---
The sky cracked open as if the heavens themselves recoiled at what had been unleashed.
Serin's feet pounded against the scorched earth, each step echoing with a strange rhythm in her chest—a pull, a hunger, a power thrumming beneath her skin. The remnants of the Seraph fire still glowed along her hands, faint gold flickers trailing like dying embers. She didn't know how long it would last, but for now, she clung to it like breath.
Lucien ran beside her, his obsidian blade drawn, his expression unreadable save for the sharp focus in his eyes. Even in the chaos, even as demonic shrieks tore through the wind and the stench of sulfur grew thicker, he never looked away from her for too long.
"Keep your fire alive," he said, low but firm. "Let it respond to you. You don't command it. You become it."
The words struck something deep. Not because they made sense—but because they felt right. Like they were already inside her, waiting to be remembered.
Up ahead, the battlefield unfolded—a twisted expanse of dead trees, blood-streaked ruins, and inhuman figures snarling in the smoke. The Hellspawn moved like shadows wrapped in flesh, their eyes glowing red, their claws dragging across the remnants of what had once been a sanctuary.
Serin froze for a heartbeat. Her mind flickered with memories—her mother's lullaby, the scent of lavender from her old room, the crushing cold of that cursed night when her life had been stolen and rewritten.
She shook it off. No more running.
Lucien reached out and clasped her hand, his grip warm, grounding. "You're not alone this time."
Serin looked at him—and despite the darkness, despite everything—they smiled. Not the soft kind. A smile laced with steel.
They charged.
The first Hellspawn lunged from the side, a grotesque creature with decaying wings and venom-drenched teeth. Serin didn't think. She raised her hand—and the fire obeyed.
A wave of golden light erupted from her palm, searing through the monster's chest. It let out a soundless scream as it disintegrated into ash, its body folding in on itself like paper in a flame.
Lucien whistled. "You're getting good at this."
Serin blinked. "I… didn't even aim."
"You don't need to. The fire knows what you fear. What you need to protect."
Serin glanced at her glowing hand. For the first time, she wasn't afraid of what she might become.
But then, the air shifted.
From the far end of the battlefield, something stirred. Not a Hellspawn—something worse.
Lucien's smile vanished. "A Harrowed One," he muttered, eyes narrowing. "They sent a branded soul."
Serin felt the shift before she saw it. A cold that pierced deeper than fear. A scream that didn't make sound, but rang in her bones.
The creature emerged from the ruins—tall, draped in chains that pulsed like veins, its face hidden beneath a broken mask. One side of its body looked human. The other… wasn't.
"Stay behind me," Lucien said quickly, placing himself between her and the thing.
"No." Her voice came out stronger than she expected. "We fight it together."
Lucien turned, shocked—and something in his expression softened. But the Harrowed One gave no time for sentiment. It raised its clawed hand, and the air fractured.
Serin ducked instinctively as a spear of black energy shot past her, splintering a stone pillar behind. Lucien was already moving—his blade singing through the wind, clashing with the monster's chains.
Serin raised her hands again, fire gathering—but this time it flickered. Wavered.
Fear seeped in.
What if she burned Lucien by accident? What if she lost control again?
Don't think. Just feel.
She clenched her fists and screamed—"Enough!"—and the fire exploded from within her, raw and wild. It wasn't gold this time.
It was white.
The battlefield paused. Even the Harrowed One seemed to hesitate as light flooded the ruins, banishing shadows for a heartbeat.
Lucien glanced back, his eyes wide. "White fire…?"
Serin staggered, breath catching. Her body trembled. The power hurt—seared her veins, tugged at her soul like it wanted to unmake her.
But the Harrowed One recoiled. It shrieked, stumbling as the fire licked its chains, unraveling the darkness that bound it.
Lucien moved fast. With a shout, he drove his blade through its chest, pinning it against the stone wall. The creature howled—then burst into shards of glass and ash.
Silence fell.
Only Serin's ragged breathing filled the space.
Lucien walked over, eyes searching her face. "Are you—"
She collapsed into him, the fire fading.
He caught her instantly, one arm around her waist, the other steadying her head.
"You did it," he whispered.
Serin let out a broken laugh. "I didn't even know what I was doing…"
"You faced your fear," Lucien said, his voice lower now. "And you lit a fire that demons can't touch."
She looked up at him, her lashes wet with exhaustion and something close to awe. "Lucien... what am I becoming?"
He didn't answer right away.
Instead, he touched her cheek gently, the gesture far too intimate for a battlefield soaked in blood.
"You're becoming what Hell fears most," he murmured. "A soul that still chooses to burn for others."
---
One day later…
The ruins were quiet. Most of the Hellspawn had retreated—temporarily. The air was thick with the scent of smoke, iron, and something ancient.
Serin sat alone on a ledge, watching the sunrise—if it could even be called that. The sky was bruised violet, the sun faint behind gray clouds.
She felt hollow. Changed. The fire hadn't come back since yesterday. Part of her feared it never would.
Lucien approached, silent as always. He handed her a cup of something warm—bitter but soothing.
"Resting's not weakness," he said.
"I don't feel weak," she replied quietly. "I feel... different. Like something woke up."
Lucien nodded. "It did."
She looked at him. "And now what?"
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Now you prepare. Because what you burned yesterday? That wasn't the real war. That was just the first ripple."
Serin turned her gaze back to the horizon.
Something deep inside her whispered she already knew.
The fire wasn't gone.
It was just waiting.
---