The village had begun to settle again, though unease lingered. Lira's warning about fire echoed in the minds of those who had heard her, but many dismissed it as imagination.
One night, while the moon was hidden behind thick clouds, a spark caught in the cooking hut of a fisherman. The flame licked at the bamboo walls, growing quickly, fed by the dry palm leaves stacked nearby. Within moments, the hut was ablaze.
"Fire!" someone screamed.
The villagers rushed from their homes, panic rising. Buckets of water were thrown, but the flames spread faster than they could fight. The wind carried embers to nearby roofs, igniting them one by one.
Lira woke to the cries, thumb pressed against her lips. She listened, and the whispers came sharp and urgent: Guide them. Save them. The fire will consume unless you lead.
She ran into the square, her hair wild in the glow of the flames. "To the river!" she shouted. "Bring water from the river!"
The villagers hesitated, then followed her command. Buckets were filled, lines were formed, and water was thrown onto the flames. Slowly, the fire was beaten back.
But the damage was heavy. Several huts were gone, food stores destroyed. The villagers collapsed in exhaustion, staring at the ruins.
Elder Ramos approached Lira, his face pale. "You warned us," he said quietly. "And we did not listen."
Dario stood nearby, his pride wounded. "It was only chance," he muttered. "Fires happen."
But no one listened to him. All eyes turned to Lira, the girl who had heard the warning before it came.