Cold chains clinked softly as Elara shifted in the underground sanctum, the sound echoing through the narrow chamber like a cruel reminder of her captivity. The metal bit into her wrists and ankles, heavy and unforgiving. The stone walls smelled of damp earth and forgotten fear, as if countless secrets had been buried here and left to rot. Dim crystal torches cast pale blue light, stretching her shadow across the floor until it looked like a trembling stranger.
Elara curled inward, pulling her knees close to her chest.
"I didn't want this," she whispered to the darkness, her voice cracking. "I just wanted to belong. I didn't ask to be different. I didn't ask to be feared."
Her words vanished into the cold air, unanswered.
Then footsteps echoed through the corridor beyond the iron door.
Slow. Steady. Purposeful.
The door creaked open, and an old man entered, leaning heavily on a crystal staff that glowed faintly with ancient symbols. His long silver hair framed a face marked by time, yet his eyes were sharp, bright, and filled with knowledge that seemed far older than his body.
"You belong more than you know," he said gently, his voice calm but firm.
Elara lifted her head, bitterness flashing across her tear-stained face. "Then why am I locked like a criminal?" she demanded. "Why does everyone look at me like I'm some kind of monster?"
He sighed softly and lowered himself onto the stone bench across from her. "Because rulers fear what they cannot control," he replied. "And what they fear, they cage."
Silence settled between them, heavy and uncomfortable.
Finally, the old man spoke again. "Long ago, before glowing magic ruled Lumeria, humans wielded something far older. Mortal Fire. Power born not from stars or moons—but from emotion. Love. Grief. Hope. Rage. It was wild. Powerful. Alive."
Elara's hands trembled. "So I'm not cursed?" she asked quietly, almost afraid to hear the answer.
He shook his head slowly. "No, child. You are rare. And dangerous only to tyrants who thrive on control and false order."
Tears streamed freely down Elara's cheeks. "I don't want to hurt anyone," she sobbed. "When the embers came out… I felt like I was losing myself."
The old man's expression softened. "Power without guidance becomes destruction. But power guided by the heart becomes purpose. You must learn control," he said gently. "Your heart will guide your flame, if you allow it to."
Elara wrapped her arms around her knees, her body trembling. "I'm scared," she whispered. "What if I fail? What if I become the monster they already believe I am?"
The old man stood slowly and placed a hand over his chest in quiet respect. His eyes carried sorrow and hope at the same time.
"So were the first fire-bearers," he said softly. "Every legend begins with fear. Courage is not the absence of it. Courage is standing anyway."
Elara looked up at him, her breathing unsteady.
For the first time since the Moon of Trials, something unfamiliar stirred inside her.
Not fire.
Not fear.
Hope.