadow does. It has remembered faster than we expected."
A chill ran through her. "It followed me."
Kairen nodded grimly. "It always follows light. It wants to make you doubt, to make you forget."
He extended his hand. "You must go where the river meets the cliffs. There lies the First Light of the Tide. It's not an object, but a truth. When you see it, you'll know."
Thiya hesitated. "And you? Will you come with me?"
Kairen smiled faintly. "I cannot leave the river. I exist only where it remembers her song."
She wanted to ask more, but his form had already begun to fade. The light of dawn pierced through the mist, scattering his shape into gold.
"Remember, Thiya," his voice whispered. "Every shadow is cast by something burning."
Then he was gone.
Thiya turned toward the cliffs that rose beyond the marsh. The path ahead shimmered with sunlight. Her fear had not vanished, but something stronger had taken its place—resolve.
She walked until the trees parted, revealing the meeting of river and stone. The water rushed here, fierce and wild, colliding against the cliffside in a constant roar. Spray misted the air, cold and clean.
The pendant flared again, brighter than ever before.
Thiya stepped closer. The light from the pendant reached the cliff wall—and the stone answered.
Carvings lit up one by one, lines of gold snaking across the surface like rivers of light. Symbols of flame, water, and stars danced in the glow. The sound of the current deepened, shifting from chaos into something almost melodic.
It was the song she had heard in the dream.
The river was singing.
She raised her hand, and the pendant responded, its light joining the flow. The water surged upward in a spiral, wrapping around her. For a heartbeat, she was weightless—caught between sky and sea.
The sound grew louder, filling the air, the earth, her very bones.
And then she saw it.
At the heart of the spiraling water, a sphere of light floated—soft, blue, alive. It pulsed like a heart.
The First Light of the Tide.
The pendant blazed in answer, threads of gold reaching out toward the blue glow. The two lights touched, and warmth exploded through her body.
She saw flashes—oceans rising, stars sinking, the goddess's hands releasing fire into the world. And then, for a single breath, she saw herself—not as Thiya, but as someone vast, ancient, and burning.
Then it was gone. The spiral collapsed back into the river, and the world went still.
Thiya fell to her knees, gasping. The pendant now shone with a new hue—a faint trace of blue swirling within the gold.
She looked toward the cliffs. The glowing carvings had faded, but one line of light remained—a symbol shaped like an eye.
The eye blinked once, and water poured from it, forming a new stream that joined the river below.
Thiya stared in awe. The river had changed its course.
And so had she.
The pendant pulsed once, its colors blending—flame and tide united.
The wind whispered against her ear, gentle and clear:
"The mirror is watching."
Thiya looked eastward, where the horizon shimmered with distant light.
Her journey was no longer about running from the shadow.
It had become a quest to remember.
The ember in her chest glowed softly, like dawn breaking inside her.
And far away, beyond the hills, a pair of golden eyes opened in the dark.